1 comments/ 4977 views/ 0 favorites Inamorata Tales Ch. 00 By: HighCastle If you want it, this is the first part of a story that's growing in my head. Might even be a 'proper' story, with a plot and everything! Started with the girl running and then worked back to why. Still working through the details of that in my head but the starts pretty much there. Not much to go on but you might like it. * The girl ran. Though branches whipped her face, though thorns and nettles plucked and stung her flesh, she ran. She did not stop. She could not stop. She dare not stop. Behind her, distant but gaining, she heard the baying of the dogs, growls and howls echoing across the mist of the early morning, with their handlers no doubt spurring them on ever faster. Her every breath burnt in her throat and her chest ached from the constant heaving of her lungs. Barefoot, bare legged and wearing only a plain, white dress of loose cloth, she ran on. Rivulets of blood trickled from a hundred nicks on her pale skin but she didn't feel them, cold and adrenaline sucking all sensation from her. Her world now was narrowed to one imperative, one overwhelming, over-riding need; get away. The girl ran straight and true, with minor deviations as she ducked round trees, jumped through gaps, leapt over logs and rocks, not looking back only forward. If she deviated from her course she always returned to it., eyes searching out the few natural landmarks she had memorized in her time there and ticked them off. She knew exactly, precisely where she was going and her running was not panicked, not thrashing and wild. She ran like she had been trained to; tight, controlled with not a movement wasted. She was aware of the burning in her throat, chest and muscles. She could hear her breathing, hard and ragged and she could feel her head getting lighter and lighter. Still she ran. If you do need to run, you will need to run hard. Head straight west to the gorge and don't stop. Don't even look back. Ahead of her, finally, the trees began to thin and she could hear the muted rumble of the river. So close now but behind her the maddened sounds of the chasing pack seemed even closer. She thought that even through her gasping, through the pounding of her heart and the rush of air in her ears that she could hear the hounds crashing after her. You cannot climb down because there will be no time to do so. They will catch you if you try. You have to jump, girl, and if you jump from the wrong place or do not jump out far enough, you will die. And it is better you die than you get caught and reveal your purpose. 'I know I will not say a word', and she said this as she ran, the words coming out in gasping breaths as she fought for more air to fuel herself, to keep her going. She began to feel cramp in her calves, then it passed, returned and tears rolled from her eyes as the first realization that she wouldn't make it came upon her. She felt herself slowing, but still she ran. You will talk. Everyone breaks and everyone talks. Do not get caught. 'I won't, father,' again, speaking aloud and then she screamed, of rage and hate and sorrow and pain. She screamed inside too, at herself for failing, for being weak but the accusation felt hollow, unjust. And then, there it was. She saw the trunk then, ahead of her, a rotting pile of wood covered in moss and she cried out. She jumped it and crested a rise. The land dropped down and saw the gorge through the tree line. Grey stone and the still distant rumble of water. Aim for the falls, girl. The only place deep enough for you is at the base where the water has done its work. Behind her, she heard a wet thud, a scattering, scampering rustle and knew the dogs were over the log. Ahead of her the edge rushed up to meet her and she kicked hard. Push off hard and keep running as long as you can. Right before you hit, legs together, feet down. She saw the place. She felt a tug on her dress and knew it belonged to a slavering mouth full of teeth. Then her foot hit the edge and she pushed hard, leaping forward, legs still pumping but only thin air as the ground fell away beneath her. A second later the world was full of cold spray and what colour was left in her failing senses was washed out in it. She fell for what seemed like forever and then, right before she hit, she remembered; legs together, feet down. And then the white world went black. Inamorata Tales Ch. 01 The weekend after her twenty first birthday, Vella's father kept his promise and took her on the long, long journey to the distant town of Aidem. The largest settlement in the area, Aidem was a familiar place to them both due to the large, monthly market held in the grounds of the great house, but that wasn't why they travelled that day. This time, Vella was simply taking another step closer to fulfilling what she increasingly saw as her destiny. As she sat down next to her father and took the reins of the horse and trap in her hands, she didn't even look at him and felt not a moment's hesitation as, with a snap of leather, she set the horse moving. In fact, if Vella achieved her aims for that day, this would perhaps be the last time she ever saw any of her family. And then, casting one last look at the only home she had ever known, she realised the truth of her feelings; no matter what happened today, she would not return to that place for many years, if she ever did again. ---------------------- Vella had once never known anything but a hard, almost pointless life. Her family were poor and, as far as she was aware, always had been. Her father had been the proprietor of a run down and unremarkable inn and coach station positioned midway along an infrequently used carriage route. Travellers were few and far between but the inn also had a small farm holding and it yielded enough food to feed the family and any guests they were lucky enough to have. The remainder, he would take to market, along with anything else he had managed to lay his hands on that might turn a meagre profit and, in that way, Vella's family scratched their living from day to day. But even before the event that changed her, Vella had known that this was a life she could never accept. Though she could never have explained why, she had always felt she was destined for a greater purpose and a higher order of life than the one she had been born into. She was special somehow, meant for greater things than the excuse for living her parents accepted. And if ever Vella needed motivation to break free of that world, she only had to look at her mother and see the hollowed out, tired figure of a woman who had once hoped for little and then got less. The cruel reality was that Vella knew her mother counted herself lucky; she had a home, a husband and she had given him two children, one of which was that rarest of gifts from the heavens; a son. Vella was older than Stefan by five years yet she had always felt in his shadow. When he had come along, what little love and attention Vella felt from her parents pretty much dried up entirely. At meals, he got the first serving every time and she got the last, often little more than the dregs in the pot. His clothes were the best his parents could afford whereas Vella had to patch and repair the few clothes she had or wear her mother's cast-offs. On the few occasions they had guests, Stefan was paraded before them and Vella, when she wasn't attending to her long list of chores, watched as they'd praised and fussed him. Of Stefan, her parents were proud and diligent; of herself, Vella wondered if they would ever give her a thought once she left home. And the idea of leaving home had taken root firmly in her head from a very young age. Growing up, Vella had entertained herself with thoughts of what she could make of her life but with every year the list of likely occupations grew smaller and smaller. The more Vella saw of the world, the more she realised that she would be lucky to have what her mother had and be even luckier still if she gave their world a son. But then a coach had stopped at the inn and in it had been a woman unlike any Vella had ever seen in her young life. There was just something about her, an air of being something rare and coveted and desired beyond the fact she was simply a beautiful woman. She moved with grace and an easy fluidity alongside the stern faced man she accompanied and when Vella was sent to fetch their bags, the woman had simply smiled and said 'no'. The man was busy negotiating with her father and paid no attention to her and Vella guessed that to him it was quite normal. 'I will take the girl and inspect our room before my master retires after dining,' the woman had added by way of explanation and she spoke in a voice that was like steel wrapped in silk. Even before her father had stumbled out an 'as you wish, lady', Vella had known there would be no arguing with her. What she didn't know then was why. The room was as shabby as the rest but it didn't stay that way for very long when the woman set about it, Vella helping as instructed. The bed was stripped, extra blankets added under the thin mattress until, remade, it looked plump and inviting in a way not even Stefan's did. She shifted furniture around and somehow seemed to create more space, moved the few ornaments in the room until they added... something. Vella couldn't understand how, but everything just looked better after the woman had finished. 'I don't understand...' Vella had said as she inspected the inviting and spotless room that now stood in place of the tired and worn one they had walked into. It had been done so quickly, so seemingly effortlessly that it left Vella dazed. Downstairs, Vella served them the meals her mother prepared and then watched them eat, peeking round the corner, fascinated by the woman. There wasn't a sign of the tiredness that would surely have resulted from her work in preparing the room. Vella had barely done anything in comparison and she had felt the ache from the immediate and unstinting work. From simply looking, Vella would never have known the woman had so much as gone upstairs. The way she talked, the way her lips moved even when she simply ate her meal, her mannerisms, her bearing and especially the way she looked at the man across from her all seemed, to Vella, perfect in ways she couldn't fathom. And as for the man, he seemed to relish her presence, revelling in her every word and gesture. He smiled and laughed and was increasingly relaxed and casual, the tension of a long journey slipping away from him. The woman had, at one point leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered something to him and his whole being seemed to change. He breathed deeper, his eyes became hungry and eager and a wicked grin formed on his lips and Vella could see that his mood, good or bad, fair or foul, was entirely dependant on her. She had never seen anything like it. At the end of it, the man had risen and walked from the room and Vella watched him leave, turning back to the woman when he closed the door after himself. When she looked back, she nearly shrieked in fright; the woman had crossed half the length of the room in a few seconds and was now stood at the table right by Vella. She hadn't even seen her stand up. 'You have curious eyes, girl,' she said and her voice soothed Vella, reassuring her she wasn't in trouble or had done wrong in just a few words. Still, she blushed furiously and looked down. 'Apologies, my lady.' 'No need to be sorry for being curious, unless of course you're a cat. Are you a cat?' Vella grinned, shaking her head. 'No. I'm just a girl.' She pursed her lips and looked disapprovingly at Vella. 'There is no such thing as 'just' a girl, unless the girl herself can be no more than 'just' a girl.' Vella blinked, puzzled. The words sounded as though there was importance and meaning behind them but Vella had no idea what it might. The woman smiled. 'If my master allows it, I will come and speak to you later,' she had replied and then left to follow to her man. Clearly her master had allowed it because in the early hours of the morning, Vella had been wakened by the woman sitting in the small chair by the side of Vella's similarly small bed. They spoke a little and then, more and more, the woman spoke and Vella just listened. And the more she listened, the more she understood and the more her mind opened to understand that she could be more than 'just' a girl. They talked until a cold, pale sun rose and then the woman bade her sweet dreams and left. A couple of hours later, she watched the woman walk in her casual yet knowing way, arm in arm with her man, back to their coach and they left. But by then Vella knew beyond any doubt what she wanted to become, that there was only one path she wished to follow and only one calling she wished to answer. Inamorata. It takes strength and dedication beyond anything you can even comprehend, Vella. It is the highest of callings, the most noble and worthy of aspirations a girl can have. When she walked alongside her father, she did so head up, tall and proud in his company. When he set her to a task, she devoured it and then sought more. To be become worthy of attention, you must be worth paying attention to. Push yourself and you will perhaps become remarkable but hide yourself and you will be ignored. You know that last feeling already, Vella, because though you may be seen you are never noticed. When her father went to the market, it was Vella who stood out on the stall, not Stefan. He may have been a boy, but Vella began to develop a way about her that saw people buy when they might have walked past. You have to pay attention to detail and use what you see. Reading people is one thing but understanding what they need to read in you in order for you to have their attention is quite another. You cannot offer what is not wanted and sometimes you have to convince others that they can use what you can provide. Those that looked tired and harasses, Vella would soothe first with voice and manner and then, if she could, would do business with on the back of it. If a potential buyer, and Vella quickly learned to tell them apart from the crowd, looked happy and relaxed, then Vella would joke with them, be charming and playful. If they didn't buy the paltry wares her father offered, so be it, but Vella took every failure personally, scrutinising every detail trying to work out why. It is never what you do, when you do it or even how you do it; it should always have a reason, a motive. The truth is in the 'why', Vella. Never do anything without knowing why you do it because the why of something will inform the what, when and how. It is rarely the other way round. And if you can understand the 'why' of another then you are but a few steps from having the keys to them. She worked hard at home and hard at the market and as a result of her efforts more money came into the household. Her father made more at market and coaches began to increasingly frequent the inn, knowing that the standard of room and service there was better than others they might have gone to. And she didn't do any of these things to simply earn more money; she didn't do it to curry favour with her father; she didn't even do it to put Stefan in the shade, though she did so more and more. She did it for one sole reason; because she had to first prove to herself she could. This is no simple ambition I speak of, Vella, no easy task that can be overcome with good intentions and wistful hope. It requires an absolute devotion beyond even the comprehension of many. It is the hardest of paths to step onto, let alone walk along and at every step you will be tested, physically and mentally, pushed beyond your limits of endurance and forced to call upon reserves of strength and willpower you never knew you possessed. It has to be that way because the wheat must be sorted from the chaff. There is no place for the weak, the selfish or the easily deterred. True service is ruthless, you see? It is single-minded and determined in its purpose. And Vella became just that. She kept what she wanted close to her heart, guarding it and giving nothing of her hopes and ambitions. Head down, obliging and unobtrusive, never complaining, Vella worked until her hands were raw and bleeding. And then she worked some more, often to the point where her tears of pain from scrubbing floors or carrying sacks had been exhausted and dried up. No task was too menial for her, no duty allowed to be beyond her. If it needed doing, she did it and if she couldn't do it well enough, she did it over and over until she could. The hardest thing to become as a woman is indispensable. To give so much that you simply cannot be done without is the key to both true service and being absolutely essential. To provide what someone needs and what noone else can give them is truly a worthy ambition for any woman. It requires a degree of selflessness that is rare and precious and an acceptance of self-sacrifice that is even rarer. And Vella, in the only way she could, began to serve selflessly. She put her own needs, bar that one increasingly vital desire, to the back of her mind and began to provide for the needs of her father, mother and even her brother. Her father she served by tending to the land and the market. Her mother she served by taking on all aspects of running the inn; she cleaned, cooked, washed, dried, ironed, folded, repaired and also found time for countless other duties. Before long, her own mother began to look at her with something approaching nervous respect, reduced to the role of little more than Vella's help. Some men are worthy of respect, worthy of listening to and heeding the words of, and you will know them when your paths cross. Other men come in two forms; those with potential and those without and you will learn to tell the two apart once you know what to look for. When we see the potential, it is our duty to do all we can to nurture it and if not bring it to fruition then at least lay foundations that can be built upon. It is ironic, Vella, that in a world where a man is a dwindling, precious resource, so few seem to see the need to instil in them anything but an arrogant assumption that life will provide for them. It is the sacred duty of girls like us to see this waste is stopped and the chance to do so must be seized upon. After all, what point is there in aspiring to be precious and coveted and cherished if there are no men who would see the value in us above the common woman? And with her brother, she served both him and herself, developing her reading and writing skills and using them to both educate and entertain him. She walked with him, talked with him, listened to him and became someone he looked to for advice and help as he grew from a boy to a young man. Vella had already long replaced her mother as the woman of the house and so, in many ways, she replaced her as Stefan's mother. Before Vella had turned her inexhaustible energies on him, Stefan would surely have gone to seed, cast adrift in the lazy acceptance of his own importance as a male. Vella, however, simply decided that wouldn't happen and that she knew what was best for him over and above everyone else. She showed him how the inn worked, how to negotiate with gentle firmness, how to get the best from limited resources and her lessons took root as she had intended they would. As Vella approached her twentieth year and Stefan turned fifteen, she saw that he would become more of a man than his father had ever been and that, in many ways, he was already. She instilled in him something so desperately lacking in so many young men; ambition. You have to accept the truth of yourself, knowing and understanding what you want and need, understanding the 'why' of what drives you. And you must act on what you learn of yourself, honour it and accept it to honour and accept yourself. So many see service as a lowly ambition, see it either as an easy way to comfort and false security or the expression of a sickly mind, and for some that serve it is. They serve to serve themselves and they do so because that is all they know and all they are good for. At market, Vella began to see more and more in the people she walked amongst. She saw happy men, smiling and enjoying the day together with their wife, sometimes with children and sometimes without and that was how it should be. She saw lovers who looked at one another with puppy dog eyes and she smiled at them and with them, hoping the women tended to him well and that he appreciated her for it. Then there were the simple whores, painted and pungent, touting themselves like bitches in heat to earn money to feed themselves. In time she understood that contempt and loathing she had once felt toward them was wasted. Because then there were the other whores, the ones who walked arm in arm with a man, a sneer of repulsive self-admiration on their face as they bathed in the simple fact they had a husband. And in some of those men she saw that such a woman was all they were worthy of, choosing her for beauty and shape alone, the woman as much a trophy for them as they were to her. No potential, she thought to herself, to see that there is more that a woman can be and that a man can aspire to have. But then she also saw those men who did have that potential, who could have known true happiness and true service and she sometimes wept for them. She saw the light in their eyes was beginning to dim if it wasn't gone already; a misery of a life unfulfilled, of thirsts unquenched and joy unfelt taking their inevitable toll. She could see that the woman such men walked with had hollowed him out, leeched from him and limited him to living in her world and not the other way round. Another man gone, she would think to herself. Another man who will never fulfil his potential and see the true value in an uncommon woman. How they had done this, how they could do this, was beyond Vella but she knew, profoundly and deeply, the wrong of such a thing. As Vella saw the world now, a woman fulfilled her potential to fulfil the potential of the man she served. She shone to bathe him in her light, grew to offer him a comforting, cool shade and learned in order to better understand and provide for his needs. And guard yourself, Vella. If you have already let your sense of self-preservation fail you, then do not do so again. Bury yourself in doing what you now know needs to be done and do not pay attention to any other desires that may come to you or be pushed upon you. The world is full of those who would take what you have before it is ready to be given and they will ruin it in doing so. I am quite sure you have already felt eyes upon you and not understood what they are looking at, but you will. And they will desire to ruin you if you return their gaze. It will likely go against your instincts and your desires to deny them, but you must deny them anyway. The time will come when your eyes can be opened a little further, but it is too early now, trust me on that. Do not let others explore what you yourself have not. But I will return to this place, one way or another, in due course. I see much of myself in you when I was your age which is why I have come to you this night and why I will do so again another night. I pray I do not waste my time when I do so. And, three years later almost to the day, she did return, the same woman with the same man and the same breathtaking beauty and ease about her. And that night, after their meal, the woman again walked to the watching Vella and again they spoke briefly. 'I see I did not waste my time in coming back, Vella. This is an altogether different place now, isn't it? I chose not to inspect the room before allowing my master up to it. If it is not to his liking, then I will pay the price for my faith in you. Will I be paying a price, Vella?' Confidently, her eyes locked on the woman's own, Vella shook her head. 'No, my lady, you will not be paying any price.' She smiled a knowing and approving smile. 'There's more money coming in now, isn't there? And I couldn't help but notice your brother is showing signs that he will become one who is worth calling a man. There are a thousand other differences, too, and I think it's safe to say the work that has gone into making those differences is yours. Am I right?' Inamorata Tales Ch. 01 Vella nodded. 'Yes, my lady. All of the work is my own doing.' Gently, the woman took Vella's hand and traced both her fingers and eyes over the rough, callused palm. At her touch, something liquid seemed to come loose inside Vella and she flushed hotly. The woman smiled, both at the feel of the younger girl's skin and by her reaction to a simple touch. 'It's hard to deny your own nature, isn't it Vella?' she whispered. 'Very hard, my lady.' 'It's even harder to deny something when you don't know why you deny it, isn't it?' And Vella felt, a sudden surge of emotion building inside her. She was older now, fuller and more enticing to the travellers that increasingly came to stay. Offers had been made, both to her and to her father; seemingly innocuous words of considering Vella for the position of a cook or cleaner in a distant home, perhaps even as a maid if she showed potential. And while some of those offering were ugly and unappealing, having no potential, others were not so easily dismissed. Her father would say that a man was 'a good match' or the placement offered was 'a good start' but Vella had ignored both her father and the man offering. And to do so she had ignored herself, the voice in her head that tried to reason with her and then tried to tempt and seduce her with dreams of what acceptance might lead to. And the older she got, the more she yearned and ached to yield to that voice, to embrace and accept what felt like the right thing to do. 'Much harder, my lady,' she whispered. 'Tonight, when the clock strikes eleven, you will come to our room and enter. The door will be ajar and I will be waiting for you. The time to talk of what you are denying yourself is at an end. Tonight, I will show you what you've been saving yourself for.' Precisely on the hour, Vella walked into the dimly lit room and, as she had said she would, the woman Vella aspired to be like, dressed a long gown that tied at the neck, hiding her completely, was sat on the edge of the bed but of the man there was no sign. The room was bathed in a warm, golden light, the normally harsh glow of the lamp muted by the square of thin yellow fabric that had been draped over it. She stood and smiled, holding out a hand that Vella slipped her own into and then led the younger girl to the far side of the bed and the chair that had been positioned in the corner of the room. 'You will sit here and you will remain silent unless spoken to,' Vella was told. 'I have spoken to my master and he has agreed to your presence here tonight. I only hope you will understand and appreciate what you are about to see.' And, as Vella took her seat, the bathroom door opened and the man came out, a deep, dark red robe wrapped around him. He went to his girl, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her to him hard and kissing her deeply. When he broke, his eyes turned to Vella, perched nervous and unsure on the edge of the high chair. 'So this is Vella,' the man said, taking her in with a glance of his eyes and, in the second or two his eyes were upon her, Vella felt that she had been weighed, measured and most definitely found wanting. He regarded her thoughtfully and then, with a flick of his eyebrows, turned back to his girl. 'Well Selenne, if you believe she is capable of becoming something even vaguely resembling you, my girl, then you see things I do not. But I shall trust your judgement that she is ready for what we will show her and that she will appreciate us doing so.' 'Thank you, my master.' It was only then that Vella realised that though she was trying to follow in the footsteps of this glorious woman she hadn't even known her name until her man spoken it. Selenne, thought Vella, rolling the word silently over and around her tongue. A beautiful name worthy of her. 'Let me see you, girl,' the man whispered, standing back a few paces. Selenne's fingers slipped the knot at her neck and the gown simply slid away, pooling at her feet. It was all Vella could do not to give voice to the sudden hot shudder that rolled through her. She drank Selenne in with her eyes, fighting the urge to stand and get a better view. She was the single most beautiful woman Vella had ever seen but the more she looked the Vella saw that looks alone were not the reason for her being so. This beauty went beyond flesh; it was found in her eyes, in the way she stood and she way her skin seemed to glow in the light. Did she intend for that effect? Is that why she covered the lamp so? Though she was naked, even, as Vella saw, between her legs, there wasn't a hint of vulnerability or timidity about her. Instead, to Vella's eyes, she looked majestic and magnificent, a beautiful woman who knew and revelled in being so to the eyes of her man. And how his eyes devoured. If Vella's drank her, his devoured her, running hungry and urgent over her form, greedy and lusting. Vella heard the low groan, almost a growl, come from him as he slowly rotated a finger in the air and Selenne turned for him. And when she did, Vella saw, finally, one they thing they shared the experience of; welts. They ran from the top of her backside to just above the backs of her knees, lines of punished flesh, faded pink lines with occasional touches of redness along their length. Vella herself had endured the touch of a rod many times from both her parents, though not for some time. But whereas hers had been a criss-crossing mess of anger and punishment, Selenne's were straight and true, tightly but evenly spaced and of similar length the whole way. Vella realised that there had been no fury in administering them, no simple anger guiding the hands that inflicted the blows. They were controlled and disciplined, applied with care and precision and had been placed exactly where, for whatever reason, they were intended to go. The master stepped forward, his hand gently stroking over the smooth curve of Selenne's rear. 'They're faded girl. Shall we... refresh them?' Selenne sighed to his touch, looking over her shoulder at him with bright, needing eyes. 'If it would please you to do so my master,' she breathed. 'Oh you know it would, girl,' he replied, stepping to a long case like a quiver that say propped against the wall next to their cases. He unfastened the top and Vella gulped at what he shook out from within; a bundle of rods, canes crops and straps that the man flicked through with a practised ease. He selected one, a short, thin rod with one end wrapped tightly in cloth that served as a grip. He swung it a few times, the air hissing with each swing. Vella looked to Selenne and saw not the fear and trepidation she herself would have felt, but instead something more like anticipation in her eyes. The master picked up a low stool that usually served as the seat for the dressing table, placing it on the bedside floor and Vella could see that in doing so he gave himself as much space as the room allowed. 'Assume the position, girl,' he said softly and Selenne obediently, eagerly even, did so. She set her feet apart, bent forward and placed her hands, palms down, on the top of the low stool. Then with her shoulders down and her head up, she raised herself to tiptoe. There was no warning of the first blow, just a brutal, sharp cutting of the air before the crack of wood on flesh sounded dully in the room. Vella winced, jumping at the sound and pulling her arms tight to her sides, her hands jumping to her face. How she managed to stifle a cry, she didn't know but Selenne didn't even try to hold her own sound inside. But she didn't cry out, she didn't yell or even exhale sharply. Instead she groaned, a deep and almost longing exhalation that made Vella's eyes widen when she looked at the expression on Selenne's face. There was no hint of pain to be seen there, just an almost wistful look of pleasure, mouth open slightly, and her eyes closed for a few seconds as she seemed to savour what should have been a burning pain. Selenne's eyes opened again and she looked directly at the stunned Vella, her mouth becoming a breathless, excited smile. Another hiss of parting air and another hard, sharp blow followed. This time Vella saw Selenne's reaction and what she saw astonished her. The woman seemed to arch her back, pushing herself out where she should surely have been fighting the urge to pull herself in. She didn't tense, didn't strain against the impact but instead welcomed it, embraced it. She's enjoying this? Vella asked herself incredulously. A third stroke and her response was the same. A fourth, a fifth and still Selenne looked like she was in rapture instead of agony. 'She takes it very well, don't you think, Vella?' the master said unexpectedly, making Vella jump slightly as she looked to him. 'Yes... sir,' she replied, unsure of what she should call him and hoping fervently she didn't incur his wrath if she got it wrong. 'Relax, Vella. 'Sir' is fine,' he said with a smile, his hand again stroking the rear of an increasingly appreciative Selenne. 'How does she look to you, Vella?' 'She looks like, well, like she's enjoying it, sir.' He smiled at that, lightly chuckling. 'Yes, she usually does. In fact I could lay this across her skin all day and she would relish every touch. Have you ever been punished with a rod, Vella? I would think you have.' 'Yes, sir,' she replied. He nodded. 'That's a good thing for a girl with your aspirations. A little punishment and discipline is good for the soul, I always think and sometimes it's necessary to keep a wilful girl in check.' He paused, thoughtful for a second. 'But I don't do this to punish my girl. Punishment is far, far more strenuous than this. After all, as you can plainly see, she is quite enjoying the experience and even when she no longer does take pleasure from caning it still falls well short of qualifying as punishment. Doesn't it, my girl?' Selenne nodded, replying with a breathless 'yes, my master' that was thickly laced with obvious pleasure. 'No, this isn't punishment; this is discipline. She is earning something, paying the price to receive what she requested. And what do you think she requested that warranted this, Vella?' Vella shook her head dumbly. 'I have no idea, sir.' He smiled. 'She requested that you be here to watch her serve me this night.' And Vella had no answer to give in response such was the shock of realisation that ran through her. 'You see, Vella, I often give my girl a few caresses with the wood. It whets her appetite, primes her body and mind for my pleasure and that can be a very useful thing on occasion. And that's what you see in her face and what she feels in her body, don't you Selenne?' 'Yes, my master,' came the reply. 'Show her the proof of it,' he said mildly and, obediently, Selenne reached under herself with her hand and brought it out slick and shining, showing Vella before returning it to the top of the stool. 'So these first five strokes cannot be the price she must pay, do you see Vella?' and Vella nodded to show she did see. 'Now, I could just carry on and beat the price out of her; even Selenne has a breaking point, but I believe it would be some time before she broke even then. The truth though, Vella, is it is never a matter of quantity alone when you discipline and train a girl; it is always about the quality.' He smiled then, a quite cold and determined look coming over him. 'She has had five and she could take fifty more of the same before she shed a tear. I shall have her howling in ten. Observe.' He raised the cane again. He gave her five more strokes and seemed to take even more care as he did so, his face set purposeful and intent on the task at hand. He touched twice on Selenne's backside with the cane, drew his arm back slowly and then brought it down hard and fast, the sound of the strike loud and harsh to Vella's ears and she winced at it. Selenne inhaled sharply but stayed silent, breathing out as she absorbed the pain. He aimed again and delivered another crack of the wood to her flesh and again Selenne sucked air in sharply and then let it go again in a shaky breath. 'Getting there, I think,' the master said in a matter of fact voice. 'Three more.' And when the last of them had been given, he stood back and seemed to admire his handiwork. 'How many strokes has she had now, Vella?' 'Ten, sir,' Vella replied. 'How many marks do you think she bears, then?' 'Well... I would think it is the same number,' came her confused reply. He smiled. 'Come and count them, then,' and he stood aside, beckoning her to him. She stood on shaking legs and walked to stand behind Selenne who was still raised on her tiptoes. She steeled herself to see the ten bright, vivid welts but what she saw, though far worse, was so surprising to her eyes that all thoughts other than surprise vanished from her mind. 'But... there are only five, sir,' Vella said, turning to him baffled. 'No, there are five double strokes. One laid down then another laid over the top of it. Look closer; you'll see.' She did so, peering like a doctor would at a particularly exotic wound, brow furrowed. 'I see it!' Vella exclaimed, forgetting herself. The two welts were merged almost into one but she could see with growing clarity the two distinct marks, where they overlapped. It was almost like an illusion to her untrained eyes, the separation invisible when she was stood and yet obvious when she leaned closer. 'Put your palm on her skin, Vella. Feel the heat,' he said softly and Vella did so. Under her hand, the bruised flesh seemed to give off an almost glowing incandescence and she drew her hand back as if she feared being burned herself. 'Go back to your seat. Five more to go and I wonder if you can guess where they'll be laid,' he mused and then, leaning over the gently trembling Selenne, he whispered 'you know, don't you?' 'Yes, my master,' she replied and Vella heard the first keening note of apprehension in her voice. Again with no warning, the rod cracked across Selenne's skin. The master had been just as intent and controlled in his aim and the effect was instant. Selenne's face screwed up, teeth digging into her bottom lip, eyes squeezed tight, and her body giving a shudder as the pain broke over her senses. After the second stroke, her legs began to shake and she struggled to remain on tiptoe. The third saw the first tears roll silently down Selenne's face, her breathing becoming short and ragged. The fourth came and, for the first time, she cried out, a choking sob that seemed to be torn from deep inside her. When the fifth and final stroke had burned across her flesh, Selenne simply hung her head and sobbed, body quivering, muscles tensed to rigidity and her legs shuddering as she fought to maintain her pose. Vella was stunned to silence, shocked and almost moved to tears of her own at what she had seen. 'Stand for me, girl,' the master whispered and Selenne did so, facing him with red eyes and a pain-etched face. And when she turned, Vella saw the welts and almost cried out. Thick across her skin and clearly raised into an ugly, brutalised hump of tortured flesh, the welts went from an angry, deep pink to a bright, sharp red that made Vella want to turn away from the sight of them. But she couldn't because she didn't understand what joy there was for Selenne in what she had endured. It is never what you do, when you do it or even how you do it; it should always have a reason, a motive. The truth is in the 'why', Vella. Selenne's words echoed in her head and they alone were what kept her seated, kept her natural instincts bottled and locked down. Why? He held Selenne tightly for a minute, one arm around her and the other cupping the back of her head to his shoulder. The shudders of her pain and anguish subsided along with her barely contained sobs until he stood her back and smiled. 'You paid the price, Selenne, as you always do. You accepted what had to be done, girl, and you should be proud of the fact.' 'I am, my master,' she replied softly, returning his proud look with a wan smile of her own. Wordlessly he led her to the bed, lying on his back, legs spread apart under the folds of his gown and Selenne's eyes glinted as she joined him, padding on all fours to kneel between his legs. Her back was to Vella who was still transfixed by the horrifying welts that seemed to be burned across the older girl's rear, but her attention was soon taken by other things. As Vella watched, Selenne deftly undid the belt around her master and laid the folds of his robe apart. His cock stiffened and rose to meet her as she curled her long fingers round the shaft and, dipping her head but keeping her eyes fixed on his, slipped the tip of him into her mouth. The master sighed in pleasure, closing his eyes and savouring the touch of his girl. Slowly and gently, Selenne began to move her fist up and down his length, her mouth taking more and more of her man in as her head bobbed in time with her hand. Before long, his shaft was slick with her saliva and his cock was rigid in her hand. Using her other hand to support herself, Selenne began to increase her pace, hand and mouth moving faster and faster until her master began to tense and gasp. He wrapped a hand in her hair, lifting her head from his cock, and when Vella saw the thin rope of saliva that trailed from Selenne's mouth to the glistening tip, a dark and delicious thrill bloomed hotly inside her. 'Easy, girl,' he said in a breathless voice. 'You're not getting off so lightly tonight. Besides,' and he looked at Vella with a wolfish grin, 'our guest seems to be enjoying the show. No need to bring the curtain early, is there?' He rose, swinging his legs from the bed. 'Turn around, grip the bedstead and open yourself to me, girl,' he instructed and Vella saw not a second of hesitation in Selenne as she did so. A few seconds later and he was behind her, kneeling up, cock in hand. Vella watched Selenne's eyes close in bliss as he pushed himself into her with a long, soft thrust. 'Is that good, my girl?' he whispered as he began to thrust in and out of Selenne with a practised, almost casual ease. Selenne nodded slowly, biting her lower lip, eyes rolling in pleasure at the feel of him. 'And how does this feel?' and he drew out fully to slam back deep inside her hard and fast, the bed shaking in sympathy. There was the sound of skin meeting skin and then of Selenne gasping with pain. 'Do you like how that feels?' he asked again, thudding in and out of her harder and faster, pushing her forward with each stroke. Vella watched Selenne's knuckles whiten as she gripped the headboard to keep herself upright as she maintained her position and accepted the pain. 'Yes, my master,' she managed to gasp out and Vella saw that she did enjoy it. 'It feels good to be fucked doesn't it, girl? But to feel me against those welts-' and he slammed into her yet harder still, making Selenne hiss loudly in pain '-is another matter, I think.' Selenne said nothing; eyes squeezed shut, muscles tensed, she soaked up the vastly different sensations. And then, as Vella watched in rapt fascination, Selenne began to push back to meet him coming forward. 'Please...' she whispered breathlessly. 'Please what, girl,' her master said through clenched teeth. 'Do you want me to stop?' Selenne shook her head frantically, her long hair flying side to side, head low between her shoulders. He reached forward, gripping her hair in his hand again and pulled her head back, exposing her throat as if for sacrifice. 'Please what, girl?' 'Don't stop... Please, don't stop,' Selenne managed to say, gulping frantically, with eyes wide and full of a lust unlike anything Vella had ever seen. Inamorata Tales Ch. 01 'You like it don't you? Feeling me smack against those welts. It hurts, but you relish that pain, don't you my girl?' Vella looked at the man and saw he was already looking at her. She met his eyes, held them. 'Do you like pain, Selenne? Is that it? You just like being hurt?' and he crushed himself against her, wrapping his other arm around Selenne's waist and ground himself against her backside. She gave a wrenching cry and yet still pushed back against her man as his short, urgent thrusts sent shudders through her. She shook her head, eyes lost now. 'No, my master. It's not... the pain,' she managed to say. He smiled then and his voice dropped to a low, deep whisper. 'It's the proof, isn't it girl? Pain is first the proof of a price paid and then it becomes the memory of how a privilege was earned, isn't it girl?' And Selenne could only nod, her body arching upwards at the ecstasy undoubtedly coursing over her. 'And is this a privilege, girl?' he hissed into her ear. 'Is it an honour to be made use of like this?' 'No, my master. It's an honour because you choose to use me like this,' she said in a voice full of something like anger, and Vella saw a furious need burning in her eyes, raw and urgent and utterly unrestrained. 'You love it, don't you girl? You fucking love to pay a price to earn your reward, don't you?' and his hand left her hair and waist, wrapping round her to grip her breasts, fingers digging deeply into the soft meat of her. 'Oh, God, yesssss,' and the word died in her throat, her mouth falling open. 'That's good,' he replied, his own voice cracking with an even more rampant and urgent need, 'because I do love... making you earn the reward... and the only thing better... is to give you it as well.' His teeth were gritted and every sinew and muscle stood hard under his skin as he moved his hand from Selenne's breast to her mouth. His fingers slipped between her parted lips and she took them in greedily, a low whine sounding from her as her mouth and tongue sucked and licked them with ravenous urgency. The image of the man and his beautiful, sensuous girl pulled hard against his body, shaft embedded in her, one hand digging into a full, soft breast while the other filled her mouth seared itself into Vella's mind. The heat inside her was a burning now, turning her thoughts and feelings into a hot, thickly liquid ache that threatened to overwhelm her senses. She had to fight to keep her hand from sliding between her own legs, desperate to feel her own heat and wetness. Instead she clenched her thighs tight together and found that doing so caused her even more pleasure. Sweat pricked on her brow and her tongue flicked hungrily over her dry lips as she watched, utterly transfixed. 'On your knees!' the master said, pulling out of her suddenly, his hand gripped around his dripping cock as Selenne scurried off the bed to kneel on the hard wood of the floor. He stood over her and she looked up at him with wide, needful eyes, her body constantly shifting in place, though if that was borne out of the pain from the welts or simply because Selenne was so clearly overwhelmed with desire for what she was about to receive, Vella didn't know. Hands clasped behind her back, Selenne took her masters cock eagerly back into her mouth and he in turn wrapped both hands into her hair, his cock sliding in and out between her full lips. Before long, the master was slowly withdrawing and then ramming back inside, stroke after stroke, and Vella saw Selenne's mouth and throat bulge with each deep, hard thrust in. As he pulled out, the girl managed to draw an increasingly ragged breath before he plunged back into her accepting mouth. He stood, feet apart, hands wrapped so tight in her hair that his knuckles were white, fucking Selenne's throat and mouth, his face a picture of an insatiable need bordering on rage. Each time he jammed himself forward, he gave a short, gasping grunt of pleasure. Selenne began to gag, to wretch, cheeks bulging as she fought to keep control of her reflexes. Her throat worked furiously, gulping in air and swallowing it down into her lungs, but the man would not ease off. Before long, thick rivulets of spit and saliva spilled from her mouth to hang like translucent vines from her chin. Her eyes were red and watering and yet still her master pounded in and out of her throat and still Selenne kept her hands clasped tightly behind her back. 'Drink me, girl,' the man said when he could keep himself in check no more and Selenne needed telling only once. She brought her hands up, wrapping them round the thickly coated shaft of his cock and bought the tip to just above her gaping, eager mouth. With a great, shuddering gasp, her master came, a thick jet of cum spurting half in Selenne's mouth and half across her cheek as he found his release. She gave a low, keening whine of need, her hand squeezing up and down his shaft as jet after jet splashed over her mouth and face. Eventually, she squeezed him dry, her tongue even pushing into the tip of him to seek out the last drop of his seed until, with cum mingling with the saliva around her mouth, he released her hair and she sat back on her heels, both of them gasping with exertion. A thin sheen of sweat covered their bodies and Vella felt the same under her clothes. The ache inside her consumed everything, leaving her just as breathless, just as exhausted, lips parted, thighs clenched yet unable to do anything about it. It was a torture beyond anything she had ever endured and she fancied she too would have willingly bent for his cane if it meant she could satisfy the cravings that glowed white hot inside her mind and body. Did she find her pleasure as he did? Vella suddenly thought to herself and she realised that, for all her fumbling lying in her bed at night, Vella had no idea what true release was anymore. A little later, with her master asleep in bed and her face and body towelled down, Selenne put on her gown and walked with Vella back to the younger girl's room. 'Did you have your pleasure? I mean, as your master did?' Vella asked suddenly as Selenne turned to leave. She smiled. 'Yes, but not as you would know it yet,' Selenne replied. Vella frowned. 'I don't understand.' She turned back and put her hands on Vella's shoulders. 'I paid a price to have you in that room tonight. My reward for doing so, for paying in full, was to pleasure my master, to bring him his release as he needed me to.' 'So... you didn't have your pleasure?' Vella asked in an uncertain voice. Selenne smiled. 'Oh I did, Vella, I promise you. I had a pleasure more profound and essential than you can imagine.' She looked into Vella's eyes. 'You don't understand, Vella, but one day I hope you will. Service is sacrifice, and it is a selfless sacrifice. You do what your one needs you to do and you must adore doing so. It is not enough to want to please to find your own pleasure, Vella, not by far. My pleasure and release is found in him, not in me.' Vella shook her head, frustrated. It was like understanding was just out of reach, scurrying around in the shadows beyond her grasping mind. 'You're right, I don't understand,' she said sadly. Selenne just smiled. 'But, if this path is truly one you must walk upon, then understanding will come to you. Remember, you have seen little and experienced less. One day, not too far away, you will take another step towards changing that.' ---------------------- Her father pulled the trap to a stop in front of Aidem's large, impressive town hall. It's stature and importance was reflected not only it's size but also in the fact that while the majority of buildings around it were wood, the hall was made of smooth, precisely cut grey stone. Vella handed the reins over and then stepped lightly down. Her long, fine, blonde hair flicked across her face in the breeze and she brushed it aside. By any standards, Vella was a beautiful young woman but she had never had a desire or reason to trade with her looks alone. Her eyes were a deep, rich blue and in them was the steel and determination that she felt in every part of her mind and body. There was no insecurity to her, no meekness and a not a scrap of self-indulgence beyond the one vital, undeniable need that had driven her for so long. She read the signs planted in the ground either side of the steps leading up to the grand entrance and saw the words she had waited so long to see. It had been five years since the Inamorata had first come to the inn and two since Vella had seen her the second time. Since then, Vella had felt like she was in hibernation, waiting for time and life to pass until she could, by right, stand before the man she had come to see today. In her hand, she clutched the small pouch containing the few documents she would need to show him and in her heart she clutched her dreams, hopes and desires. Vella turned back to her father, nodded to him and saw a tinge of sadness in his eyes as he returned the gesture. If it was sadness over her leaving her family or sadness that she would no longer be around to provide for them, she neither knew nor care. As he spurred the horse into life and left, her eyes only followed him for a few seconds and she found she felt no emotion at their parting. The only thing she did feel was the same gnawing impatience that had tormented her almost beyond endurance. She had worked and waited, waited and worked and now, finally, she was ready to take the next step. Will I falter? She wondered. Will I fall short of the standards? And for the briefest moment she felt doubt cast it's shadow like a thundercloud on a sunny day. What if I do not make this step? What then? What do I do? What becomes of me? And the answer came to her at once. Then I will wait until next year and try again. And I will do so the next year, and the next year, every year if I have to, until I am too old or too tired to do so. And, if that is my fate, then when I ask those same questions, the answers won't matter. If I cannot become an Inamorata, then I do not care what becomes of me. The cloud left and hope shone in her again as she joined the smattering of people walking up the steps to the ornate double doors and went inside. Inamorata Tales Ch. 02 The big man with the tightly cut black beard stood silently and patiently like a soldier before the figure in the chair. His smooth, shaven skull gleamed dully under the flickering light from the crackling fire as he waited and, eventually, the figure spoke. 'The plan?' 'We will first summon him to Hercot.' 'Hercot? That will not be easy...' 'The papers are genuine, not fakes, and they bear the correct seals. He will not question their validity and so he will not question their contents.' There was a brief pause as his words were digested. 'Let's hope not, hmm? It would be... inconvenient if he did. And then?' 'He will journey to Kirris in the expectation of meeting the daily train that will take him round The Wilds and straight to his destination. It is the only route that will get him there in time.' 'And how will you get to him on that?' 'We won't have to because the train will be gone before he arrives.' 'Really? And how will you accomplish that particular trick?' 'Leave that to me, but, rest assured, one way or another it will not be there for him to board.' A shrug. 'You know the ways of such things better than I, Crew. So what will he do then?' 'He will take one of two alternate routes; join the caravan or go on horseback. Those are the only paths open to him that will get him to Hercot in time.' 'And if he takes the caravan?' 'He can't take the chance of one of the wagons breaking. If one stops, they all stop.' 'So he will ride.' Crew nodded. 'He will ride. The only question is which route he will take.' 'And I take it you have that worked out, too?' Another nod. 'I do.' 'I am in your hands, then. Try not to drop me, there's a good man. Everything rests on your success in this matter, as you know.' The man nodded and then paused for a second or two. 'And we cannot enjoy the younger girl as sport?' A heavy, impatient sigh followed the question. 'No. She must be found with her master and you know how it must look when she is. If she has been... defiled, then questions will be asked and that we cannot afford.' 'And the other? Still the same?' 'She must not only die but she must never be found and you would do well not to treat her lightly. Take her deep into The Wilds before you dispose of her and leave nothing to chance.' 'Very well.' ---------------------- The three rode as fast they dared over the overgrown and unpredictable terrain. They rode in single file, two women and, between them, the man whose protection was their sacred, sworn duty. The lead rider, a tall and elegant woman with fair hair named Rayne was ahead of the other two by a short distance, riding scout. At the back came Naiya, an olive skinned, dark haired girl some years younger than Rayne, who rode closely behind their master, Jarren. Though both women were accomplished in handling a horse, their man was not so adept and was struggling a little with the pace his two girls were trying to maintain. But Rayne was unwilling to ease back too far until they were out of The Wilds. In fact, if they'd had their way, they wouldn't have been there at all. Why the council was being convened in such a remote place when it usually conducted business in a more suitable city such as Port Hollus, the girls didn't know. Neither did they know the contents of the folder that had galvanised their master into such an immediate, almost panicked rush to attend. That the meeting was to be held in six days time was all he would say. They had hurriedly packed a few bags, travelled to the rail station and spent three days travelling to Kirris, right on the edge of The Wilds. And on the far side of those untamed and largely lawless lands lay their destination, the fort town of Hercot. The plan had been to continue by rail, taking the longer, safer route round The Wilds, but the train they would have caught had left early, though no-one knew why, and they had missed it by several hours. To most of their fellow travellers this meant an overnight stay in Kirris and then they could catch the next day's train, but to the girl's dismay, Jarren would have none of it. 'We cannot spare the time, Rayne. It is another two day journey at best, probably closer to three and I simply must not miss this meeting. The circumstances under which it has been called are... extraordinary and exceptionally troubling and there is no question of me being even an hour late.' 'Then we should take seats on the caravan, my master. There is safety in numbers and our instincts tell us both that we will likely have need of it.' But, again, he had shaken his head. 'And have to stop every time some fool breaks a wheel or gets bogged down? We could be out there for a week! No, we shall avoid the caravan trail altogether and take the old trading route and we will do so on horseback. That will keep us away from trouble, I have no doubt; it's almost never used now. That is the way we shall travel and that is the end of the matter.' Rayne turned to Naiya with an anxious, imploring look, seeking support and finding just a shrug as the younger girl blithely accepted Jarren's judgement. On horseback, the journey could be completed in two days if they rode at a steady pace and only rested briefly overnight. Though Rayne was far from happy, she could see that this was the best way, but it felt little more than the lesser evil. So, after securing the three best mounts available, bedrolls and supplies, they had set off. And, as Kirris grew smaller behind them, none of them noticed the bird that flew high overhead with a message wrapped around one of its legs. The trader's route was in rough condition, overgrown in some places and eroded in others, and though the hazards were easy enough to spot they were forced to keep their speed down. Other than that, they rode untroubled until the sun began to set and, when the road was too darkened to see safely by the withering light of the half moon, they made camp. The girls slept in shifts, with one awake throughout the night, sitting away from the dying embers of the fire, concealed in the black night. At first light, they ate, packed up and set off again. 'Can I ride scout?' Naiya asked as she swung up onto her mount. Rayne shook her head, about to speak, when Jarren cut in. 'Yes, you can. We need to pick up the pace and I think I'll ride a little better with you close behind me, Rayne.' It was nonsense but that was the end of the discussion, regardless. A few hours later, Naiya, now riding ahead as scout, crested a rise. The track dipped down ahead of her into a tree lined gully, before curling away out of sight. She spurred her horse on, turning the corner below as her companions came over the rise behind her. Rayne swore as the younger girl again disappeared from view, something she herself would never let happen and she wished that her master hadn't been so indulgent. A half minute later they rounded the same bend. 'Naiya!' Jarren called out. Ahead of them, laying motionless half in the thick grass at the side of the track, was Naiya, her horse waiting a little way ahead. Before Rayne could do anything, Jarren spurred his horse on. 'No!' she called out in vain as she raced after him. 'Stay on your horse! Stay on your horse!' she cried as Jarren pulled up beside the stricken Naiya and, to Rayne's utter dismay, jumped down to her. In a flurry of scattered pebbles, Rayne yanked her horse to a stop besides the kneeling Jarren. 'Get back on your horse, master!' she yelled at him, her horse pacing impatiently as it sensed the anxiety of it's rider. He looked up at with a deep frown. 'Don't be ridiculous! She's hurt-' 'Get back on the horse! Please!' she almost screamed. 'We have to get out – ' And then there was a short whistle before something heavy cracked into the side of Rayne's head and she keeled over to fall in a heap to the soft grass. As she pulled herself to her feet, Rayne felt blood trickle warmly down the side of her head. Instinctively she turned to her master as the men concealed in the trees ran out, drawn swords glinting in the morning light. 'Run!' Rayne yelled, pushing Jarren towards his horse as she stood to face the attack, drawing her matching daggers from their scabbards. She shook her head to clear the fog that threatened to fill her world and then counted. Six. As Jarren fought to get his foot in the stirrup of his horse, the first of their attackers went for him, sword raised above his head. Rayne put herself between him and her master in a second, the long, curved cross guard of one dagger clashing with the descending blade, stopping it dead. She twisted her wrist, throwing the man off balance and turning him to the side and she buried her other dagger into his neck slashing it aside in the same motion, an arc of blood spraying from the fatal wound. Even as that one fell to the ground, Rayne turned to the next, tugging her dagger free of the bone, swinging it across and blocking the clumsy thrust of his sword. With the arm now high, Rayne plunged her other dagger into the stomach of her attacker, twisting it round and up, the steel almost gutting him such was the ferocious strength of the blow. Four. Jarren was on his horse now, turning it face the road. Another of the men raced to him, the others suddenly deciding that rushing for her wasn't that wise after all. There was no time to close the gap, Rayne realised and she tossed the dagger in her right hand into the air, catching it by the blood soaked blade and then, with a flick of her wrist, sending it like an arrow through the air. A second later and the man dropped like a puppet whose strings have been cut, crumpling to the floor with the dagger buried in the side of his head. Thinking her attention was taken, another one went for Rayne, drawing his sword back and plunging it down towards her. She dodged to the side as he closed, one foot lashing brutally out and connecting solidly with the front of his knee. There was crunch and the man howled in pain, dropping to one knee, dropping his sword to clutch the shattered kneecap. Jarren was off now, his horse kicking up stones as he dug in. Ride, love, as fast as you can. Almost casually, Rayne knelt and, with her eyes fixed firmly on the remaining two attackers, picked up the dropped sword. She didn't look as she rested the tip of the blade on the chest of the now pleading man and then simply drove it downwards. She felt the briefest of resistance as the blade sliced through flesh and bone alike and Rayne heard his dying breath gurgle in his throat with great satisfaction. She turned her gaze to the fleeing Jarren just in time to see the hefty rock that flew from the trees hit him in the head. He fell forward in the saddle and rolled off lifeless. There's more! 'No!' Rayne screamed and ran towards the fallen man, skidding beside him. She cradled his head, feeling the blood trickle through her fingers with a sickening lurch in her guts. She barely even registered the big man that walked up behind her to crack the pommel of his sword across the back of her head. The world went black and Rayne slumped forward. ---------------------- 'Wakey, wakey,' said a gruff voice in the dark. Rayne cracked her eyes open to see a bright, blurry world and, eventually, the figure standing in front of her came into focus. He was one of the evillest men she had ever seen. Standing well over six foot, broad and muscular, with a small, tight, black goatee, he towered imperiously above Rayne as she was pulled roughly to her feet. She saw that he held Naiya's belt with her short sword and dagger in one hand. Even when stood, Rayne still had to look up to meet his cold, pale blue eyes, and what she saw there sent a shiver of dread up her spine. There is no give in this man. I cannot reason or bargain with him. Our fate is sealed. She quickly took stock of her situation; hands tightly bound in front of her, ankles now with a hobble tie between them and the man who had hauled her up had a sturdy pole that was tied to a noose around her neck. There were men walking from even further down the road towards them and Rayne guessed that they had been there in case one of them had managed to make a run for it. She took it all in, understanding that this was no random ambush by simple robbers. The big man smiled thinly as he looked down at Rayne. 'I was told not to treat you lightly,' the man said in an almost admiring voice, nodding his head to the line of four bodies laid out in the grass behind him. 'You're an exceptional fighter, girl, truly. Never quite seen anything like it. In another time and place, I could have made use of you.' Rayne said nothing, instead looking around in vain to find her master. She saw him a little way up the road where he had been struck from his horse by means Rayne still couldn't fathom. Jarren had two men with him and, stumbling with hands bound, he was shoved back towards her. Hearing noise behind her, Rayne struggled to turn and saw Naiya being led, hands bound, by a man with his fist wrapped in her hair. The younger girl looked at Rayne with wide, terrified eyes as she was led before the big man and turned to face Rayne. 'She's a nice little thing, this one,' said the man with a smile that looked like a yellow picket fence. He man smiled sadly, shaking his head. 'Crying shame to waste her, Crew.' The big man, Crew, said nothing, ignoring him, instead looking at Rayne, seeing the tenseness in her, the rage she couldn't express and the panicking fire that burned in her eyes at what she knew was to follow. 'He should have listened to you, shouldn't he girl?' the big man said mildly and Rayne nodded in understanding at the implications of his words. 'Yes. He should have,' she whispered. A flick of his eyebrows, a shrug and the big man turned to the groaning, barely conscious Jarren as he was kicked to his knees in the grass. 'Lay out his bedroll, put him on it and unfasten his clothes,' Crew said and the men did so. Lifting the luckless Naiya by her hair again, Crew dragged her to Jarren. 'Stand over him,' he said and, when Naiya had done so, he pushed her down until her legs were splayed across her master's middle and she sat astride him. Crew turned to face Rayne, seeing the tears building in her eyes. 'Please,' she whispered, the grief of anticipation building in her heart as it pounded in her chest. 'Not him, not my master. I beg of you, please. Not him.' Her voice cracked with fear and despair. 'You failed him, Inamorata, but not as much as your friend here. Creatures such as her only ever think of themselves, happy to see a man become his own worst enemy rather than stand up and say what must be said to keep him from harm. She's unworthy of the name and we both know it. She's not even fit to be sport for my men.' He tugged Naiya's dagger from its scabbard, dropped the belt and remaining sword, yanked her head back by the hair to expose the throat. Naiya gave a pitiful scream of pure terror, and then Crew dragged the edge of the blade hard across her throat. A thick glut of blood sprayed from the gaping wound, spraying Jarren hotly. He cried out then, shocked to his senses and a babble of words spewed from his mouth, begging and pleading. Crew didn't even pause. He dropped to his knees, letting Naiya fall forward on top of Jarren as he knelt and pulled the short sword free. He stood, gripping it in both hands and pointing it down before plunging it through the dead Naiya and in to Jarren beneath her. He cried out in shock and pain, eyes wide, his head turning to Rayne imploringly. Rayne wailed a long, low lament of absolute, wretched pain. She felt the blade as it plunged into her master, felt it as surely and keenly as if it had been plunged into her own flesh. Her legs gave out and she dropped to her knees as if felled. Jarren looked at her with astonished eyes as Crew pushed the blade down as far as he could, until it would go no deeper. He stood, leaving the blade skewering the two together, his eyes devoid of any emotion. 'I'm... sorry... love...' Jarren managed to say as blood bubbled between his lips. Rayne, could only nod, tears running down her cheeks like a river as she watched the man she lived for, the man she was sworn to serve and protect, die before her eyes. 'Bit fucking late for regret now,' Crew said contemptuously, a sneer on his lips as he again walked to Rayne. He motioned for the man holding the pole to lift her to her feet. 'Now... what shall we do about you?' he asked Rayne thoughtfully. 'Kill me,' she said in a dead voice, her eyes red rimmed and burning with white hot hatred. 'Life not worth living now he's gone? Want to join him in the next life? That it?' Rayne glared at Crew and shrugged. 'Eventually, yes, but not before you lay dead at my feet.' Crew laughed but a cloud passed over his face as he met Rayne's unblinking gaze. 'Ooh... feisty one. I'd have enjoyed breaking you,' he said but there was a flicker of fear in his words. 'Then try. You and me. Cut my binds and do your worst. You don't even have to give me a sword if you think it'll help,' and there was a dead cold in Rayne's voice. Crew smiled, his bravado returning as he regained his composure. 'Not today, little one.' He turned to the two men who had brought Jarren over and Rayne saw that one of them had her belt and daggers tucked into the back of his trousers. 'You two, go with him,' and Crew nodded at the one holding Rayne's neck pole. 'Take her well into the woods, where she'll never be found. Bury her deep.' ---------------------- Sunlight lit the forest in shafts as the men pulled the horses to a stop. 'This'll do, I reckon,' said the leader. Rayne was tied securely in the saddle of her own mount and the men cut the rope before simply shoving her off. She crashed into the damp, leaf covered forest floor. She lay there quietly, numbed and dead inside, her heart feeling wrenched apart in her chest, and listened to the three men digging her grave. In her head, over and over, she saw Jarren reaching out to her, looking for a salvation that would never come. She heard his last words, saw the fear and pain in his face and then, as she wept softly, saw the light in his eyes dim and then go out once and for all. 'Get her up,' said a voice and Rayne was only vaguely aware of being dragged bodily upright, her legs barely supporting her. Rough hands undid the noose and pole from her neck, there was a shove in the back and she stumbled forwards, losing her footing and tumbling to the pile of earth by the freshly dug hole. Curiously, almost detached from what she saw, Rayne looked into her grave. You failed him, Inamorata. She clutched herself then, fingers spread wide over her stomach and remembered. No, I didn't fail him, Crew. I would have given him the one thing he wanted more than anything else if you'd not taken him from me. I didn't fail him. Calm settled over her like a blanket, warming her blood as she felt it course through her veins. Rayne felt dead inside, hollow and empty and almost barren. Almost. There is still life in me. And on the heels of that; This is not over yet and nor am I. And she knew what she had to do. She rolled upright then, a wicked grin on her face, hooded eyes regarding the three men who stood around her with a lust the like of which they'd never seen before. She played her eyes over them one by one and, as she did, let her knees splay apart, opening her legs as far as the rope between her ankles would allow. The men gave her their full attention as Rayne pushed her bound hands between creamy, smooth thighs. Inamorata Tales Ch. 02 'What you looking for, girlie?' one of them asked. 'That blade you had strapped round your legs gone. Nothing left now.' Rayne grinned and laughed, eyes sparkling. She said nothing, instead lifting the folds of her tunic dress, bundling round her waist, opening her legs even wider to expose the thin fabric of underwear. 'She's... wet,' came a surprised, almost amused voice. 'There's something there after all, then, isn't there?' Rayne asked in a soft, seductive voice, fingers gently stroking her sex as she lifted her head back in apparent pleasure. One of them stepped forward. 'Easy, Gilly. Crew said we wasn't to fuck with her,' one of the others warned. The braver one smiled as he knelt beside her. Rayne returned the smile with passion, breathing slow and deep, chest rising and falling heavily. 'I'm not going to fuck with her, mate; I'm just going to fuck her. You'd like that, wouldn't you, eh?' and he reach out to stroke the hot wetness of her through the fabric. Rayne moaned at his touch, biting her lip, putting her hands over his and pushing it harder against herself. 'Oh, yes,' the man said. 'She'd like that very much.' I have one chance to do this. Fail and it's all over. She pushed his hand aside impatiently and shoved her hands under the thin material, driving her fingers deep inside herself as the stunned men looked on. Lucky they bound my hands in front. With a cry of sheer ecstasy, Rayne rolled onto her side, thighs clenching together around her wrists. She drove her fingers deeper inside, shuddering with delight and then rolled onto her knees, putting her clenched hands out in front of her as she fell forward, offering herself to the men behind her. 'Well, not like she can do us any harm, is it?' said the first man and Rayne felt him hurriedly tug her clothes up and out of the way, blunt fingers exposing her with a rip of thin fabric. Greedily, he found her opening and shoved two thick, rough fingers inside her. Rayne opened her mouth, grinding herself back at him as she whimpered with fear and need and lust, the wounded animal seeking favour with its captors. 'Please... Take me... Please...' she breathed in a hungry, needful voice. 'I need it... So much.' More fumbling and then Rayne felt something thick and stiff prod between the soft folds of her cunt and then, with a great sigh, the man plunged deep into her wet heat. 'Fuckkkk,' he exclaimed. 'Oh, she feels good. Proper Inamorata this one. Trained. I can tell. Not like a whore by a long ways.' And he began to thrust in and out, hands gripping her hips as, grunting and hissing, he pleasured himself. Not yet. Not yet. She squeezed him as only a girl such as her could, milking him in ways she knew he'd never experienced until, with an astonished cry, the man emptied himself into her. His fingers relaxed their grip on his flesh as, laughing, he rolled aside. She could hear him breathing deeply as he chuckled at his own good fortune. Not yet. The second one took his place, Rayne feeling him kneel over the rope strung between her ankles. 'Sloppy fucking seconds,' he muttered but without feeling, his voice edged with lust, and Rayne felt herself invaded again. She cast one look behind her and saw the third man, saw his eyes feasting on what she offered. It happened in the blink of an eye. The man gasped in shocked pleasure as he felt Rayne's cunt grip him ferociously. That pleasure was all she needed to get round what little of his guard was still up and, by the time he felt Rayne lift her lower legs up, the rope taking the mans feet up with them, pulling him forward, it was too late. A startled 'What-' was all he managed before Rayne pushed herself upright onto her knees and, in a blur, crashed the back of her head full into the man's face. She heard the thick, sickly crunch of his nose being crushed under the impact and the wail of the man. His hands flew instinctively to his face. By the time they got there, he was already falling to the side, Rayne twisting herself, rolling onto him as the third man moved forward and the first of her captors, wide eyed and panicked, began to struggle to get up. The damp soil and the trousers still round his lower legs didn't help. Snick. The third man gaped in slow motion as he saw Rayne bring her hands up over her head as she rolled to sit, like a lover, on top of the man with the shattered nose. One hand was wrapped around the other and, in the middle, as if from nowhere, came the blade of the slim knife they hadn't found. Didn't find this one, did you? The third one had rushed forward to help restrain a bound, helpless woman who'd attacked his friend. Rayne was bound but she was far from helpless. The blade thudded into his chest up to the hilt and pierced his heart. He gave a strangled gasp and then fell aside, hands clutching his breast, the knife still sticking from him. Rayne turned to the first one who had barely managed to stand up in the time it had taken Rayne to fell his two companions. She stretched her legs out and threw herself round on her hands, bringing her shins crashing into the man's calves. His feet flew out from under him and he feel onto his back, a great 'whumpf' of air knocked from his lungs at the impact. She was on him in a second, straddling him, pushing one knee between his thighs and then driving it hard upwards. The man screamed as, over and over, she smashed herself against him repeatedly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man with the crushed nose stagger to his knees, blood running thickly between his fingers as he tried to get onto his feet. Rayne smiled. 'Where do you think you're going?' she sneered, rolling upright with an easy grace and walking stiffly over to the dead one. She pulled her flick knife from his chest, cut her wrists and ankles free and then moved behind him. A kick to the back of his legs and he fell back to his knees before he'd even managed to get to his feet properly. She gripped his hair, yanking his head back and the men gave a strangled cry, his hands reaching up to try and break her grip. One slash across his throat and he fell, dying, to the floor. 'And that leaves you...' Rayne hissed, fire burning in her eyes. The man looked at her in pure terror as he rolled onto his side, one hand still clamped protectively around his battered genitals, the other stretched out before him, fingers splayed. He began to beg. Then he screamed. Blood flew, glittering in the air. The forest fell silent. ---------------------- Rayne stood over the bodies, her hands limp by her sides, eyes fixed on the top of the sword that pinned them grotesquely together. It was the first time in many years she simply didn't know what to do. I cannot leave them like this. Shaking with grief, Rayne put her hands out, wrapping her hands around the handle of the sword. She gripped and prepared to tug it free. 'Hey! You there!' With a start, Rayne spun round and saw the man and his boy standing, shocked, on the edge of the woods. The mule they led was loaded with meat and fur. As Rayne watched, the man put his hand to his own long knife hanging from his belt. Trappers. And in a second she saw what they saw. A man and women butchered by the side of the road. Standing over them, hands on the sword that had slain them, was a woman covered in dried blood. 'No,' Rayne began, 'please, you don't understand.' The man paid her no heed and drew his knife, pushing his son behind him. 'Just step away from them, girl. No need for more bloodshed. Looks like you've done enough already.' The thought that this stranger thought Rayne had done this hit her like a kick to the stomach and nausea welled in her. 'No. I didn't do this. Please,' but she could see the look in his eyes as he approached and knew his mind was set. She saw his stance and posture and knew without doubt that she would best him in a fight easily but Rayne knew she would not. Instead, with a guttural sob, she backed up to her horse and swung astride it. 'Treat them well, I beg of you,' she said forlornly, pulling the animal round and racing away. ---------------------- Some time later, hearing a stream nearby, Rayne stopped and washed. The cold water stung like needles against her as she bathed naked in it, scrubbing herself from top to toe. She buried the ruined, bloodstained clothes, dressed in clean from her saddlebags. She sat, lost in thought, until the sun began to drop from the sky. No master, no home, no life, no place. She felt groundless, truly alone in what suddenly felt like a huge, terrifying world. They will soon realise who I am, will begin looking for an Inamorata and will likely start that search in the very place I am heading for; Hercot. I have precious little time and I cannot live too heavily on my skills lest they mark me out. In her hands she held her belt and blades, taken from one of the three now lying dead deep in the forest behind her. Place and purpose. The words rolled round in her head, the ethos of a life dedicated to service. I have no place but I do have a purpose. And in her mind she saw Crew, saw again what he had done and both rage and grief fought for precedence in her heart. She thought of Jarren. There are things i must do first but I will see you soon, love. But not yet. She climbed back astride her horse. Not yet. And for the first time in a long time, Rayne rode alone.