Virgin City (The Lesbia Chronicles) Page 6

  “Yes I am. Too old to spank, too old to love you the way you need to be loved.” Atrocious grew serious. “If you want to take another lover, you have my blessing...”

  “I am not interested in another lover. I can perfectly well satisfy myself.”

  “... As long as it isn't Rogette,” Atrocious finished. “Stupid sexy Rogette.”

  Ayla laughed, a sound that was as desperate as it was amused. Clutching at the last shreds of life and love, the witch sensed the impending abyss Atrocious spoke of. She saw it in every hesitant movement her once vibrant lover made. Age had taken all that was once good and withered it away until all that remained was the husk of a mortal shell. The spirit that was once so bright it lit the whole world was now naught but a glimmering glow behind old eyes.

  "The time goes so quickly," she murmured, almost to herself. "I have so much of it and yet even now it slips through my fingers. Moments are lost before I recognize that I have experienced them. I have wasted so much of this infernal, eternal time. I have spent so much of it distracted by the mundane. I have allowed myself to spend precious minutes and hours caught up in petty affairs..." she sighed. "I have so many powers, but the one that matters most eludes me. The power to take a moment and dwell in it for eternity. That would truly be the ultimate wonder."

  "What would be the ultimate wonder, would be if I knew I was going to wet myself before I did it," Atrocious cursed. "I'm as soggy as a sewer rat."

  "Come along," Ayla said, rising to her feet. "We will get you changed."

  The old lady and the witch shuffled out of the room together. All was quiet. All was still - save for the secret tear tracing down the supposedly sleeping summoner's cheek.

  Chapter Eleven

  Back in the Ratlings' lair, Callista reached out and raked her nails over the exposed skin of Georgie's belly. Her captive quivered in her bonds as four thin red trails appeared. "I'm not quite done here yet," she said. "But you're welcome to stay and watch, Rog." She closed one eye in an overly exaggerated arch wink. "You know how I like to be watched."

  "Clear everyone out of here," Rog murmured to Mace. "I'll deal with Callista."

  Callista watched, her red lips twisting with triumph as Mace ushered the Ratlings out of the octagon. They went somewhat reluctantly, unwilling to leave a comrade behind. Rog heard Mace's whispered reassurances. The chief will take care of her, she was saying. Her faith was touching.

  "I think she's enjoying this," Callista said, running a fingernail down the side of Georgie's face. "I think she's a hot little pain slut."

  Rog strode forward, snatched the whip out of Callista's hand and stood over her, glad for his advantage of height. "Go home, Callista."

  She answered him with a hard slap to his face that echoed around the stone chamber like a cannon shot. Rog tasted blood, but absorbed the blow with good grace.

  "Callista, go home."

  "I'm not going anywhere until I'm done with her." Callista turned back to her now quite frightened victim and tugged at the ropes, drawing them tight against her captive's crotch.

  "You're done," Rog insisted.

  Callista turned and lifted her hand, fingers clawed at the ready, long nails poised to strike. "Do you like having eyes, Rog? I know you must miss having a dick."

  Rog knew precisely what she wanted. She wasn't going to get it. "You can't goad me into beating you. I'm not Aric."

  "No. You're not half the man your brother was," Callista said, eyes spitting fury at the mention of his name. "You look like him, but you lack his courage. You lack everything..."

  Rog took Callista by the threatening arm and lead her away from her victim. "Go home," he said softly.

  "What home?" Callista spat the words and swiped at Rog with her other hand, catching his cheek with the ridges of her nails. Split skin gave way to bloody lines. "You're weak. Look how easily you bleed."

  Gritting his teeth, Rog remained firm. "Go home."

  "Aric would never have stood for this," she said. "Aric knew how to be a real man."

  "Aric is gone, Callista. We can't change that. Coming here and terrorizing my people won't help."

  "Wrong," she spat. "It helps me immensely. If I am to feel pain, then everyone will feel it."

  "Aric wouldn't have wanted this for you."

  "He would have known how to stop me," Callista said, her voice rising with feminine outrage. "He would have done the right thing."

  "I can't be him," Rog said, taking her by the shoulders. "Nobody can ever replace him. It's time you came to terms with... unph!"

  Callista had driven her knee into the sensitive spot between his thighs with enough force to make stars dance in his eyes.

  "Dammit, Callista," he grunted, remaining upright only through sheer force of will.

  "What do you want to do?" She taunted him. "You want to hit me? Hit me then."

  Rog reached out, his large hand clamping over one arm. With a quick tug, he spun her backwards, pulling her against the side of his body in a fashion which deprived her of any further opportunity to attack.

  Unable to inflict further pain, Callista responded with what could only be described as a hissing, spitting, caterwauling tantrum of truly epic proportions. It was all Rog could do to drag her back over to Georgie and keep a hold of her as he unwound the rope from the Ratling, subsequently using it to bind Callista.

  "I know you need something I can't give you," he said, clasping his captive cat. "But there's someone who can."

  *****

  After a difficult journey across Clitera with a less than willing captive, Rog finally hauled Callista up the stairs of the Rusty Hankor and knocked on the door to the witch's room.

  Atrocious answered the door, took one look at Callista's squirming frame and shook her head.

  "Sorry. We didn't order any prostitutes."

  She started to close the door on Rog, forcing him to put his boot in the way to avoid being shut out.

  "She's not a prostitute," Rog said. "Is Ayla in?"

  "Ayla!" The old lady called in a raspy voice. "There's a prostitute here to see you."

  "She's not..." Rog trailed off as the witch came to the door. He breathed a sigh of relief as he laid eyes on her tall, buxom frame.

  "Hello Roger."

  "Ayla. I need a favor."

  "Oh you do?" The witch raised a brow.

  Rog hefted Callista up a little, her tight, round bottom perched perfectly over his shoulder. "I need you to beat this woman."

  "Beat her?"

  "That's the sort of thing you do, right?"

  "Not precisely. Why do you need me to beat her?"

  "Because he's too much of a dickless wonder to do it himself," Callista hissed. "He's a fucking..."

  Ayla made a quick gesture with her hand. Callista fell silent. Her lips kept moving, but the words didn't come out.

  "Come in," Ayla said, opening the door wider.

  "Thanks," Rog said, shifting Callista over his shoulder as he carried her over the threshold, a squirming, angry mass of femininity.

  "She's actually very sweet." He crouched down and rolled Callista onto the rug in front of the fire where she lay on her back, bare stomach and almost bare breasts heaving with each angry breath. Standing back, he pushed his hair out of his face. "She needs someone to... you know."

  "Discipline her."

  "I guess that's the word for it." Rog scratched his head.

  "And how did this young lady become your problem?"

  "She insists on torturing my people."

  "I see."

  "So if you could..." Rog made a vague swatting gesture.

  A vague smile glimmered on Ayla's lips. "I'll do what I can if you do something in return."

  "Name it."

  "Reed is next door, refusing to take her medicine. She insists we're trying to poison her, and I'm not inclined to pour it down her throat just yet. Perhaps you can convince her it would be in her best interests to take it.'

  Rog reached out to shake the
witch's hand. "Deal."

  *****

  Having sent Atrocious down to eat with Rogette, Ayla was soon alone with her bound gift. Callista was beautiful, all lean curves and tight musculature. If one relied only upon the eyes, one was left with the impression of a beautiful, nubile young woman.

  Ayla's spell had ensured Callista's tongue could not wag, but the witch could clearly hear her cries. Callista was screaming in the silence. Ayla had healed many thousands of people in her lifetime, but she had only felt the amount of pain radiating from Callista in the mortally wounded. In those cases, it passed with the falling of the mortal veil. But Callista was trapped with the pain, writhing against it in constant agony.

  Crouching next to Callista, Ayla brushed back strands of red and blonde hair which had fallen into her eyes and stuck to spittle stained cheeks. "I have not allowed you to speak, because your words would be toxic," she explained gently. "You are far too angry to express yourself with sound."

  Callista bared her teeth, the lower curve of her nostril trembling as it flared. Her eyes, crystalline blue with gold tracers running through their midst welled up at the witch, her pupils pinpricks of utter fury.

  "The question becomes, what will release that anger?" Ayla cocked her head to the side and laid a hand on Callista's exposed belly. Bands of abdominal muscles contracted under the witch's palm, fresh anger meeting gentle touch.

  "Softness will not satisfy, will it?" Ayla let her hand drift lower, to Callista's thigh. "Softness does nothing but irritate." With a firm touch, she pushed Callista's thighs apart. Her hand slid possessively between Callista's legs. She cupped the young woman's crotch with a tight grasp, taking hard hold of the core of her being.

  For the first time, something besides anger flashed in Callista's eyes, and the dark dots of her pupils expanded. Her hips arched but were unable to rise against Ayla's pressing palm.

  Suddenly anchored, tension began to slip from the young woman's muscles. Her fists unclenched. Her shoulders fell. The plane of her stomach went soft, rising with a deep breath as Ayla's hand moved in a slow grind against her charge's mound.

  "You're dressed like your sexuality is a weapon," she noted softly. "But it exposes you. Makes you vulnerable."

  Her free hand drifted up the bare plane of Callista's stomach and brushed against the soft underside of her exposed breast.

  "Is this the mask you've chosen to wear? That of a vicious slut? You're waiting to be hurt, aren't you? You're begging for it. Should I oblige you?" Ayla's voice was disarmingly soft. "Will that make you forget that which actually hurts?"

  Callista could make no verbal answer, but the rest of her physical body was still hers to command. Quicker than could reasonably have been expected from a woman dressed in creaking leather, she drew her knees up, pressed her heels to the back of her buttocks and sprung to her feet. The rope fell from her body with the rapid motion, dropping to a useless pile of hemp around her boots.

  "Roger needs to learn to tie a knot," Ayla murmured, rising to face her.

  Callista rushed Ayla, hand lifted in customary claw, but Ayla caught her attacker's wrist before the nails struck skin. She held Callista fast, drew her close and planted an unrestrained kiss on the angry young woman's lips.

  At first Callista's lips were taut and hard, but they soon softened under the insistent pressure and parted to allow the witch's kiss. Tongues touched, tasted. Callista's lean body slowly melted into Ayla's curves. The witch's broad hand slid under the leather encased cheeks, drawing Callista close, adding intensity to the embrace.

  Having surrendered to the witch's kiss, Callista at long last found her voice. "Do not toy with me, witch."

  Lips quirking softly, Ayla gazed down at the shorter woman whose eyes burned with a passion that matched her own. "Never."

  She stood back and gave Callista a simple order. “Strip.”

  Callista did not take long to oblige. Her body was youthful and hard, her pussy shaved and already soaking, moisture traveling down her slim, powerful thighs. She had been aroused by all the handling she'd been receiving, but arousal was the same as anger to someone like Callista. She didn't need arousal. She needed release. She needed it so badly she'd take it from the first person who offered it.

  “Lay down on the bed,” Ayla said, still in that caring but imperious tone. “Face down. Bottom up.”

  Callista obeyed. Now that she was in hand, she was no longer combative. She was getting what she most desired and in doing so had become most compliant.

  “Lift your hips.”

  Callista arched her hips, presenting her pretty pussy to Ayla. The witch wasted no time in slipping two fingers into Callista's body. They slid in without much in the way of resistance, and were met with a sigh.

  Taking complete control, Ayla casually slid her fingers in and out, toying with Callista almost absent-mindedly. Then she removed her digits and slapped Callista's raised cheeks several times, until she yelped.

  “I think you need something nice and thick,” Ayla said. “Something to fill and stretch.” She rubbed her hands together, spreading the traces of Callista's arousal over her hands. As she rubbed slowly, something began to emerge, something crystalline and hard, something in the shape of a phallus.

  Returning to Callista's waiting pussy, Ayla pressed the tip of the toy against her lips, sliding it up and down and around the red, erect bud of Callista's clit. It was obvious that it had not been the first time that day Callista had engaged in intercourse of some kind. There was a tell-tale redness to her lips and clit that spoke to a frantic masturbation.

  “It's not the same when you do it yourself, is it?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Ayla took hold of the hair at the back of Callista's head and fed the dildo into her waiting pussy slowly, inch by inch. It was thick, much thicker than her fingers and Callista struggled to take it, but with patience and persistence, she was soon filled as she needed to be.

  Holding the base with one hand, Ayla pumped the length of the phallus in and out of the willing woman, enjoying the way Callista's juices coated the smooth surface. She was very wet, and becoming wetter with every firm stroke.

  Grunting and moaning, Callista took everything Ayla could give her. She wanted it harder, she wanted it faster, she wanted it to consume her, she said as much with every begging gasp she took. But Ayla could also see the woman screwing up her face, trying to hide tears that were coming to her eyes. Immediately, Ayla stopped, fearing she had hurt Callista in some way.

  “No!” Callista yelled, thrusting her hips back against the phallus with wanton desperation. “Don't stop! Please!”

  “You're crying.”

  “It doesn't matter. Just fuck me, please... please...” She lifted watery blue eyes to Ayla, filled with that same need Ayla had sensed before, the need for release, the need for a momentary break in the pain.

  Ayla pressed the phallus in as deep as it could safely go, placed her palm against it to keep it in place and began stroking Callista's clit and lips with her fingertips. The result was immediate, a full body trembling and tightening.

  “Yes!” Callista cried. “Yes!”

  She arched her back and pressed back against the toy and Ayla's hand, grinding her body with frantic need. Her breasts swayed with the motion, her entire being thrust into the task of finding orgasmic escape.