Cinder's Women: Mouse's Tale Ch. 03

“On the other hand, I’ve founded the Shadows as a college of warfare. All of those under my care are educated, looked after, and healthy. I try to make things better wherever I go, seeing things with the eyes of a commoner armed with the power of a lord. I even try to help the occasional lost lamb by becoming her shepherd.”

He squatted in front of her and cupped her dirty chin in his rugged hand. She’d begun weeping because he wouldn’t, tear tracks cutting the grime on her cheeks. Her eyes had grown soft and round and red and she chewed on her bottom lip to keep from calling out in her despair. Anastasia had been unconsciously rocking her as much to calm herself as to comfort the girl. Quinlin leaned against a bedpost, hugging herself tightly. Only the mask showed on his face, the eerie emotionless mask.

“With my longevity came a gift and a handicap. I may never learn to wield magic, but neither does it affect me directly. Healing draughts are nothing more than water to my body. A mage throwing fire or lightning against me may just as well be throwing feathers for all the good it would do him. Enchantments and charms are wasted. Illusions don’t exist to my senses. On the other hand, there is little of a martial nature I can’t learn. When it comes to war, I am unstoppable. If I have any equals, I’ve never met them. In battle, I feel no pain- regardless on the wounds I take.

“Other than that,” he said with a sly half smile. “My other ‘gift’ you have felt more directly- my unquenchable appetite for women and their comforts. Sometimes it’s been as much trouble as immortality itself.

“In order to be honest, I must warn you that you will die in my service. More than likely it will be a sudden, violent, possibly even painful death. But I promise you that I will remember you for eternity.”

Cinder stood, straightening his robe. The girl felt the restraining arms ease away slowly. Her Master, the Immortal, sat casually on a small table laden with finger-sized foodstuffs. He stared at her intensely, seemingly trying to peer into her mind.

“So, little thief, what will you do?”

She had never moved faster in her life, bounding into his arms. She clung to him with the fiercest strength left in her skinny arms, burying her face against his shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably. His strong arms wrapped around her trembling shoulders and held her until she stopped quaking.

He smoothed away her tears with thick fingers, soothing her red-rimmed eyes. He bent and gently kissed her and she responded by pressing against him lustily. She put her hands behind his neck, leaning forward. Their lips became hot and she tried to draw the breath from his lungs. By then his arms were a vice around her quaking body, her stomach flat against his. His hands kneaded her hot back and she groaned.

Her surrender was finally complete.

“Quinlin,” he said after a moment, pushing the girl away to arm’s length. “This little beast needs a bath. See to it.”

“Yes Master Cinder,” the battle-witch-turned-nursemaid calmly replied. She took the girl by the wrist and led her to a strange construction near the far wall. Two tall posts carved as standing nude women with uplifted arms had been positioned at arm’s length apart, supporting a round beam that brushed the ceiling. From this top beam hung a pair of small pulleys supporting fine ropes which ended with leather wrist cuffs. Directly centered beneath this frame sat a tub of water, which the tattooed woman had her climb into. The knee-deep water was warm, but not comfortably so, as if it had been boiled then stood untouched for hours.

Rather than have her sit or squat in the tub, Quinlin bound her worn-raw wrists into the manacles, then pulled on the ropes until her arms had been drawn over her head. Unlike the dungeon, she could still move her arms a little bit, but not enough to do much of anything. Watching her intently, Quinlin stirred the surface of the water with a short-nailed index finger before stepping into the tub to stand behind her. The water grew pleasantly hot and the steamy vapors soothed her tired muscles. There were herbs in the water, too. The scents of honeyed lavender, sweet oranges, and coriander wafted up and hugged her bare flesh, lingering in her nose like the scent of fresh bread is wont to do long into the afternoon. The scents were very nice, doing a great deal to make feel at ease.

As the aches flowed off of her, Quinlin methodically attacked her hair with an ivory brush; this shaped like some sort of large cat. She started low, trying to brush out knots. Every few strokes, she paused to clean the matted hair off of the grooming tool. Unfortunately, the long chestnut locks were too tangled for any amount of brushing to be effective and Quinlin finally gave up with a frustrated howl. Cinder, rising from his chair still holding the sword he had been busily cleaning and sharpening, approached the tub, circling it and looking the girl over.

“Cut it,” Cinder ordered after a moment’s consideration. “Like this.” With his finger, he traced on her slender neck the line Quinlin a moment later would follow. The box that yielded up the brush next produced a simple silver comb and polished steel scissors. The girl trembled when the sharp shears began their work. The few times she’d cut her own hair when it became necessary, like when she needed a quick disguise to help her escape, she’d just used her little knife to saw through the locks. Long, tangled bunches of hair came off with each clip of the scissors. In the end, she was left with enough length on the sides and back to cover her neck, but not quite enough to lie on her shoulders. In the front hung two thick locks that framed her face and rested lightly just above the gentle girlish slopes of her bare breasts.

Using a chased silver ladle, her bather rinsed the helpless girl once from head to toe. It had been a long time since she’d last had a bath the girl realized. They were expensive and without a fistful of good, solid coin hard to arrange in most inns, not that she’d slept in many inns of late, unless it was in a huddle of other travelers in the common room. There was no way to ensure privacy or safety at a riverbank without two or three companions she didn’t have keeping watch, and even then it wasn’t easy. Then there was the chance of catching the chills or other ailments from the cold or dirty water. Winters were especially miserable.

Quinlin took special care in washing the girl’s hair, scrubbing it twice with a mixture of geranium and lavender combined in peachnut oil and combing it out each time. Even when water laden, her head felt pounds lighter once free of the accumulated dirt and grime, untangled and properly taken care of for the first time in months. Under other circumstances she would revel in the soothing refreshment of a bath. The exquisite caresses of warm water cascading over her bare skin, plucking at the small hairs and sloughing off the dust of months of the road.

Although generally easy to accept her own nakedness in the presence of other women similarly disrobed, being in the same room with these two also made her feel worse. Both of these older women were magnificent in their own ways- Quinlin had a tawny, athletic form that just radiated strength of limb and will, while Anastasia’s full and feminine body obviously stirred lust in men and provoked jealousy in women. By being both beautiful and powerful, their casual manners and comfort with their own bodies made her made her feel plain, poor and powerless.

She tried to remain relaxed under Cinder’s scrutinizing eye, but the battle-witch’s strong, slender fingers relentlessly scrubbed and cleaned everywhere. While being bound and having a man touch her breasts and more private areas had been unsettling but arousing, the last woman to touch her in this intimate way had been her mother back when she’d been too young to care. The egg-shaped bar of soap smelled nice, a mixture of lemon and juniper and had a rope on one end. Quinlin rubbed the slender body rhythmically and liberally. The fragrant lather multiplied on her back, shoulders, arms and chest, rubbing around her breasts with smooth circles. She moved lower, lathering her flat stomach, then lower still, rubbing the round body of the bar into her nether mound. The girl guiltily enjoyed the fingers that slipped in and cleansed her slit and sore rectum, slender and much gentler than their Master’s digits. Her bather rubbed her clit and lips methodically, almost torturously. Her tension flowed away as slender feminine fingers found their way into her rear hole and she sighed, moaning ever so slightly.

After minutes of rubbing creamy lather between her legs, Quinlin cupped the soap and angled the narrower end toward the girl’s unresisting slot. The soap slid in easily, disappearing inch by inch until the larger end jumped from her hand and into the girl. Like a lightning fire, her entire body seemed to explode and catch fire, quivering wildly. Taking advantage of the opportunity, the battle-witch began rubbing the tender clit furiously. Moaning and writhing with despairing delight, the girl shuddered again and again in a long wave of orgasmic pleasure. After a few more moments, Quinlin tugged softly at the rope. The slimy bar slid out of the hot channel, leaving a residue of love juices mixed with creamy lather. The girl groaned deeply, aware of what she had just done.

Quinlin hid her amusement behind an intently studious mask. She knew how unsettled the girl must feel and did what she could to ease her nervousness. She’d already added the herbs and oils to the water, making the heated tub into a weak form of the strengthening and healing bath she’d be given for the next few months. Combining the herbs, oils, and a bit of magic, the bath would help to protect the naked slave from the burning rays of the sun, as well as gradually toughen the flesh while keeping it as smooth and supple as silk. When the girl tried to reflexively protect herself from the more intimate ministrations, Quinlin used the girl’s movement to let her hands drift and massage gently. She scrubbed her charge’s groin and pubic thatch three times before she was satisfied that the girl’s dungeon ‘accidents’ wouldn’t trouble her in the form of a nasty rash. She allowed her fingers to travel up, slowly caressing her slightly rounded belly, rubbing the faint line of hair running from her navel to her tangled thatch. She touched her tits tentatively, pinching and rolling her hard, pink nipples.

Once confident with the girl’s overall cleanliness, the battle-witch climbed from the tub and added another pair of carved posts a yard or so before the main framework. They were the same dark wood as the frame, but stood only a few inches taller than her shoulders, and were topped with the same sort of handcrafted black leather bindings, tethered by short silvery chains to steel bracelets around the carved wooden wrists of the kneeling post figures. With practiced ease she buckled the girl’s ankles to the posts, trapping her in mid-air with no way to shut her legs or preserve what little remained of her modesty. No recourse but to surrender to the authoritative feel of the restraints. A tug on the ropes leveled her out with her cunt even with Quinlin’s belly.

Standing between the open and trembling legs, Quinlin took a beautifully wrought steel razor with a gold trimmed ivory handle from the grooming box. Wielding the tool with expert precision, she shaved the girl’s armpits, legs, and crotch. Sharp steel slid across soap slick skin, slicing away the wiry hairs of her puss, leaving behind bald virgin-like skin and producing a healthy glow that made her suddenly realize why men referred to the crotch of a woman as the gate of heaven. During the whole process the girl squeaked and whimpered, but never once forgot the command of silence. In the end she felt the caress of the warm sunset breeze on her intimate skin in a way she hadn’t felt it since early childhood.

“She cleans up very well, all nice and pink and pretty. You’d have never known under all that dirt.” Quinlin smiled at her handiwork. She picked up a small rune-etched clay pot covered with a wax sealed lid. “What do we call her?”

“She’s so pink and pale, with a cute little squeak and a tiny pink tail,” Anastasia observed cheerily from her place at the Master’s feet. “Let’s call her Mouse.”

“Isn’t ‘Mouse’ a rather unimaginative name for a thief?” Cinder asked, scratching his ear. “I seem to remember a Piers or Philo the Mouse.”

“There is a Matthew the Mouse in the Rutger the Wolf legends,” Anastasia added. “It is a famous name for skilled thieves, one with a lot of history.”

“Mouse it is,” Cinder agreed with a nod while he lovingly played with the temptress’ hair. “Continue.”

“This is a special salve,” Quinlin informed the newly designated ‘Mouse’ while breaking the seal. “It will prevent your hair from returning.” She smeared the cream lightly under her arms but heavier between her legs, then massaging down her legs, kneading the calf and thigh muscles skillfully. There was a sudden sense of awakening instantly centered around Mouse’s crotch, a more intense feeling than she had ever experienced. The salve tingled as it warmed, seeping deep inside from the surface. She moaned with deep, sincere arousal, welcoming the flood of acceptance welling from her sex.

“Responsive, too,” the enchantress declared admiringly. Her fingers toyed with the hair on his legs.

“Yes, I noticed that myself. She should have quite a goose egg on the back of her head,” Cinder answered. “But as I recall you were a bit more than ‘responsive’ the first time the cream was used on you.”

“And it only got better as time went by,” she said dreamily. As Anastasia gazed up at him with loving devotion, Mouse watched her lacquered fingers slip under his robe. The folds of dark cloth fell open when her hand wrapped around his rock-hard cock, ranging up and down with slow and steady pumps. He cradled her heart-shaped face, stroking her tanned cheek with a course thumb. Mouse could also see the contentment sooth the harsh edges of his eyes as his rune-covered erection disappeared from her view behind an avalanche of scarlet hair.

Her hands found his tattooed cock, hard and pulsating. He settled back into the chair, getting as comfortable as possible, giving her free rein over his member. She wrapped her fingers around its shaft, slowly moving her hand up and down, around the head, then savoring the feel of it in her mouth. She ran her tongue up its length, flicking it back and forth, up and down, paying special attention to that sensitive spot on the underside right below the head, tracing the line of individual runes with nimble, practiced strokes.

“Open,” Quinlin commanded, stepping between the girl and the others, tapping on her chin with the tip of her index finger. Mouse obeyed, acutely aware of the golden ring and chain pressed warmly between Quinlin’s taunt belly and the newly bare and moist slit of her cunt. The battle-witch opened her mouth a little more, inserting a soft, leather ball approximately the size of the tip of the Master’s cock. The older woman tied the cords sprouting from the sides of the ball together behind the prisoner’s head. Mouse rocked back and forth out of confused desire as strong hands rediscovered the many curves of her body, scratching, caressing and pinching as they made their way down. A thin film of sweat formed on her upper lip as she watched, feeling a trickle of moisture eke out from between the warm lips of her cunt. The trickle became a tiny rivulet that tickled between her cunt and ass before sliding down and gathering at her tailbone.

“Feel free to scream as much as you like now sweetheart,” Quinlin whispered, kissing the pale pink forehead. “This will hurt. I’m sorry, but there’s really no way to avoid it.”

At first Mouse didn’t understand what Quinlin meant. The way she was touching the younger woman’s body didn’t hurt in the least. It was discomforting and unfamiliar to be stroked and caressed by another woman’s hand for certain, but not painful. Quinlin knew what she was doing, that was obvious. The pinching, pulling, and rubbing soon turned her soft nipples into hard nubbins of erect flesh. Then she bent down and captured one tender teat in the moist warmth of her lips. Licking with short, damp strokes, she left behind a faint coat of moisture, which she then blew softly on, sending a luscious chill through Mouse’s frail body. The prisoner closed her eyes and focused on the unexpected pleasure. Her breath moved in and out pleasantly, in and out, inhale and exhale. She was so focused that she missed the sudden flash of silver; felt her breast pulled outward, but didn’t see the needle placed against the tender flesh just behind the nipple. She blew out the air from her lungs and rolled her head back to let her pleasure take over.

What she didn’t miss was the piercing pop-pop of pain that came with each needle as it lanced through her nipple. For a second she felt light-headed, just as if she had climaxed. Then she tried to scream, trying to give voice to the anger and hurt she felt at this assault. This was so much worse than the ravaging in the dungeon. This gave her no pleasure as it took from her, it even masked itself as pleasure. She had a right to scream. Blood oozed from both sides of the long needles bobbing up and down with her every heartbeat.

The glint of gold transformed that scream into a weak, pained gurgle behind the gag. Quinlin had a small ring hanging from each nipple, as did Anastasia. Nipple rings…and more.

The hot needle that pierced the soft flesh of her belly and navel came much more abruptly during the next few seconds- a curved spear of slender sharpened silver hooked down into her navel and slowly lanced out of her belly. The pain peaked in one steady flow of agony, going from mild to excruciating in less than two seconds. She wanted to squirm to ease her discomfort with movement, but only succeeded in grinding her wet cunt against Quinlin’s belly, rubbing herself on the chain. The older woman touched and caressed her flanks and arms in comforting, soothing ways until the urge to squirm went away.

“My turn,” Anastasia said, draping one hand on Quinlin’s shoulder while wiping her chin with the other. A lusty fire glowed brightly in the depths of her emerald eyes, making Mouse flush nervously. The battle-witch kissed Mouse’s forehead tenderly, whispered a not quite comforting ‘good luck’ in her ear, then turned and was caught up by her companion in a passionate embrace. Mouse caught herself thinking that Anastasia appeared suppler and more golden than the brown, wiry Quinlin while she watched the two women’s bodies press together. The enchantress’ hands slipped around Quinlin’s hips and squeezed her taunt buttocks, making her moan deliciously and grind their crotches together.

“Ladies,” Cinder interrupted with a gravelly growl. “This is not the time to get distracted.”

“Yes Master,” they intoned in unison. Sneaking a final playful squeeze, the fiery female turned her full predatory attention on the nubile captive. Quinlin’s touch had been as warm as skin is warm, pleasant and comforting. Anastasia’s touch was wholly different- the same caressing heat of a blazing hearth seemed to come from the palm of her hand, the dry wind of a bonfire would have been cooler than her breath, and her lips scalded and burned like a hot iron against bare and tender flesh yet left no mark. Mouse shut her eyes tightly while the fiery lash of tongue traced the outer contours of her wet sex, tasting her dew before dancing nimbly over her belly, mapped the size and shape of her breasts but avoided the needles that ached in her nipples. It may have been illusion, but the very air around the redhead seemed to dance with moist, sexual heat.