Feldare Tales: High Society Ch. 08

Gently, she moved Kennet off of her and he lay on the pallet, sleeping soundly while she rose and walked to sit beside Peris. "I apologize for exposing you to that," she repeated. "I know you're trying to keep your virginity."

Peris' hand stroked Crissa's long, straw-colored hair and she moved it on down over the sorceress' bare back. "It's okay," she said. "You got caught up in a moment, it was rather interesting seeing you really doing as you might."

A fresh surge of lustful feelings pulsed outward from Peris as she touched Crissa's bare flesh. The fingertips felt cool after Kennet's warm touch and she did not flinch away.

If Peris wished to touch her, after her exposing Peris to the rather unpredictable full release of her abilities, she would not stop the girl.

A sadness tinged that lust, Peris knew she did not seek the touch of a woman, and it hurt her inside. This saddened Crissa and she wished she could change herself to suit the other girl's needs and desires.

A weak smile flitted across Crissa's face as Peris continued stroking her back. "You're very pretty, and if I did take to women, I would seek your company in an instant," she said, then kissed Peris.

Peris' eyes shot open at the kiss, then closed softly as she let it happen. Crissa was a skilled kisser, even barring the additional punch that she could weave into anything even remotely sexual. When they parted lips, Peris looked at Crissa with curious eyes.

"Nothing?" asked Peris.

Crissa looked down. "Nothing," she confirmed.

Peris gave her a hearty smile, still touching her back with those slender, cool fingers. "Well, I can't say you didn't try," she said.

Crissa was exhausted, which surprised her. Usually, she had more energy after lovemaking than before. Master Marrat said that she was taking energy from her lovers and that many did so without even knowing what they were doing. Crissa's taking of that energy was more notable to herself as she was aware of things more acutely, but many did it, even unawares.

This time, it felt more as if she had given up the energy, rather than taking any.

She slumped against the supportive shoulder of the shorter girl, laying her head on Peris. "I'm tired," she said.

Peris urged her to lie down and curled up behind Crissa, pulling them close together. Crissa let herself be held, it felt good and Kennet was in no condition to hold anyone.

- - -

Lord Grendehl, Dark Templar, dropped the girl to the floor. "I see why Cherle did not relay this information himself," he grated out through clenched teeth.

Shiran rubbed her slender neck where the templar had lifted her from the floor by the throat. "Milord, I am loyal and without shame, I did my best," she rasped hoarsely. "It was I who placated and offered to the beast for your service."

He smiled down at her, a cold, callous smile, but one that softened a bit at her words. "I know this, Supplicant Shiran," he said. "I appreciate your efforts, but condemn the results. Such a creature should have been guided, even if by your own hand."

She nodded, lowering her head to the floor. "I was not told that milord," she said.

Grendehl sighed. "Were you told to seal the bargain?" he asked.

"Milord?" she asked, looking up.

"I thought not," said Grendehl, scowling. "Cherle wished to keep you for his own use, I'm sure."

He reached out a hand, stroking the soft hair of the young noblewoman. She was fair, and he regretted the necessity of having to mar that beauty. "I will need you to perform the ritual again, Shiran, can you do that for me?"

"Yes, milord," she said, lowering her head again and kissing the hem of his robes.

"The whole ritual," he said, making his point clear. "It will be painful, but you will become my advisor for your pains."

She blinked up at him, stunned and pleased. "But the sorceress?" she asked.

"Is dead," said Grendehl. "She did just the thing I feared, and underestimate this Crissa girl. I trust you won't make the same mistake?"

"No milord," she said, kissing his hem again.

"Tell the circle to come to, me, all of them," said the templar. "Rise and stand, my advisor."

She stood, her whole body quivering with the pleasure that tore through her frame. Even her breathing was short and coming in gasps. "Milord, I am beyond honored," she said.

"Remember that as you complete the ritual," said Grendehl. "It will be a difficult moment to keep your rewards in mind."

"I will, milord," she said, with conviction.

"Go fetch them," he said. "We've no time to waste."

She bowed and fled the small tent with a broad smile. If she survived these events, perhaps he would take her as an advisor, in truth. If not, he could always use another slave on the Isle.

- - -

Crissa awoke with a start. Peris was now before her and she had the petite girl curled before her with her own body wrapped, protectively around her. The lilac scent of Peris' hair wafted through her nose and the sleeping dreams of the girl, and the emotions it was eliciting in her slumbering mind were sweet and carried much the same scent as her hair.

Kennet was sitting nearby, reading the book Crissa had brought, on elven religious rites, with fascination. Crissa smiled at his single mindedness. Here were two nude girls, lying only partially covered, as she noted a draft on her nethers, and he was looking at the book.

With a satisfied-sounding murmur, Peris nuzzled back into Crissa, pressing tighter against her. She was warm and soft to the touch and, despite her protestations, Crissa found the contact more than a little pleasant.

Her hand rested on Peris' belly, feeling the slow, even rhythm of the girl's breathing. As if guiding itself, it moved slowly downward until it came to the tight patch of curly hairs at the top of Peris' mound. Her fingertips toyed with those hairs, feeling them, growing accustomed to their touch.

She lingered there for a long moment, just thinking on the difference in that hair and her own pubic hair, and those of men she had lain with. It was softer than the mens', but not quite so soft as her own.

Again, the fingers moved, this time downward more, exploring the shallow crease created by the bending of the thigh toward the body. The skin of Peris' thigh, as Crissa had seen, was smooth and flawless, like porcelain.

So far as Crissa had seen, Peris had no moles or warts, or even freckles. She was a young noblewoman, and seemed the part.

Again, Peris murmured something, but did not move this time. Crissa did not make out words in the murmurs, but felt happiness and satisfaction radiate from her.

The cleft drew her hand inward, toward the center. It seemed that she was being drawn into this, against her will, though surely, her will was behind it, whether or not she thought she thought she wanted to.

When she reached the center, Peris' folded legs stopped her explorations. Her legs were together and curled upward. Inwardly, Crissa sighed with relief at being thwarted in her semi-conscious wanderings.

She lay there for a long moment, just caressing the girl, then pressed her face into the hair, nuzzling it. It did feel good, Peris' hair was like feathers brushing her cheeks and smelled so good.

Her fingers were at the joint of the girl's thighs again, trying to move downward.

Peris must have felt the pressure, even in her sleep. She shifted slightly, straightening her upper leg downward. Her fingers were not longer stopped by the flesh of Peris' thighs.

While she thought about it, she kept the hand still, just stroking the soft pubic hairs.Why am I fighting what I wish to do? she asked herself.

She laid there again, thinking about that and felt her fingers grow damp with Peris' moisture. She had moved downward again, as she knew she would.Stop kidding yourself, Crissa, you control your hands, she chided.

Peris moaned in her sleep as Crissa's fingers moved over the nub of the girl's clitoris. The soft folds of Peris' labia were warm to the touch and moist, like she were already aroused.

Crissa found herself analyzing what her fingers returned in sensations. She noted the differences in their entrances, how Peris' had slightly longer lips, but a very small clitoris. The fingers moved over it again, rubbing gently over the button of flesh.

The slumbering noblewoman moaned again, shifting more and moving the legs apart. Apparently, in her sleep, she approved of the pleasurable contact.

The temptation to slide a finger inside the girl was strong in Crissa. She held back, though, remembering Peris' almost paranoid desire to keep her virginity intact. She explored the lips of the girls entrance, around that area, and the clitoris, noting each shift in Peris' breathing and the soft sounds she made as whatever dream she was having blended with the sensations Crissa was giving her.

Crissa almost screamed when Peris said, "I thought you didn't desire women," in a almost airless whisper into her ear. Her hand moved away from the area, back to the girl's belly.

When Crissa turned her eyes to regard Peris, the girl had a slightly petulant look on her face. "Had I known you would stop, I would have held my tongue," she whispered.

"Sorry," said Crissa, blushing something close to purple. When had she last blushed? She found it pleasant, somehow.

Peris kissed Crissa's cheek. "Don't apologize, it felt good and I sure didn't mind it being a woman doing it," she said. "Consider yourself to have free license."

A long moment passed as Crissa lay silent. "I was apologizing for perhaps leading you on," she said. "It was not my intent."

"What was your intent?" asked Peris.

"I don't know," replied Crissa, honestly.

"Would it help if I was still asleep?"

"Yes, perhaps," replied Crissa with a weak, embarrassed smile.

In Peris' mind, the awakening to find Crissa's fingers upon her personal places had served a twofold purpose. The first was that it rekindled hope in her goal of becoming a lover to Crissa. The second effect, and probably the more important, was that Crissa was revealed as a mere human to her eyes.

- - -

Cherle knelt before the templar. "I was busy with your bidding milord," he said, looking toward Shiran, the briefest flashes of hatred crossing his face.

The templar sat in his wooden seat, fully armored and reclining at his ease. Shiran stood beside the templar, on his right hand. She was wearing the black silken robe of an advisor. Cherle seethed at her, willing her to die. Now.

She leaned inward and whispered something to the templar, who widened his eyes. "All that important?" he asked. "While your clever attempt at assassination was failing, you were drinking rum and mead in the Silver Wolf Inn?"

Again, Cherle spared Shiran a glare. "She lies!" he exclaimed. "The little whore seeks to taint your view of me."

Templar Grendahl reached out a languid hand and cupped Shiran's small, firm rump, pulling her into his lap by the handle. "Speak not ill of your betters, Cherle," he said in a light voice. "She is now Mistress Shiran to you and I will not brook disrespect between my servants."

As he spoke these words, he was pushing up the hem of her long gown, revealing the girl's long, slender legs. She parted them for him and leaned against his cold metal skin. In the armor, his hands were clad in metal gauntlets that made his fingers both larger than normal, and cold. When he pressed one into her slit, she sighed out at the cold thrill that moved through her body.

"Apologies, Templar Grendahl and Mistress Shiran," said Cherle, bowing low and his face suffusing with the red of embarrassment and rage.

"How she comes to her position is of no concern to you, Cherle," said the Templar, pulling the finger forth and holding it before Shiran's mouth to lick clean of her fluids.

Her hands moved on his armor like she was caressing his very flesh. She would love him in this armor if he sought it, willingly.

The others of the circle were back further than Cherle, in the dimness at the back of the pavilion. He released the girl, pushing gently upward on her rump. "Do it, advisor," he said.

Shiran stood, allowing the robe to slip from her body to the floor, forming a black ring of shimmering cloth. She looked toward the other members of the circle and nodded.

The others immediately swarmed forward, grappling and holding the surprised Cherle. When he started to protest, they stuffed his mouth with a ball of wood and bound it with a rag.

He grunted around the gag, pulling and pushing with his arms and legs as they lifted him from the floor and held him at waist height. The girls moved forward and used silver daggers to slice the clothing from him, being none to careful with them, cutting his flesh in several places with the razor sharp blades.

He writhed in the grip of the other boys, but was stripped in seconds.

Shiran stepped up to where she was above his head. She grabbed his skull in both hands. "You should have told me the full ritual," she hissed. "You made me fail! Just so you could sate your base desires upon me that very night, as I recall."

She shoved his head away and began to circle the young man. Two other girls moved forward and gripped his head, lifting it so he could see down the length of his body.

The templar stood from the chair, walking toward the little scene. "It is so rewarding to see such a basic ritual on the occasion, to see that the true ways are followed. It almost reminds me of the days of my own youth.

Shiran smiled at him. "Give the word milord," she said.

"It is given, my dear Shiran, it is quite given," said the Templar.

She looked at the other members of the circle with his eager eyes and they began the summoning chant.

Cherle writhed in the clutches of the boys holding him, growling around the gag.

Shiran moved up between his legs, kneeling and focusing her mind in meditation, as the templar had shown her to this very day.

The young nobleman started jerking furiously as she lowered her mouth over his cock, which grew erect despite himself. Her head moved up and down, faster and faster and he wailed around the wooden ball, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The templar watched with detached interest as she suckled upon him, her mouth and hands working together to aid in his climax. He wailed and the sound of snapping came from his head, he was shattering his own teeth, clenching down on the ball of hardwood.

The sound of rending flesh and snapping bone began before he fully climaxed, and when he did the change only gained speed.

The flesh flowed like molten butter and the bones moved and snapped like twigs. The others of the circle stood back and watched the metamorphosis. The templar stood beside Shiran, stroking her hair. "Remember, my personal advisor," he murmured as the beast took form amid the ruined flesh and stood on powerful legs and looked at her with red, glowing eyes.

She knelt before the creature, beckoning it. It moved up to her, growling and leaving bloody footprints on the thick carpets of the floor. It bared its fangs at her and hissed.

"Stop," said Shiran, turning to face the beast, only inches from her head. "I am your summoner, you serve me," she said.

It growled and moved an inch closer to her, glowering into her blue eyes.

She reached out a hand, touching the chitinous armor that plated the beast. "I am your master, and your servant, if you do me service, I grant you use of my body," she said.

It growled more deeply, its massive phallus extending between its misshapen hind legs. She ran a hand under the beast and it tracked her motion with its glowing eyes as she stroked the swollen organ.

"Will you serve me?" she asked.

Very slowly, as if unused to gestures, it nodded. Her fingers wrapped around the organ and she squeezed it. "Then," she whispered quietly, "take me."

- - -

Crissa lurked around the corner of Master Marrat's home again. It was nearly two in the afternoon, and she had yet to see Duke Anasper return. The watchers were back in place, two at each station this time. She would have a harder time rendering them unconscious in pairs.

She had, once again, left Peris and Kennet secreted. Not that she wished to do this. She would prefer to keep them with her at all times.

For the second time in the same day, she nearly screamed when someone surprised her. A hand touched her shoulder and she spun about, bringing up a fist and readying her mind for an emotional attack on her assailant.

The duke stood there, blinking at her. "You're a bit tightly wound, I see," he said quietly, moving back behind the cover of a building's porch. He was wearing simple clothes and was nearly unrecognizable without his silver torc and robes of station.

Crissa hissed at him, quite forgetting he was a nobleman. "Damnit, don't sneak up on me, I nearly turned your brain into a pudding," she said.

"A novel experience, I'm sure," said Anasper, smiling blandly. "I would prefer it if you didn't though."

"Yes, milord," she said quietly. "What news of Wenn?"

"The case is pretty persuasive against him," said Anasper. "As you know from your own - investigations. Your witness is the most important element, though, as no one can link him directly to either faction that was involved."

She nodded and looked up at him. "We were attacked last night, a witch and a demon, we think," she said.

Anasper's eyes widened. "That was your flat?" he asked. "I got the report from the watch, and they said it was a cult or something. They said the culprits disappeared from right under their noses."

Crissa blushed a little at that. "Well, yeah," she agreed. "That would have been us, then. And I don't think we qualify as a cult."

Anasper allowed himself a chuckle. "Glad to hear that, I worried a bit that another group turning up in Norboro would be a bit much."

"When is the trial to start?" asked Crissa.

"In three days," said the duke, looking around the corner. "I should get moving, and so should you, Crissa."

She nodded and moved back as he walked around the corner, toward Marrat's house. Surreptitiously, two large men moved from nearby areas to follow him at a discreet distance. Their clothes were scraggly and unkempt, but their hair was shorn cleanly and they were fresh shaven. They also moved with the easy grace of a skilled warrior. Anasper's bodyguards.

Crissa slipped back into the alleys and made for the hidden cellar, after she visited the marketplace. She had a few coins, and they needed some comforts.

- - -

Grendahl stroked Shiran's hair as she lay curled on the cot. "You did very well, advisor," he said in a soft voice. She shook all over, her body convulsing from time to time. "Few could withstand such use without breaking, and you are not broken."

A weak smile formed on her face and she winced. One of the other members of the circle was smearing a foul-smelling poultice upon the lacerations on her back. They were deep and long, and had bled plentifully. That pain, however, was the least of her agonies. "Master," she said quietly, in almost a whisper. "The visions he gave me as he took me."

"Just what he wishes to do, if he had you in his den," said Grendahl, reassuring her. "Just visions."

She looked up at him. "Such horrid visions from an angel?" she asked.

"Question them not, for angels are beings beyond our understanding," said Grendahl gently, but firmly. "Suffice it to know you have him in your control."

The beast sat quietly in the corner, glaring at everyone but watching Shiran most of all as they ministered to her. Every time she flinched, he twitched as if to spring. Her will held him at bay, though, and he followed each motion she made.

She smiled up at the templar. "I hope my service is worthy, milord," she murmured as the herbs had their desired effect of letting her rest a bit.