Clans of Luteri Ch. 07-09

"Because you are one of her own, Corsaire. Shai doesn't favor one clan over another. She sent me to find my oath and to bring her home. Can you explain another reason for our meeting in Alveria?"

Aslin shook her head, smiling at him again.

They walked until they found a place for lunch and sat overlooking the lake, ignoring the few patrons who stared and whispered, the waiter politely indifferent, and then took a carriage to the hotel. Aslin leaned her head on his shoulder. She was sleepy from their long afternoon in the sunlight, her cheeks rosier than usual and pretty freckles appearing across her nose.

#

When they got back to the room, Aslin drifted out to the balcony, looking out at the bustling city, carriages and figures walking, street vendors. He joined her, standing behind her, an arm on each side of her, his hands braced against the rail.

"Are you disappointed we are going back tomorrow?" he asked her, leaning to look at her. "We could stay a few days more, if you like."

"No, I know you want to spend time with Jaime. I want to as well."

He leaned back, looking at the Alverian city, the countryside beyond it, rolling hills and pretty meadows.

"Will you miss it badly, Aslin?" he asked her.

She turned to him in profile.

"Alveria? A little, maybe. I will miss Jaime, and the hills around the estate. But mostly I've felt afraid here, and alone."

He leaned down, smelling her hair.

"In Luteri you have a father," he reminded her. "All Corsaire clan will be yours, and Tavishi clan. And me. There will be so many of us craving your attention that you will never feel alone."

He thought about what he wanted to do with her, feeling desire curl in him that he had set aside all day. Well, mostly. Not much, actually, and now he wanted her badly. He brought her into the room. When he released her hand, she faced him, nervous. Kane stepped closer, touching her cheek.

"Take your hair down," he said.

Her hands went to her hair, pulling pins. Kane was remembering the first night he'd stripped her. He thought she remembered too, because she shivered, looking down. He reached and touched her cheek and she looked up at him.

"Trust me, Corsaire. I won't do anything you don't like, but you're to say so if you don't. Do you promise me?"

She looked even more nervous.

"All right. Yes, I promise."

He approached her close, bending down and kissing her, breaking it. He look at her face, his hands going to the buttons of her dress. He went down the line, pushing it off her shoulders when he was done, pushing the little top down, the Corsaire still in the strange garment, her breasts pushed up, his eyes on her tits. She made a move to cover them and dropped her hand a moment later.

"Tell me about being switched," he said.

She reacted visibly to his words, her nipples tightening, his eyes on them. Her eyes dilated, her mouth parting. There was no way that wasn't sexual, even if it was only so later. She had to understand that in some part of her.

"Like what?"

"How did it begin?"

Her breathing got even faster.

"I would get into position," she said.

"Show me there," he said, nodding to the desk.

She flushed and then walked, slowly laying her front on the desk, her bare breasts on the surface, bent over, her head turned to the side, her arms resting beside her, her elbows bent, palms down.

"She'd lift your skirts?"

The Corsaire shivered.

"Yes," she said softly. "And tuck them under me."

He came and grasped her skirts, his eyes on the rising hem as the lacy bottom of her little pants came into view and then her round butt. He tucked them under her, stepping back.

"Did she leave your undergarments on or were you bare?"

"She left them on," she said, her breathing ragged.

"But she made you bend over like a man would take you."

"Yes," the Corsaire said, her voice wavering.

He came behind her, his hands going to the short pants, reaching around and pulling the little string, grasping them and pulling them down. The Corsaire lifted a pretty shoe, pretty little Alverian buckles, and then the other as he got them off of her. He grinned to see the shoes. He did like them. He stepped back, looking at her. Her hair was spread across the desk, cloth all around her and her round butt exposed, the pink swelling between her legs. He was so aroused he forgot what he was doing for a moment, looking at her.

He recalled himself, walking to stand behind her.

"What then?"

"She would tell me how many strikes I was to have."

He looked at her face. She bit her lip. Kane's eyes were roaming all over her. Alverians were such perverts.

"Spread your legs."

She squirmed when he said that and closed her eyes tight. She slowly did what he said, first one foot moving to the side and then the other. He leaned his head to look. She was pink and glistening and swollen open.

"You like this, Corsaire," he said. "How would she strike you?"

"Steadily, and I was to count after each one."

"She told you how many beforehand?"

"Yes."

"We'll do five."

She trembled. He stood behind her. He didn't have a switch, so his hand would have to do. It was no hardship, for sure.

"Here's the first one, Corsaire," he said, pulling back and striking her.

He struck her hard enough she would feel it, given what she used to enduring. The Corsaire cried out, the imprint of his hand appearing on a round cheek of her bottom. She squirmed, his cock aching.

"One," she said.

He drew back and did it again, lower. She hitched and cried out again, her bottom wiggling, trying to escape the stinging.

"Two," she said, breathless.

He was straining in his trousers. Doing this to the Corsaire was more arousing than he could have imagined, and he'd imagined it a great deal. He pulled back and did it again, her bottom pink on both cheeks now, jiggling.

"Three," she whined.

"You tell me and we'll stop, Corsaire," he said, breathing heavily. "But don't expect me to stop this on my own."

She didn't say anything. He ran his hand over her bottom, touching lightly between her legs. She jerked as he met slick, bringing it from her in a line when he drew his hand back. He returned, her clit under his fingers, sweet and slippery, a hard little nub. He stroked her slowly, teasing her, small circles. She began making those noises she did that made him crazy, meeting his hand.

He smacked her, the Corsaire crying out in surprise and need, jutting.

"Four," she said, her whole body trembling.

"Last one, Corsaire."

He made it a good one, his cock sensitive, watching her face. She cried out and held her breath, releasing it. She whimpered. She hadn't broken her position.

"Five," she said, her whole body trembling.

"Don't move," he said.

He came behind her, looking at her ass, pink with a red center, so pretty. He freed himself, stepping between her spread legs. He ran the head of his cock up and down her pussy and then pressed, exquisite, sliding into her. She was hot and swollen, so wet. She closed her eyes tightly again.

He pumped into her slowly, enjoying it. He liked Aslin's straight posture, but he also liked it when she arched her back so pretty, offering her round ass like she did now. He leaned back and struck again, leaving the imprint of his hand on her pale round cheek, and then the other. He did it again, stinging slaps. She cried out with each one and her pussy clenched on him. He grunted and thrust faster.

He brought his hand around, returned to her, touching her inner thigh, bringing his fingers where they were meeting. He touched the tip of her clitoris very lightly, small circles. She cried out, jutting again as he dug in.

She pulsed against his hand. Yes, she liked it. His fingers left her and she whined in protest, releasing her breath, frustrated, squirming as he thrust. He was grunting. She felt so good. He delivered four slaps, hard and sharp, alternating. She cried out again, almost wailing with the last ones, her bottom going the most beautiful color. She strained toward the blows and then her legs spread more.

His hand returned, his fingers trailing over her pussy lips. He drew his hand back, giving her a sharp smack between her legs. She yelped as he reached with his other hand under her tits, finding her nipple, pinching.

"I want you to remember how much you like this," he said roughly, his mouth finding that place where her neck met her shoulder, thrusting, a surge of lust going through him.

He began rubbing her slick all over her swollen clit roughly. She made a deep sound he hadn't heard from her before. He slowed and then stopped, withdrawing from her, difficult. Her broken sound of protest was cut short as he pulled her up, putting her on the floor in front of him on all fours. He followed her down, kneeling behind her. He kneed her legs apart, found the angle and thrust into her, seating himself in only a few strokes. It was exquisite pleasure, burying himself in her tight heat, his hands on her hips.

His climax was building fast. He reached and pushed her shoulders down, her head to the side, stabbing into her. She liked it, her voice needy. He put his fingers between her legs again and she closed her eyes, clamping on him, crying out.

She was going to come, he could feel it. She strained again, definitely wailing this time, her eyes closing as she began to climax.

"You pleasure me so much, Corsaire," he breathed.

When he said that she strained for so long, rippling down his length, and then began to pulse, her mouth parting, a series of small, satisfied grunts from her. He wasn't going to last at all. His pleasure arrived, huge, his breath stuttering, his body rigid. He grabbed her hair, arching her, his cry of release loud in the room as he rode it out, thrusting, losing all sense of himself.

The surges of pleasure finally slowed, shallow thrusts, panting behind her. He looked down at her. Aslin's dark hair was a silky mess all around her. Her arms were tucked to her sides. Her bottom was reddish pink. He pulled out of her gently and put his hands there, rubbing. The red would fade in a couple of hours. He ran his hands up her back and her shoulders, reversing direction and again, caressing her warm contours.

She closed her eyes with it, going limp. He finally reached for her shoulders gently, drawing her up on her knees in front of him, releasing her stays, pulling at them, letting the garment drop.

He drew her with him to her feet and bent, lifting her. She was already sleepy, warm and soft. He walked with her to the bed, setting her in it. He went and got a cloth, wetting it, and washed himself, came back and cleaning her. She didn't even move. He pulled her into his arms, jerking the sheets over them. She was asleep a moment before he was.

#

They took a carriage in the morning for the long drive back to Jaime's estate, he and Aslin looking out the window at the meadows of late spring flowers, fog low in the glens, green hills.

They arrived at Jaime's estate and came into the hall, their bags still in the drive, servants moving to take them. They heard Jaime laughing and another voice, higher, speaking quickly. It stopped as they stepped into the room.

They found Jaime sitting with a pretty young woman with honey-colored hair, sweetly formed, delicate, a simple but tidy blue dress and white shawl, her eyes almost too big for her face and a folded mouth. Jaime rose as they came in. He turned to the young woman, who had gotten to her feet. Not nobility, then, Alverian custom strict on this point.

"These are my good friends I told you about who are returning to Luteri soon. This is Lord Kane Tavishi and his wife, Lady Aslin Tavishi," Jaime said, introducing them. "And this is Miss Margaret Corsham, the daughter of Mister Bernard Corsham, my solicitor. I am very pleased to say that after much persuasion, Miss Corsham has agreed to have tea with me."

Miss Corsham's eyes were shifting between them, large eyes, cornflower blue, her hair curly, little wisps escaping. She curtseyed to each of them.

"Lord Tavishi, Lady Tavishi. I'm pleased to meet you," she said politely.

They came and sat, the young lady darting curious glances at them, the servants bringing tea and cakes. Kane thought if he never saw a sweet cake again for a hundred years it would be too soon, but the tea was good, hot.

"I was telling Margaret about my stay in Luteri and she wanted to try cavash, so I had the servants prepare a little that I had brought from Luteri," Jaime said.

Kane looked at the young woman. At his gaze, hers skittered away a little and then returned.

"How did you like it, Miss Corsham?" Kane asked her.

"It was different, Lord Tavishi," she said, her voice surprisingly exacting. "I imagine it would be bitter without the dark sweetened powder, but it has a nutty flavor, very pleasing. The stimulant is stronger than in our tea and perhaps might be better served demitasse for those easily overwhelmed by its effects. May I ask its composition? I was speculating that unlike tea it is not made from leaves but perhaps some other substance, but I cannot imagine what would produce such a dark brew. Do Luterians ever drink it with milk?"

Kane blinked and glanced at Jaime, whose eyes were taking in everything about Miss Corsham as she delivered her speech, a small smile on his lips.

"It is made from the cavash bean that is dried and cooked in ovens," Kane answered, "and then ground. Some do drink it with thick cream, although milk is not as common in Luteri as it is here, since we don't have cows but only sheep, and the taste is stronger than some like."

"Really? I have always wondered why one kind of animal thrives in a given environment and is native to it while another simply never makes an appearance," Miss Corsham said, waving her hand to indicate this intriguing absence, expressive, "although it is also true that animals can replace a native species if they are brought there. I believe I read that chickens are not native to Alveria but instead came with early migrations of people to the area, although of course there are very few records to truly confirm this, and it is speculation, but it makes sense, doesn't it? That such a useful animal that provides both meat and fresh eggs would be imported?"

There was silence at the table as they all took this in.

"I believe," Kane said carefully, "that due to the mountain environment, cows are not as readily adaptable to Luteri as sheep are. Luterian sheep are indigenous, and are not really sheep—they are unique in the world, and will not interbreed. Luterian sheep wool is our primary export and a source of wealth for Luterians, although there are clans like the Duellan who instead mine precious stones—rubies, sapphire and topaz."

"Luterian rubies are famous, and everyone has heard of Luterian wool, of course, it's remarkable, they say, so warm and soft and it repels water," Miss Corsham said, seeming fascinated, "although I have not ever seen any, of course. But I had no idea they were a distinct animal. Do you think it is the isolation of Luteri that has caused the animal to be so singular?"

Miss Corsham suddenly blushed, looking around at each of them. She smiled nervously.

"I'm sorry. My father says I chatter and not everyone finds my opinions of interest, Lord Tavishi, and also that my hands move too much when I speak, evidently," she said, gesturing, "although I have done a small study, entirely informal, you understand, and I have found that interesting people—of course this is an entirely subjective criterion on my part, what one person finds interesting may not be to another, but I did try to factor such qualities as intelligence and eloquence in speaking, as well as qualities of animation and enthusiasm about a given topic—often use their hands for speaking and that it serves as a way to enhance the meaning of what is said."

She stopped and looked down, self-conscious.

Kane smiled, looking at her, meeting Jaime's eyes. She was completely charming, despite being so proper, intelligent and obviously well educated, and entirely not how young Alverian women were supposed to be, quiet and meek. He could see what drew his friend.

"I have also found this to be a curious difference between our cultures, Miss Corsham," Kane replied, and she looked up, her shyness fading to interest again. "Alverians do not like gesturing while speaking, and also discourage casual touch or open displays of affection, while Luterians gesture more broadly and are more willing, for example, to embrace in friendship."

She leaned forward, her eyes lighting with enthusiasm.

"Do you believe the two might be related, Lord Tavishi?"

He nodded.

"There is a general reserve and control in the Alverian people that I first interpreted as coldness when I met Jaime, although I learned quickly it was not emotional distance but rather a more economic, less effusive manner of expressing those emotions."

And so it went, the young lady chattering away and opining and hopping happily from one topic to another like a tiny Alverian songbird, which Kane abruptly decided she reminded him of, all frail bones and big bright eyes. Asking her if she'd like to see it, Aslin went upstairs and brought her cloak for the young woman to admire, who immediately jumped up and examined it, running her hands over it, exclaiming at the qualities of Luterian wool, asking him questions.

Soon they were all talking and laughing at once, interrupting each other. But every few moments the young lady would glance at Jaime and find him looking at her, and a small pleased smile would come to her mouth.

An abrupt, loud knock interrupted them all, the servants opening it to admit a dour figure who stepped into the room, gaunt with intense eyes that immediately settled on Miss Corsham, who straightened and rose to her feet.

"Father," she greeted him. "I was just telling Lord—," she began, gesturing.

"I am here to collect you, Maggie," he said to her, not unkindly, but it was difficult to imagine a more unrelated pair in terms of temperament.

The solicitor turned to Jaime as they all rose.

"I thank you for having her, Lord Shetlan," the man said, as if she were burdensome and unpredictable and Jaime had agreed to watch her for a time. "I hope she did not trouble you or your guests. Come along, Maggie."

Miss Corsham came out from behind the table immediately, approaching her father, looking down, clasping her hands in front of her as Kane had seen the Corsaire do so many times. Kane was abruptly sad, seeing it. She was such an animated person. It was a shame to see her light dulled.

"It was a delight to have Margaret here, Mister Corsham, and we have thoroughly enjoyed her company," Jaime said.

Mister Corsham looking at him skeptically, as if he did not believe him, or as if he feared they mocked the young lady. Jaime made introductions, the man nodding to them.

"I would like to ask if Margaret might join me for tea again next week, Mister Corsham," Jaime said, seeming to hold his breath.

Mister Corsham's immediate wince of resistance was met with the cornflower blue eyes the young woman turned on the dour man, and Kane watched as Mister Corsham's resolve wavered. Kane suddenly saw the pair differently and realized the man doted on his daughter, and cherished her, and did not trust the nobility with her wellbeing, she being very pretty and obviously unworldly. Kane didn't blame him.

The man cleared his throat.

"This is something you want, Maggie?" he said to her, as if it were in question with those eyes.

"Yes, father," she said, obviously trying to mute her natural exuberance to persuade him, but it was no use. It broke through almost immediately. "We have been discussing the differences in customs between Alveria and Luteri and I was just saying to Lady Tavishi...."