Full Confession Ch. 01

Satta cried out shrilly, her body shuddering, her tiny fists clenched so tightly they shook. "Please, Master! Whip Satta, Master!"

I struck her again, with such force that she nearly toppled onto her side. Nevertheless she had the presence of mind to spread her knees wider, bracing herself. "Please, Master!" she whimpered. "Please whip Satta, Master!"

I obliged with zeal; the sound of its impact echoed in my ears like music, while Satta's plangent sob was more euphonious to me than her climactic cries of ecstasy had formerly been. I will spare my Reader an inventory of every blow, for the girl's whipping continued a surprisingly long time; I was determined to keep striking her until she ceased to beg for more. Yet her resilience was astounding. I beat her until her buttocks and the backs of her thighs were crimson, until the belt dripped with her blood, even until she could not support her weight and pitched forward onto her belly -- still she repeated after every blow, "Please, Master. Please whip Satta, Master."

She would sob the words, scream them, moan them; her voice weakened, grew hoarse, but still she spoke them. My rage and indignation wavered, my arm grew numb with fatigue, but still I persisted, unwilling to allow Satta the satisfaction of outlasting me. Finally, after I had struck a blow which spattered flecks of blood against the wall, Satta lifted her chin as if to speak but managed only to retch weakly onto the floor. Then at last she fell unconscious.

"You feel better, I trust," said the Countess, who had observed the entire proceedings without a word.

My arm hung limp at my side; the belt felt heavier somehow, as if weighted with Satta's blood. "I do," I said.

The Countess nodded. "Very good. You should go into town now. You need some diversion to take your mind off of this morning's unpleasantness." She held out her hand, and I relinquished the belt to her.

"What are we to do with Satta?" I asked.

"When she recovers, she will clean up this mess. Then . . . " She paused, regarding the bloodied servitrix in silence for several seconds. "Then we must impose a suitable sentence on her."

"What do you suggest, My Lady?"

The Countess's eyes narrowed. "Her act was criminal. And I for one am not prepared to abide the workings of witchcraft in this household."

"You would call it witchcraft?" I asked dubiously. I looked down at the pieces of the broken figurine on the floor, which seemed now as harmless as a child's doll.

The Countess's look suggested I must have taken leave of my senses. "She induced you -- a nobleman, I shouldn't have to remind you -- to fall in love with her. Even among the meanest peasants such magicks are recognized as infernal and ungodly. The curse of Lud Himself falls on the practitioners of such black arts."

"I hardly think she had any evil intentions, My Lady . . ."

"You are not such a fool, Dominus!" snapped the Countess. Her sneer, which bared her pointed teeth in a most sinister manner, implied that she had her doubts on that point. "You have been victimized, your emotions violated. Whether or not her intentions were evil, you have been most foully misused, and your transgressor must be punished. Severely."

"Of course, My Lady," I said. But now that my rage had been sated, I felt a sudden sympathy for the wretched girl, even a sense of protectiveness -- or were those feelings merely the vestiges of the nefarious charm with which Satta had ensnared me? Which emotions were genuinely mine, and which had been conjured? How could I know?

One emotion, at least, was indubitably my own: Righteous anger. I allowed that feeling to re-assert itself, and my vertiginous confusion faded rapidly. The Countess was wholly correct in condemning what had been done to me. There could be no place for pardon or pity.

"Go on into town, Dominus," said the Countess in a surprisingly solicitous tone. She put a hand almost tenderly on my arm, urging me toward the door. "Spend some time with a girl, any girl."

"I don't believe I'm in the mood, My Lady," I protested.

"It will be the best thing for you, Dominus. Go now. I will make arrangements for Satta."

I cast a last look at the servitrix's prostrate form; for a moment my heart was wrenched with sympathy, but I scowled and tapped into my reservoir of anger. I spat on Satta and left.

My mind was reeling as I made my way to the walls of Further Edgewater. My anger with Satta -- deceitful, falsehearted Satta -- was matched only by the growing anger I felt with myself. Such a fool I had been, professing my love for that bootlicking fuckhole in the most absurdly extravagant terms! I had wholly embarrassed myself in the eyes of the only two individuals who mattered to me -- the Countess and myself.

But I had learned my lesson, and was ready to apply my hard-won knowledge -- the aristocracy might interact with commoners on the level of mere physicality, but they could never be conjoined emotionally; there was a disparity, a vast disproportion, between the emotional capacity of the nobility and that of the peasantry.

And now I would simply go and find a girl to satisfy my baser needs, descending briefly to the level of animal existence where the peasants spent their entire lives, before returning to the cottage and resuming my mantle of nobility. For the first time, I felt I fully understood what it meant to have aristocratic blood in my veins.

I reached the wall of the town, which was in essence no more than a wooden palisade, some twelve feet high. The city gate was already open to the desultory morning traffic, guarded by a lone militiaman. He wore a pothelm and was armed with a pike, but otherwise he was garbed in clothing typical of a peasant. Affecting an attitude of bored hauteur, I passed into town -- and thought to notice the guard stand a little straighter, as if aware that his indolent slouch was unacceptable in the presence of a Lord.

I had visited Further Edgewater on several occasions in the months since the Countess and I had moved into the cottage, and I had met a dozen or more young women there who would have fully suited my purposes that day -- merchants' daughters mainly. But I had no desire to go through elaborate preparatory rituals (food, drink, conversation) prior to sating my lust, and so I had only one recourse within that small town.

The Roustabout Inn, owned by one Graydon Zamp, employed a bevy of girls -- if seven might be defined as a bevy – who were routinely available for rent by the hour.

I proceeded directly to this establishment, a nondescript brick building in an alley lined with dilapidated wooden hovels. The street's ill-favored pedestrians eyed me guardedly; I placed one hand protectively on the moneypouch at my belt, the other on the hilt of my dagger. I did not release my grip on either until I was safely inside.

There was little noise from the three or four patrons, who each sat alone drinking cheap beer from wooden mugs. I wondered how there could possibly be enough profit for a man to make a living in owning such a place.

Graydon Zamp, tall and lean, stood at the far end of the long bar, attired in ostentatious finery which might have appeared foppish on a man of less austere mien. His woolen hose were gray and black striped, his vermillion velvet aketon was tailored according to the latest fashion: Open over the chest to reveal a blouse of red taffeta whose high, stiff collar brushed his earlobes.

As I approached, Zamp eyed me with an air of suspicion, even dread, perhaps assuming I was a creditor come to collect a debt.

"I require the use of a girl," I said. "For an hour at most."

I smiled reassuringly to allay his concern, but I suppose he was the sort who never fully lays aside his suspicions. He appraised me through narrowed eyes.

"You've been here before, m'lord?"

"Once or twice. But not recently. The Countess Borja and I moved into the area several months ago."

"Yes, the Countess's son. I thought I recognized you." He grinned – or rather, his lips curled upward at the ends. It was a thoroughly predatory expression, without warmth, good humor or fidelity. "A formidable woman, the Countess."

"I was not aware that she'd had previous business with you, Mr Zamp."

"Anyone who has any business in Edgewater has business with me, m'lord."

"Ah, I see."

Zamp raised a small glass of amber liquid to his lips, bolted it down at a gulp, hissed with what might have been equally appreciation or distress. "I do not mean to boast, Lord," he apologized. "I merely state a fact. You enjoyed my girls then?"

"They are adequate."

"Oh, indeed. Adequate and then some." He caught the eye of one of his serving girls, brushed the front of his jacket with one hand in a peculiar gesture which might have been entirely inadvertent. In any case, she seemed to pay him no heed, and left the room moments later. Smirking, Zamp refilled his glass from a half-empty bottle by his elbow.

"Did you have a favorite among my girls, m'lord?" he asked.

"If memory serves, they were admirably interchangeable."

"I see. Then perhaps you'll enjoy Heather. She has been with us for only a few weeks, and has earned a reputation for her exuberance."

"If she has all the holes I require, exuberance is superfluous."

"Sometimes, My Lord, it is the superfluities which make a thing worthwhile." Zamp drained his second glass of liquor. "By your leave, m'lord, I will go and summon Heather for your approval."

I dismissed him with a nod, turned to find a bar maid placing a large goblet of wine on the counter in front of me.

"What is this?" I asked. "I haven't ordered a drink."

"Compliments of the house, My Lord."

The wine was surprisingly good, and I had almost finished the entire goblet before I was approached by another girl, who favored me with a broad and welcoming smile. Her teeth were crooked, the canines crowded forward like fangs, yet somehow this only served to heighten her rough allure.

"You are Heather?"

She must have noted the approving gleam in my eye. "Yes, My Lord," she said, curtsying.

"I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Heather," I said, placing my hands on her lean hips and studying her figure through the simple blouse and skirt she wore.

She cast down her eyes coquettishly. "The pleasure is mine, m'lord," she murmured. "Am I to the Lord's taste?"

"Entirely. What is your rate?"

"Mr Zamp charges one rorr per hour, m'lord. But first, Mr Zamp would have me ask one question of the Lord."

"Very well. Ask your question."

Heather seemed suddenly reticent, licking her lips as she hesitated. "Mr Zamp wonders if perhaps the Lord would prefer something more . . . intense?"

Her tone intrigued me. "To what are you referring?"

"Mr Zamp has very recently acquired an extraordinary specimen, m'lord."

"Of what nature?"

Heather, now gnawing her lip avidly, spoke in a bare whisper: "My Lord has heard of orc-pets?"

"Of course I have," I said guardedly.

"Mr Zamp has a girl ..." Again she paused.

"What of this girl?"

Heather drifted forward, her body pressed full against mine, a curious gleam in her eye. "My Lord is curious?"

"Perhaps."

Heather squirmed against me, breathing heavily. "I will take m'lord to this . . . this girl, if m'lord is interested."

Her evident arousal was the deciding factor for me. "Show me," I said.

"Yes, m'lord."

She led me to the rear of the common room, out a door which opened into a tiled courtyard, and across to a cellar door beside the tavern's kitchen. Graydon Zamp himself was waiting by the cellar holding a burning lantern. He seemed unsurprised at my arrival, greeting me with a mischievous, malicious grin.

"My Lord seeks a unique experience," he said.

"I am told that you have an unusual girl available."

Zamp withdrew a large keyring, fitted one key into a great iron lock in the cellar door. "Orc-pets are said to possess a sexual prowess that no human female can hope to approach," he said.

"Who would know for sure?" I countered. "Girls with the taint of the orcs are supposedly unable to live among human society."

"You will not be disappointed, My Lord," said Zamp. "She is well worth the price."

I did not know what to think, but my curiosity -- yes, even my excitement -- was growing by the moment. I had often wondered what sex with an orc-pet would be like -- as what man has not, at one time or another. It is a common enough fantasy, I should think; the kind of thing to be discussed with enthusiasm over tankards of ale in tavern common rooms. Now I was being offered the chance to experience it for myself if I chose. It seemed too good to be true.

Warily I followed as Zamp, holding his lamp high over his head, descended a very narrow wooden stairway into the dank, dark depths of the cellar. Behind me the steps creaked as Heather crept less enthusiastically after us.

Zamp spoke over his shoulder to me, "You can take a look, My Lord, even speak with her. Then you can decide if you would like to pay for an hour with her."

"What is her cost?"

"A pittance, m'lord. Four rorrim for the hour."

"You charge only a single rorr for your other girls."

"But this is no ordinary girl, m'lord! Come, satisfy yourself."

The musty air down there was much cooler than outside. The cellar itself was not large, perhaps fifteen feet on a side, and it did not appear to have been much used in recent years. A few old crates were stacked in one corner, ancient cobwebs filled the others. On the floor against the back wall stood an iron-barred cage; a pale figure was crouched in the cage, long dark hair hung down over the bowed head.

Zamp glanced at me, then abruptly stepped forward and struck the bars of the cage with the lamp. With a sharp gasp the girl jerked her head up, then crawled forward. Gripping the cage with both hands she pressed her face between two bars and gazed solemnly up at us. A heavy iron collar had been locked around her throat, by which she was chained to a ring on the wall behind her.

"Why do you keep her locked up?" I asked, still staring brazenly at the girl.

"She is essentially an animal, My Lord," said Zamp. "If she were freed, she would attempt to escape. No doubt back to the orcs who owned her." He leered lecherously.

Heather, who had been hovering at the foot of the stairs, moved up close behind us. She peered around Zamp's shoulder, one small hand on his bulging waist. When I glanced down at her she offered me a significant look, one of fear, anxiety and deep uncontrollable lust. I grinned wolfishly, thought I heard a tiny whimper from her throat; then she licked her lips and looked quickly away, back to the girl in the cage.

"What is her name?" I asked Zamp.

"You may ask her yourself, My Lord."

I leaned forward, spoke slowly. "What is your name?"

Her eyes flitted from me to Zamp and back. In a near whisper she said, "Anna, Master."

She was quite pretty, even more so than Heather, with large emerald eyes and delicate features. The thought of this lovely young girl enslaved to the orcs, pleasuring them on command, filled me with an overwhelming erotic desire. For the first time that day -- for the first time in weeks -- my mind was freed from any thoughts of Satta.

"How long have you been here, Anna?" I asked.

"Don't know, Master. A few days."

"You keep her cage quite clean," I said to Zamp. "Immaculate."

There was no straw for bedding, no pans for food or water or excretory needs.

"I have my girls clean the place up regularly, My Lord," said Zamp.

"And what do you feed her?"

"Leftovers. Whatever scraps are at hand. She'll eat anything."

"Master?"

I turned at the sound of Anna's voice, quiet and meek. She was staring up at me, her face thrust as far as she could manage between the narrow bars of her cage.

"Anna would love to fuck the Master. May Anna fuck the Master?"

I grinned and, shaking my head, turned to Graydon. "It is a good effort, Mr Zamp. But I am not buying."

For a long moment Zamp did not speak. His eyebrow twitched upward. "Orc-pets not to your taste after all, My Lord?"

"Not an obviously fraudulent one."

Zamp's face remained inscrutably expressionless. "My Lord, you cannot mean to suggest--"

"Please do not feign innocence, sir," I interjected sharply. "As much as I would like to believe your claims, I simply cannot." I turned to the girl in the cage. "Your name, girl -- is it truly Anna?"

Again the telltale glance at Zamp. Then she hung her head, but still I received no response from her.

Suddenly Zamp spoke. "Yes, My Lord. Her name is Anna."

"And is she an orc-pet?"

Zamp smiled grimly. "My Lord is perfectly aware of the answer to that question."

I looked at Heather, who was staring up at Zamp, chewing her lip intently; her eyes shifted to the floor, clearly avoiding my gaze. "Apparently you had very little regard for my intellect, Mr Zamp," I said. "I suppose I could report you to the authorities. There are stiff penalties for fraud."

"But what would you gain by that, My Lord?" asked Zamp, unruffled.

"Admittedly nothing. That is why" -- I reached for Heather, grasping her wrist so tightly that she cried out in pain -- "you will allow me the use of your girl here free of charge."

Zamp hesitated only a moment before responding. "Very well, My Lord. One hour." He spread his hands, smiling unctuously at me. "And My Lord will consider himself duly compensated for this . . . misunderstanding?"

I nodded curtly, my eyes on Heather as she struggled in vain. Zamp turned and left the cellars. Heather, mouth agape, watched him depart. Then she looked back at me and made one last half-hearted attempt to wrench her arm free, but I maintained my grip with ease.

"You knew the girl was a fake," I said.

Heather appeared to be on the verge of tears. "Please, My Lord," she said. "Mr Zamp will make me pay for your hour. It will come out of my week's wages!"

"Let it be a lesson then," I said, unmoved. "Next time you will know better than to tell lies to noblemen."

"Surely the money is nothing to you, My Lord! But I must go without food for the week!"

"What is your weekly wage?"

My question sparked a pale glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Two rorrim, Lord."

"My hour with you will only cost you a single rorr."

"That will leave me with only enough for the week's rent, Lord."

"Then you will not be thrown out in the street. You may consider yourself fortunate. Perhaps more fortunate than you deserve."

"My Lord is most kind," said Heather meekly, with no hint of irony. She must have known well enough that her deceitfulness precluded any expectation of lenience. I released her wrist; she rubbed it with her other hand, eyes downcast. Then she said, "Mr Zamp will wonder how the Lord knew Anna was not an orc-pet."

I chuckled. "Too good to be true. Besides, the penalty for harboring an orc-pet is death. I can't imagine Graydon Zamp risking death for a mere four rorrim an hour."

My skepticism brought a ghost of a smile to Heather's lips. "My Lord is very wise," she said.

I frowned, wary of accepting her compliment at face value. I turned to the girl in the cage, noted that she was huddled in the back corner, her arms embracing her knees, which were drawn up to her chest; now that she was no longer playing the part of the orc-pet she seemed to have become oddly self-conscious.

"How often have enacted this charade for Mr Zamp?" I asked her.

She looked up, gnawed her lips. "Only three times, m'lord," she said. Then, slowly, she got to her hands and knees, the chain rattling as she moved; her eyes were locked on mine, alight with some curious commingling of bashfulness and lechery.

"Your performance was quite good, Anna,"