Nuë and the Djinn Ch. 04

With fast, sure motions, Jata poured the watered wine into the glass, a pale red, adding thin slices of orange crosswise and what looked like a pear, diced. Mihel could smell it through the sorcerer's nose. Jata never looked at her, the slave coming and placing it on the small table beside her, turning the grapes in their bowl so they were in reach. She sighed, her eyes unfocused. The slave finished, leaving.

"Close the door," Sota said into the air, her voice indifferent.

The slave went through and his hand came and pulled the door closed. There were captive birds in the corner, sweet sounds Mihel heard through Ezrel's ears.

Sota sat up, grabbing the cup of wine and gulping it down. She poured more from the pitcher, taking a sip, breathing. She threw it back, filling her mouth, her cheeks full, and swallowing several times. She reached and popped a large grape into her mouth, exhaling noisily, and another. She added a third and sighed again, rubbing her temples and then reclining, her manner different now, relaxed and sloppy. It was how people tended to act when they believed they were alone.

The woman closed her eyes, the sorcerer watching her. Mihel was pleased he didn't have to listen to the sorcerer's thoughts, at least. He could imagine them well enough, the man's cock hard.

When Sota's breathing was steady, Ezrel moved to her. He reached carefully, loosening the smaller ribbon of her gathered bodice, tugging the tie, which opened. He pulled the material down, the woman's breasts emerging. Mihel looked because Ezrel did. Her dark pink nipples were relaxed, her breasts large and round. Because it aroused Ezrel, Mihel felt the sensitivity in the cock of the body he rode like it was his own, the light shaking in the sorcerer's hands, his deeper breathing. His fast heart.

The sensations were familiar, arousing Mihel because it was a body response and he was occupying this body as he had once lived in his own.

They leaned down and licked the relaxed nipple, pulling it into their mouth, the sorcerer careful not to touch her anywhere else. The bud was silky soft, stiffening under Ezrel's tongue as he went to the other, sucking, the sounds obscenely loud until Ezrel seemed to realize, quieting. His heart was racing, much more aroused than the situation seemed to warrant, at least to Mihel, but Mihel was bound to this body, feeling these things.

The woman was responding, her breathing getting faster. She grunted lightly, arching, offering them. Ezrel was so excited that Mihel didn't think the man was going to last long anyway.

Sota opened her eyes and the sorcerer straightened, startled, stepping back and bumping the table, which rocked, the empty clay pitcher crashing to the floor, breaking, because the sorcerer was a clumsy idiot. Sota sat up with a cry, looking down, her hands going to her bodice, crying out over and over. She stopped and then cried out again as the slave knocked on the door and opened it a little, peering in, breathing fast because he'd run to get there, hearing her.

She pulled up her bodice like he was trying to see her breasts. "Someone was touching me," she accused, looking down and pulling the ties closed, her tone furious. "Someone was...I was lying here and I was asleep and someone came into this room and was touching me."

The man looked bewildered. "There's nobody else here, mistress."

Her eyes went to him and the slave's face went pale. He swallowed, bowing. "Perhaps the intruder's still here," the man said. "I'll go look, mistress."

"Don't come back until you've found him. My husband is going to hear about this."

"Yes, mistress," the slave said, looking ill, the poor man probably knowing the rest of the house was empty.

Not having access to Ezrel's thoughts, Mihel was warned only by the sudden tensing of the sorcerer's body as he leapt on the woman on the couch. Ezrel was much stronger than he was used to being, and he clawed at her dress, tearing it straight down. She opened her mouth, arching, letting out a high-pitched scream that was cut off before it really got started as he clapped his hand over her mouth, half-stunning the woman, who was blinking.

The sorcerer didn't seem to notice, pinning her and getting out of his own way, pulling the rest of her dress from her in sharp tugs, ripping it, her body jerking with the tugs. Her belly came into view, her thighs. He tore her underwear from her, a wrapped garment, effortless with Mihel's strength, not even seeming to notice her struggles.

Grabbing the tattered remains of her underwear and lifted his hand off her mouth, Ezrel stuffed them in. Her mouth was full, her cries muffled as he took her hands and brought them together, the red silken scarf she had worn serving to wrap around her wrists. He looked up at the wall, his eyes darting, finding the wood pegs, the metal ring in mortar. He stood and brought the other side of the scarf to it and tugging the small end through, knotting it.

Her hands were tied above her. She was looking around wildly, unable to see Ezrel. Sota had almost pushed the cloth out of her mouth, yelling behind it, when he ripped a long piece from the remains of her dress, tying it over her mouth. The cloth was definitely not coming back out now, the woman's face red, pulling air in through her nose. Her hands were bound above her but she was free otherwise, and she twisted and kicked, throwing her body around.

She stilled as Ezrel straddled her, Sota on her back. He began slapping her breasts, his cock jumping, Mihel feeling it with him. She yelled behind the gag. They were jiggling, and wherever he slapped became bright red.

She was crying out, trying to get away from his hands, which were now slapping directly on her nipples, tears coming from her eyes. Ezrel grabbed her waist and turned her over, reversing himself, getting his arm around her and squeezing his arm to his side. Her naked ass was jutting out from under it, her hands still tied above her. She was facedown behind him. He raised his other hand and brought it down fast and hard, smacking her.

The woman screamed behind the gag. She couldn't even struggle as he rained the blows down, her ass turning dark red. He abruptly released her and put her on her back again, bringing her knees to her chest, spreading her legs wide. His hand came, Mikhel feeling his own palm hitting her tenderness as they spanked her fast and hard on her pussy, a series of smart strikes that cracked into the room.

She was objecting in every way she could, shrieking against the gag, but there wasn't anything she could do against his strength. Ezrel's excitement was keen, Mihel feeling all of it. Ezrel was panting, his crotch tight, waves going through him. He held Sota still, looking down at her red pussy. His hand went to his pants and he opened the buttons, reaching in, pulling out his cock.

He brought her knees up to her chin, spreading her open again. He leaned over and spit onto his hand, Mihel feeling the spit gathering like it was his mouth, feeling him release it, feeling it land, Ezrel rubbing it on his cock. Feeling that, too. The sorcerer leaned into her and thrust in, grunting, entering her.

Mihel shared it all, no choice, feeling the violent desire, feeling his--not his--hips pumping, feeling his--not his-- cock thrusting into the warmth of the woman, her softness yielding. When the sorcerer grunted with the pleasure, Mihel felt his throat voice it. In this moment, it didn't matter.

Sinking even deeper into the cruel pleasure, Mihel looked down and experienced a moment of profound dislocation.

Nuë. She was under him. It was her golden hair spread all around her, her soft pussy into which he buried his cock. Mihel was suddenly free of the binding, shocked, able to move. He didn't question it, pleasure surging through him. He reached down, pulling apart the lips of her pussy and wedging his thumb on her clitoris, rubbing fast.

Nuë responded just as Mihel knew she would, her pussy pulsing around his cock, her eyes going wide. Mihel's fingers worked her clit, the speed fast. Nuë came under him, straining. His cock was moving so much easier. Somewhere else, the sorcerer gave a cry of excitement, beginning to pump even harder into Sota. Somewhere else, the blonde pulsed, releasing, a series of sharp grunts coming from behind the gag as she climaxed.

The sorcerer was thrusting savagely, their release arriving. Nuë. Mihel began to come.

The sorcerer cried out loud into the room, the idiot, but they were both locked in the pleasure. Ezrel's cock convulsed, raising, emptying, and Mihel couldn't think of anything else.

He slowly came back from it. He was bound again and Nuë was gone.

But Nuë had been here with him. Somehow, he had brought her here, the partial joining between them very alive. It wanted to be completed. And Mihel knew that wherever she was in the world, Nuë had experienced that pleasure.

Ezrel pulled out of Sota as the sound of footsteps came, running, drawn by Ezrel's cry. Ezrel backed away, panting, fastening his pants. He went to the corner of the room, staying still, getting his breathing under control. He was looking at her, Mihel feeling his face grinning, the familiar muscles pulling as four other men, probably neighbors, came crashing in to rescue her, all of them stopping, the rest of the room empty.

#

Mihel accompanied the sorcerer out of the house, through the courtyard, and it wasn't until they were walking on the street that Mihel was released. He slept.

"Come to me, djinn," he heard. Mihel woke. "Show yourself."

Mihel was standing in front of the sorcerer, who was out of breath, red-faced and enraged. Mihel had no sense of how much time had passed, but he didn't think it was that much later. The sorcerer leaned forward, pointing to the balcony. "I was left only a short way from that house, completely visible! No strength or speed to get away if I needed to. I could have been taken. People could have seen me. How did you remove yourself from me?"

"I didn't," Mihel said, expressionless.

"Strike yourself," the sorcerer said, furious.

Mihel's expression didn't change. He didn't do anything.

"Are you defying me? How are you doing that?"

"No. I'm not doing that."

"Strike yourself."

Mihel didn't move.

"Why aren't you striking yourself?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not in a body," Mihel said.

"How did you leave my body?"

"I didn't."

The sorcerer paused, his anger seeming to cool, thinking. "What caused you to leave my body?"

"I was pushed out of it."

"By what?"

"A constraint on my nature."

Ezrel blinked. "What constraint?"

"I can only inhabit a body not my own for a few hours."

"How soon can do you do it again?"

"I don't know."

"Why don't you know?"

"I've never done it before."

The sorcerer's head drew back sharply, incredulous. "As soon you can do it again, come back into my body," Ezrel said. "Go now. Back to your necklace."

#

Mikhel woke. The sorcerer was asleep. He slipped into Ezrel's body, not waking him, the idiot. Mikhel used the time to think.

He had called Nuë to him. He wouldn't have believed it except that when she had been here, Mihel had taken control of Ezrel's body, in that moment freed from the binding. And Ezrel hadn't noticed. Ezrel hadn't been in control, hadn't even remembered that Mihel had done it. In that moment, Mihel had possessed the sorcerer.

It could only be the part of his spirit that Nuë carried, still free, within her. It wasn't bound.

He still didn't know what he could do. He couldn't stop what was happening or he'd just be bound again. Mihel plotted, the sorcerer oblivious, until Mihel was pushed out of Ezrel's body.

Mihel did the same the next night. And the next night, and for two more nights after that. The sorcerer hadn't specified when Mihel should go into his body. The sorcerer waited. Impatient, Mihel imagined.

"When are you going to be ready to be in my body again, djinn?" Ezrel said irritably, finally summoning him.

"When the sun goes down."

"When the sun goes down, move into my body and bring me into the spirit world."

#

Nuë clenched her teeth. Rasmin hadn't stopped tormenting her.

"You know, if we could predict when it would happen, I could sell the right to witness, and we'd be rich by the time we got to Heltas," he said happily, riding his horse beside her.

"Stop it, Rasmin!" she finally cried, looking at him.

"What's the fun in that?" he said, grinning at her. "Maybe we could bring one on. Does that grass look good to you? The bushes, maybe? You could couple with a tree. A tree would be interesting, the way some of the smooth branches can jut right out of the sides of the trunk--"

"What would it take to get you to be quiet besides stabbing you?" she demanded.

Rasmin laughed. "I'm pleased you finally asked. I'm going to have a guest over soon. I won't say a word the rest of the day and I won't even mention your perversions until my guest comes. All you have to do is return the favor. Just don't go far so I can still protect you if I need to. And stay quiet. "

"Done," she said.

Rasmin laughed.

He was as good as his word. Rasmin rode beside her with a kind of serenity, quiet all the rest of the day, seeming to enjoy the sun on his face. He even pulled his hood up and his robe over his hands when they heard others on the road, casually dropping it after they passed. It was pleasant, although people still got off the road when they saw the ash robe.

The next day, he was more active, becoming the cheerful, sometimes amusing, often annoying person she'd come to know, but he didn't torment her. The next day was the same. She became suspicious.

"Rasmin," she said as they rode.

"Yes, little sister?"

"What guest?"

"I only think we both of us know just one person between us that you remember and it's not him."

She worked on that. "How do you know to meet this person here? Is it a place we're going that you've already arranged?"

"I don't. It isn't. I don't know this person yet."

"You don't know your guest yet?"

"No. Don't worry. I won't go far. I'll still see your light."

"I don't understand."

"I know," he said happily. "It's almost too much to ask, but I'm going with my good fortune."

She turned and looked at him, frowning lightly. "I just have to be quiet?" she confirmed.

"Yes, and stay close. But don't let yourself be seen," he said.

#

It was early, just dark. Nuë was sitting by the fire when she heard Rasmin's voice, and then a woman's voice. His guest. Nuë got up quickly, moving and sitting by a rock not far. She would stay quiet, the shadows long and deepening to night. She wouldn't understand what they said anyway, since she only spoke her own language and she doubted his guest would be Sidean. They wouldn't see her here, although she could see them, the area around the firelight visible from all around.

She was right. Rasmin's guest wasn't Sidean. She was a Heltasian woman a little older than Nuë. And Rasmin didn't look like himself either. It was his face, his form, but he wasn't an ifrit. The blue lines on his hands were gone. He looked like a huge Strovi tribesman, or maybe a Kole from the highlands. They were large people and dark-haired.

It was an illusion, Rasmin making himself appear human. She didn't know why it surprised her that they could do that. They could make themselves look like wolves and jackals. It just hadn't occurred to her.

"I told you," Nuë heard Rasmin say lightly as they approached. Nuë understood him. She didn't know why, but she did. Maybe when ifrit spoke, it wasn't in any language. "They're in my camp."

The woman said a string of words Nuë didn't understand, sounding doubtful. Worried.

"I said I would, and I will," Rasmin replied. "He won't even know they were gone."

Nonsense words, a note of desperation.

"I'm not going to do anything of the kind," Rasmin said. "See? Here they are."

Nuë saw him holding up a small leather bag. She was watching, listening.

The woman spoke. Relief. An accusation. A demand.

"It's not my fault," Rasmin said. "I just picked them up. I didn't know you'd put them there. I thought maybe someone had lost them."

Skepticism. A renewed demand.

"I said I'd give them to you, and I will," Rasmin said. "It just seems to me that you want them badly."

Silence. A question.

"I don't want your money," Rasmin said, shaking his head.

Argument. Another accusation.

"What would I want pearls for? It's not like I'm going to wear them. I'll trade you for them."

A question.

"There are ten pearls. I'll give you one of them for a kiss."

A sharp response. Negation, a long string of indignant words.

"All right, then," Rasmin said regretfully, looking at the pouch in his hand. "I don't want to be accused of stealing them. Your husband is asleep drunk, you said? I can wait until the morning and tell him where I found them."

Silence, then argument. An entreaty.

"No, I won't just give them back to you," Rasmin said indignantly. "Saza, a man who would leave a woman like you running around on her own while he snores with drink is useless to her. He probably doesn't know what to do with you when he's sober."

Nuë's eyes were shifting between them. The woman was a trader's wife, very pretty, a silk handkerchief over her hair, her dress with a silk bodice, flaring sleeves that ended in elaborate lace, the dress fitted underneath her breasts. Below it, the dress fell in folds to her ankles.

Silence. A brief statement.

"All right, two pearls," Rasmin agreed, approaching her.

The woman tilted her face up, closing her eyes. They opened again when Rasmin's hand went to tug off her handkerchief, tossing it, her hair caught up under it with combs and pins. He busied himself pulling them out and her hair fell, untwisting, pretty hair, dark brown and thick.

A protest.

"It's two pearls and only a kiss," Rasmin reminded her matter-of-factly.

Reluctant consent.

Rasmin leaned down and touched her lips lightly with his. Nuë watched, her eyes wide, as his hands went into her hair and he angled, deepening it. She saw the sensual dance of their tongues, the woman wrapping her arms around Rasmin's neck. He pulled her closer. It went on.

Nuë was breathing a little fast, remembering Mihel doing that with her. Rasmin finally drew back.

The woman opened her eyes, staring at him. She stepped back, looking wary, breathing fast. She offered a string of words, demanding.

"I can give two pearls to you now," Rasmin said. "We only agreed to two, though."

A question.

"What about them?" Rasmin said.

A demand, worry again.

Rasmin looked thoughtful. "I liked kissing you, but I've already done that. I'll give you two of the pearls if you let me touch you."

Indignation. Refusal.

"I didn't say that. Just touch you a little and you'll have two more of them."

A question, and another question.

He thought about it and answered. "Not for long. Above your waist."

A word.

Rasmin set the bag down on a rock near the fire. Nuë watched as he stepped to her, his fingers going to her vest. She pushed his hands away, Rasmin grinning at her. She was glaring at him. She raised her hands and unfastened the vest herself, pulling it off and setting it aside. She unbuttoned the bodice. The trader's wife drew it off her shoulders, the fanned sleeves collapsing, the material gathering at her waist as she pushed it down.

Under it, her breasts were round, her nipples jutting straight from her chest in the firelight. Nuë watched, her mouth open slightly, staring as Rasmin approached the woman, walking around her and then behind her. He stepped closer and his hands came under her arms to caress the undersides of her breasts. Nuë could hear the woman's fast breathing.