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Aimee 01 04a

Aimee', Chapter 4

"Come here, child, sit down, sit down." Bethsany patted the couch,
trying to be welcoming to the nervous young girl who stood at the
doorway. "Young" was perhaps a bit of an inaccuracy to Bethsany's
eyes, since she had some girls working for her who were younger.

She walked forward, her eyes scanning the room intensely. Bethsany saw
the careful, analytical training that Darynn had imbued Aimee' with,
but she also saw the youthful nervousness that came naturally to girls at Aimee's age. Bethsany tried her best to hire girls who were already
enjoying sex when they came to her; women who did their work out of
desperation were simply not good workers.

Aimee' reached out with her hand, touching the rough texture of the
couch, her eyes exploring. Bethsany watched her for a moment. "It's a
brothel, dear. My customers expect a certain degree of garishness."
She smiled. "Sit down, sit down."

Aimee' finally took her seat and Bethsany took a longer, more careful
look at her. She was what she expected from Teltirray's tastes; tall,
slim, relatively small breasts. dark hair and bright, blue eyes were
something of a necessity with him. Bethsany was somewhat relieved to
see that even after three months the usual signs of abuse that
Teltirray heaped upon his "charges" weren't as graphic on Aimee' as
usual; either she was showing remarkable resilience to his advances or
he really was holding back, probably hoping that between Darynn's
magic and her training they would turn Aimee' into the perfect sex toy
for Teltirray's vapid tastes.

"Now, then," Bethsany began after Aimee' had settled down into her
seat. "My object is to train you to be as good as any of the girls I
have here. That's not easy, you know." She laughed. "My girls are the
very best in the city. But we will do our best. Now, I understand that
it's been Darynn's way to tell you stories about himself, how he got
his understanding and so on. I plan on doing the same. So listen
closely, dearie, because I don't like repeating myself."

I was born the daughter of a nomad whore. I don't mind saying that
because it's completely true. My mother was a good whore, too, and a
woman devoted to her husband and her daughter. We travelled around the
southern continent on a tented wagon. There were four wagons in our
train and a total of seventeen people. We didn't even have a name for
ourselves, really; we were just "the people." There were nine cities
we visited on our course, the same course, year after year. My father was a merchant trader and was very good at picking out what one city
had that the next one down the line would need, even after a year's
absence. My mother, with her deep red skin, slanted eyes and straight,
black hair, was exotic in many of the cities and men would flock to
her like flies on butter. Much the same they did with me many years

We were a friendly bunch most of the time but we tended to take it
very carefully on the road. A good plan considering how many brigands
there were out there interested in lightening our loads. The greatest
travel we ever took was from Ticonary to Emti, a rough road through a
mountain pass that usually took twenty days or thereabouts. We weren't
to know it, but in my thirteenth year the Maple Campaign to the North
had driven a small tribe of barbaric Centaurs into the mountain range
for refuge. These were no gentle Centaurs of the upper valleys. No,
these were the Gespil Centaurs, small, strong, but magicless Centaur
warriors who still sometimes plague the lands of the Maple region.

They fell upon us in our sleep. Crossbows aimed with silent accuracy
felled our menfolk before they could even shout a word. It was a most
silent brigandry. More than half of our men were dead before an alarm
was raised. My mother fought them off, seizing father's sword and
slashing at them. It was to no avail; there were too many of them, too
many warriors, and as she hacked at two who leapt and taunted her, one
stepped up behind her and ran her through with his pike. I shall never
forget the look on her face as she died with her ribs pushed out by
the spike erupting from her chest. She was sad, sad for me. She wanted
to see me, twisted on the spike horribly to look at me as she fell.
When her body slumped to the ground the one who had killed her pulled
the pike free, then turned and gave me a smile. I hated him and his
evil grin, I wanted to wipe it off his face and make him pay for my
mother's death and I would wallow in his pain when I did.

"Take her!" he shouted, pointing at me. "Alive!"

They did that. Although I fought them, there was really no point to
struggling with two male centaurs. "Find a bench in one of these
wagons. I'm going to have me some fun."

I begged and pleaded. Not that it did me much good. When they found
out I was a virgin, there was a roar of approval, as if it was all one
big joke. Two found a wooden bench, torn from the seat of one of the
wagons, and laid my mother's bedding over it. It took four Centaurs to
hold me, one for each arm and each leg, as they tore my clothes from
me and laid me down on their platform.

Gespil Centaurs are not much larger than humans, Aimee'; they are
usually a little under six feet tall, made more of ponies than
full-size horses. Their penises-- I'm a professional, dear, I have to
use the technical term-- are not much larger than a man's. This one,
their leader apparently, had a large penis even for his species. "Hold
her down, dammit!" he shouted. "I can't fuck her if she's flailing her
feet about all over the place!"

The two holding my legs managed to get my knees pressed to my chest,
holding my feet far apart I felt they would split me in two. The
leader reared up on his hind legs, straddling my body. He grinned down
at me, his teeth showing in a snarl that befitted some demon more than
he. "You will like this," he said.

"May Agas and all his demons pass you about for their buggery!" I
shouted at him. Sorry, I don't mean to offend you, Aimee'. I'm just
trying to relate the story as it happened.

"I'm sure he will," he responded. "But not today." He lowered his
enormous prick. I felt it touch my thighs and screamed. He merely
smiled. They must have some muscles to control it because with no
hands he found my opening and battered at it, the head of his prick
demanding entrance. He pointed at one of his followers. "Grease us."

The other one smiled. I felt a hand on my pudenda, touching me. I
squirmed harder, but they held me fast, and as the hand pressed over
my mound it left a streak of some thick, greasy substance. Then the
leader was back, his prick still hard as ever. I felt the slick grease
helping him, guiding him into me. I felt my opening giving way.

The pain, Aimee', oh, the pain. I shall never forget how awful that
tearing agony was. It blocked out thought as this Centaur blocked the
sun from my eyes. I screamed and flailed about. In my struggle I tore
my muscles. Tears streamed my eyes. The huge stallion prick in my cunt bucked and shoved and jammed as it stretched and tortured me. He raped
me wholly without remorse or shame.

I could do nothing. His prick within me was a weapon, one I would
someday remove from him in the most painful manner I could possibly
imagine. He repeatedly jabbed it into me, the snarl on his face-- so
many feet away from my clawing hands!-- showing me his contempt. I
tried to return it, but my tears and pain were too much.

My body responded, Aimee'! I understand now what happened, but at that
time I felt the greatest betrayal as my cunt throbbed from his abusive
prick. I felt a pleasure in my being even as I cried, a pleasure that
exploded in climax even as he dropped his scum within my helpless
body. "See?" he smiled as he slid off me. "She likes it. Take her. I
need a new maidservant. We'll train her good."

The others laughed and nodded. I learned my Master's name was "Styur."

I was thrown over the back of a horse, one of our horses that they had
captured alive in the raid. My crying was ignored, as was the blood of
my deflowering streaming down my legs. We rode on horseback for many

We arrived at their camp, a collection of caves and huts housing maybe
fifty Centaurs total. I was there removed from the pack animal that
carried me and led to his house. "Uma!" Styur shouted. "I have a gift
for you. She's difficult, but you can break her."

The door opened and a Centaur woman looked out. Her face was ugly, the
result of a burn I was to learn some time later. Nor was her smile
kind. "She's pretty," she said. "Yes, I'll do wonderful things with
this one. A worthy gift, Styur." She turned to a box and pulled out a
collar, such as one would fit a dog, and wrapped it around my neck. It
had once been white, but there were the brown stains of dried blood
covering much of it. "You see," she said to me, her foul breath
washing over me, "The last toy we had misbehaved. We've not cleaned
her things off since then. That will be your task."

The lock on the collar was small and brass, but I could never break
it. Styur smiled as he regarded me. "You will need to wash, Mosh." I
was to find out that "mosh" is a word in their language meaning "toy."
It was my new name.

I was consequently washed and then taken back to Uma and Styur's hut.
I was shown my sleeping cloths on the floor, then given a basket and
told to collect the cloths scattered throughout the house and wash

I did as I was told. I had no choice. There was nowhere to run, nobody
to feed me. I was alone, the only slave alive in the Centaur camp, the
plaything of their warrior-leader. I was assured that they had others
at time, but the war and their movements had caused them to lose most
of their slaves. I asked if those slaves had died on the trip. "No,"
Styur replied, smiling. "They were eaten."

The days and nights passed as winter came closer and closer. I was
taught to make the fire, to raise the heat, to cook for them. And
every third night or so Styur would tie me down to his bench and have
his way with me. He was creative in his foul way, tying me face down
and then placing bricks under one side of the bench to lift my
buttocks into the air, making his entry easier.

I hated him. And every time he raped me, I climaxed. I drew my
pleasure from hating him, from the knowledge that I could have this
pleasure, that it was mine, it belonged to me, I made it despite him.
He could never take it away from me without taking away his prick, his
own pleasure at his human girl. I would fight the biting ropes and
scream and hate him. He would sometimes gag me. My fingers would
strain, my wrists pulling against the cords, trying for some way to
get free, as his prick fucked my cunt, rubbed my clit and made me
come. I would scream with anger and with pleasure.

He would get off me and touch my face. "See?" he would say. "You're
starting to like me more and more."

I would curse him. Once, I spat at him, and he slapped my face so hard
a bruise welted up there that lasted for a week.

In my dreams I wished for a lover who would not abuse me. Who would
give me what I wanted in fair trade for what he wanted, who would stop
when I wanted him to and who would ask me to stop when he didn't want
to. I doubted such men like that existed at all. I sometimes still do,
excepting Darynn, of course, who is too much a man's man to do me and
my girls much good as a lover. But still, there is much to learn from
a man like him.

I dreamed of the day I would be close enough to another human to have
the freedom to kill Styur. I was surprised when that day came sooner
than expected.

In my third month of capture the horror these people inflicted upon my
family was returned a hundredfold. During the first night of truly
deep snows, the alarm arose in the camp, waking me from a sleep. I
slept with their dog for warmth and companionship; of all the
creatures, she alone loved me for simple things. I was kind to her.
Styur found that fitting, that his pets should sleep together. At
first, I was disgusted by his train of thoughts; I was not his pet or
his toy. My need for warmth, friendship, and my desire to not reject
this only friend won out, and I stayed next to her in the night.

I've strayed from the tale. The alarm, yes. Whistles awoke us all and
Styur ran from his stone home, seizing his sword as he galloped out
the door. Shouts and screams erupted. Some of the shouts I did not
recognize, although they were all distinctly womanly in sound. I
waited in the dark, hugging Huna-- that was the dog's name-- closely.
The sounds of battle rang out, the clanging of metal, the shouts and
grunts of fighters. The door fell in, and Styur collapsed onto the
floor, four great arrows buried into his manchest, more on the rest of
him. He reached out for me, gasping. "Help me," I heard him say.

Help him? I stood up, walked to him, pulled his short dagger from its
sheath. "I'll help you, all right. Right into Hell." I held it up and
was about to plunge it into his heart when I stopped and reconsidered.
I remembered my pledge. I walked around to the back of his body.

"No," I remember hearing him say. "Don't."

I shoved the knife into his leg, slicing at the muscles that allowed
him to kick. He screamed, a painful thing that made me smile. My
hatred for him was absolute, complete. I cared not the slightest for
him. The leg, now useless, I kicked up and out of my way,exposing his
privates. I grabbed his penis and balls in my hands and pulled them
away from his body, wrenching them painfully. He screamed trying to
get away from me as I cut them loose from his body with the dagger.

Blood poured upon the ground and his body twitched and writhed. I
dropped the contents of both my hands on the ground, then fell to the
ground myself, sitting in the doorway, waiting while the snow fell on
me in gentle, fat flakes. After a while a shape, a human shape, stood
over me, looking down at me. "Have you done that?" she asked, pointing
at the still-oozing carcass of Styur. I didn't answer. I couldn't. I
can't explain what was wrong with me, but it was simply that I didn't
want to do anything, not even answer a simple 'yes' or 'no'. She knelt
down. Her face, partially covered by the open-faced helm she wore, was
hardened and covered with a stain of blood from her nose, but it had a
smile that, for the first time in months, was genuine and lovely. "I
guess you did. Come here." As she spoke her breath streamed away in
visible clouds into the night. She touched my arm and suddenly I was
freed of my paralysis. I held onto her as if she was my last touch of
life, my last hope of living. I gripped her with my remaining
strength. She began to carry me away and Huna began to follow us.
"Shoo, dog," the woman said.

"Huna!" I said, pointing.



"Is Huna your friend?" the woman asked me.

"Yes. Bring Huna?"

She nodded. "Okay, we'll bring her." With her free hand she slapped
her thigh. "Come on, Huna. You're a... girl. Good." She laughed. "Come
on, girl. We're going to take you home." She carried me to the edge of
the camp where the rest of the troops had collected. There she
introduced me to my new life.

Bethsany sat back on her couch. Aimee' had curled up into the corner
of the couch, watching her carefully. Although not a mage herself, she
recognized the signs of idling power within the girl's delicate frame
and wondered if the story had aroused Aimee' defenses. She hoped not.
"So," she said, taking a deep breath. "Come, I want you to meet

She rose and held out her hand. Aimee' took it unsurely, and Bethsany
whisked her out of the room and down the stairs. "Meli! Meli, where
are you, girl?" The stairs ended in the girl's leisure room, a space
Bethsany had set aside for the women to collect themselves and relax.

"Over here, Miss Beth."

"Oh, there you are." She dropped off the steps and herded Aimee' in
the direction of the tall, black-skinned girl with the wide smile and
the sweet-smelling skin. "Meli, I want you to meet Aimee'. Aimee',
this is one of my favorite girls, Meli. She is going to take you aside
and teach you a few tricks that will certainly please your Master."
With that, she took Meli aside and whispered her instructions into the
girl's ear while casting sidelong glances at Aimee'.

Meli finally nodded and walked back to Aimee's side. They looked at
each as if measuring, then Meli reached out a hand. Aimee' took at and
both let out a small sigh of tension. "Hi," Aimee' said.

"Hi," Meli replied. "Come on. Let me take you in back and I will show
you what you need."

Aimee' nodded and allowed Meli to lead her down another flight of
stairs into what felt like a basement. The room was warm, though, and
comfortable. The bright golden yellows and reds that predominated most
of the upstairs gave way to softer pinks accentuating rich blues,
comforting, feminine colors. "This is where we relax in the daytime,"
Meli said. "It's a safe corner for all of us." The first room was
little more than a hallway, leading off to other rooms with dubious
contents. "This way."

Meli led her down the hall and into another, small room. This one had
a bathtub of sorts inlaid in the center of the floor. The tub, of
white, smooth stone, was big enough to hold several women at once. It
had a spout in the shape of a serpent hovering over it. The mouth of
the serpent caught Aimee's eye. "Darynn, your teacher, made that for
us. It is a well-crafted urnen a device for heating water to our
whim." Inside the tub was a strangely shaped chair, as if for sitting
rather than for washing. A rope hung down from the ceiling, crossing
through a pulley there to another by wall, then down into the floor.

"This knob controls how strong the water is, this one how hot, and
this lever..." She grinned. "This one controls where the water goes."


"Get in. Sit down and give it a try," Meli grinned. Aimee' gave her a
curious look, then shrugged and slipped out of her clothes, slipping
into the water. "Sit in the chair, that's it." The tawny,
black-skinned girl undressed as well, sliding into the tub behind the
chair. "Now, the first part's always the toughest to get ready for.
Start the water flowing." Aimee' looked over and found the one for
pressure, giving it a quick turn. "Lightly, girl! You'll never get
used to it like that!" Meli admonished. "Turn it low, right, like

"Now, reach over for the rope and pull on it." Aimee' did as told. The
chair began to rise and tilt in the pool. Her legs were slowly being
raised out of the water, most of her body with it, until her mound and
her head were just above the water. The stream from the serpent's
mouth was striking the water between her legs, a foot from her mound.
"Test it," Meli said. "See if it's too hot."

Aimee' reached a hand out into the water. "It's fine."

"Then take the lever and push it away from you. It's a bit strange,
but you'll get used to it." Aimee' did as told and the water began
moving closer to her mound. "Just go on, Aimee', you'll like it." Meli
moved her hands slowly around the other's girl's body, her hands
caressing Aimee's sides, touching her skin. Aimee's chest rose,
gasping, as Meli's hands reached around and touched her nipples at the
same time the water ran up between her lips and touched her clitoris.
She squirmed and moved the lever, pushing the water off.

"Take it easy," Meli said. "Some girls like it very hard, others like
it very hot. But we must all start out carefully."

Aimee' nodded and her fingers gripped the lever a little more tightly.
The mouth of the serpent, made of many carefully made plates of
silver, moved slightly, directing the flow of water closer and closer
to Aimee's cunny. "That's it," Meli whispered in her ear, "That's it."
Aimee' felt her breasts flush and grow warm as Meli's fingers caressed
them, pressing against her giving flesh. Aimee's breath grew hoarse
and ragged as the water played over her clitoris more and more
forcefully. Her fingers barely touched the lever, her hips grinding
against the smooth material of the seat. Meli wrapped her arms around
Aimee's waist and held onto her, holding her down, waiting for the
explosions to stop.

Much to Meli's surprise, they did not stop. If anything, Aimee's moans
grew louder, her buttocks pounding against the marble. The moans built
into a scream, and then Meli noticed that the room had become darker;
the candles had gone out, and a wind was building. Even in as small a
space as the bathtub the water become choppy, the air whistled and
spun as Aimee's screamed. "No!" Meli scrabbled for the knob in the
dark, finding it with her fingertips, and turned off the water.

The wind subsided. Aimee's breathing, punctuated occasionally by
moans, filled the room. Finally even that grew quiet. Meli, still more
than a little frightened, whispered, "Aimee'?"

"Meli?" the reply came. "Are you okay?"

"Frightened, but unharmed," Meli replied.

The door to the room flew open. "What in the name of Agas is going on
down here?" Bethsany peeked into the room, looking around at the
destruction. "What happened."

"She... she started to come, madame, and then the whole room just
started to come apart."


"It was so... powerful. Meli was touching me and the water was so
strong... I couldn't help it!"

Bethsany rolled her eyes. "I'm going to send you a message for Darynn,
Aimee', that he's to teach you to keep your magic down when you're
just having fun!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Now, Meli, I told you to show her a nice time, but you were also to
teach her how to do her hair. Now, get with it, get with it."

"Yes, madame," Meli replied, climbing out of the tub and handing
Aimee' a towel. "Come, Aimee', I will teach you how to be beautiful."

Aimee is Copyright 1989-2000 Elf Mathieu Sternberg. Distribution
limited to electronic media not-for-profit use only. All other rights
are reserved to the author.

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