Rescue — Part 6
Sister Tethin chanted as she raised the whip and brought it down on her slave’s naked body, the position of the stroke precise and calculated as it needed to be to perform the ritual. The web of red marks across the slave’s body forming a complicated pattern, a pattern that could be read as a powerful, dark magick rune by those who had the skill and magickal knowledge to read it and to the ability to cast the spoken part of the spell.
Sister Tethin struck again, the body of the sex-slave shuddering with pleasure at the pain it was experiencing. The sex-slave was stretched tautly, secured by leather cuffs around its ankles and wrists inside a wooden frame in the centre of the Sister of Torment’s tent. A severe bondage position that pulled the pain-slut’s arms and leg into a rigid and agonising X.
Sister Tehin stepped back, the pattern flogged onto the pain-sluts body was almost complete, the slaves anguished pleasure almost at a sufficient level. Only the final stroke to finish the holy symbol and the saying of the dark magic words of power were required to complete the spell.
Frustration and curiosity had led to this, frustration that the chase seemed to be inhibited and thwarted at every turn. Curiosity at who the magic user was that could have the power to frustrate the Witch-Queens forces so effectively.
The Sister of Torment raised her whip, the spell forming on her lips and tongue as she prepared to complete the spell. But Sister Tehin never got the chance to say those final word’s or to administer the final stroke of her whip. Instead, she saw a swirling blackness suddenly appear in front of her, a blackness that seemed to swallow the candle light in the tent. Then, unable to resist its pull, Sister Tethin fell into the darkness and it swallowed her as well.
Aleksandra looked at herself in the mirror, it had seemed completely logical to use the clothing the dead owner of the slave-wagon had possessed, as their attempt to escape with the wagon and its contents stretched from days into several ten-days.
When she was married and living happily in Grent, Aleksandra had rarely worn black, her preference, and her husbands, had been for brighter colours, for the reds, greens, yellows and blues that were traditionally worn in her town. But colours like that were totally inappropriate, and even dangerous, for the life she had adopted when she became part of Hemming Greve’s rebels. Clothes with colours that could meld into the countryside, muted browns and greens, became the norm for Aleksandra.
Those were the clothes she had been wearing when they had begun the raid into Elstrand. But they had become the worse for wear and she had begun to don the black clothing in the slave wagon, as had Vendra. Much to her surprise, Aleksandra had realised she now enjoyed wearing black, she enjoyed how it made her look.
The clothes she was wearing today were a perfect example, knee high black leather boots with a three-inch wedge heel over black, high waisted, form fitting moleskin breeches. A black satin blouse and fingerless, wrist length black kid leather gloves completed the outfit, but she’d gone further than that. Aleksandra’s white cotton underwear had been replaced by a black leather bra and thong.
Aleksandra continued to look at herself in the mirror, enjoying what she was looking at and wondering if she should try some of the makeup that the sex-slave called 1 had suggested she paint her face with. It had been the same sex-slave that had recommended that Aleksandra try on some of the boots with higher thinner heels and Aleksandra had finally been persuaded. Aleksandra now often wore boots with increasing heights of stiletto heels, she’d even tried on a pair with five-inch dagger thin metal heels and to her surprise enjoyed wearing them, even if she could hardly walk in the boots.
But there was another thing she still found difficult to grasp, it was the cupboards the clothes and footwear were kept in. Like the secret living area, which once you were inside appeared to be much, much larger than was physically possible given the size of the wagon. The cupboards that held the clothes, footwear and accessories were impossibly large for the space they occupied.
It was obvious to Aleksandra that the witches magic was at work here, and it was also at work on the clothes. Anything put into one of the walk-in cupboards dirty or crumpled or creased was clean, unblemished and tidy or in the case of footwear buffed or polished the next time the cupboard was opened.
And everything fitted her and Vendra, no matter that their now dead owner had been taller and broader in the shoulder than Aleksandr and her friends, the moment the clothes and footwear were put on they always fitted perfectly, more of the witches magic was at play Aleksandra had said to Vendra.
Aleksandra looked at the mirror, she frowned, something was wrong, the mirror seemed to be getting darker, as if night was falling on the other side but not on this. In the mirror her image was falling into darkness, into shadow, then Aleksandra felt herself falling forward and into that darkness.
Vendra crawled forward through the brush overlooking the road that ran parallel with the border. Like Aleksandra, Vendra now wore clothes taken from the room in the slave wagon, black clothes that, with neither of the moons in the sky, seemed to meld into the night. At the moment Vendra was wearing black leather trousers, low-heeled ankle boots, a buttoned leather blouson and black leather gloves, while her face was partially covered by a black satin scarf, only her eyes showing.
The road Vendra was watching was heavily patrolled, and she was trying to see if there was a pattern to the patrols. So far, she hadn’t found one, the witches were careful and didn’t send the patrols in any regular repetition that Vendra could fathom.
Vendra was frustrated, in another five leagues the road led to the last, small border crossing before the divide between countries swept in an outward curve and reached the large border town of Kervel where it sat butted against the border between Elstrand and Lindest. A border town that had once seen trade between the neighbouring countries of Lindest and Grent flow through it, but now survived on the scraps Elstrand almost begrudgingly gave it.
Vendra had seen only one wagon pass down the road, and that had been an hour ago, just before sunset. The wagon had been drawn by four horses, driven by two women in grey leather work clothes and escorted by four armed and mounted guards. The back of the wagon was an open frame with a green waxed fabric cover over the top to protect the wagons load from the sun. Rolled up on the upper part of the frame, ready to be lowered, were screens of the same green material which could be lowered to protect the contents of the wagon from the weather. Vendra had never seen anything like the contents of the wagon before , and she couldn’t work out what it was.
Screwed deeply into the crisscrossing wood frame that made up the roof of the wagon were three lines of large metal hooks and hanging from each hook was a long, almost human sized, brown leather sacks. Each bag was interlaced by securely buckled straps and was suspended from a hook by a reinforced hole through the sturdy brown leather. Perhaps the brown leather sacks were a method of transporting food or some sort of goods, Vendra didn’t know. Whatever the cargo was it was it must be valuable to have such a heavy guard, Vendra had thought as she watched the stringently bound brown leather bags swaying gently from the hooks with the motion of the wagon. The wagon and its armed guards had disappeared from sight, and Vendra had patiently waited, continuing her vigil.
Sunset had approached and passed as a moon free darkness shrouded the countryside in blackness. With the welcoming darkness hiding her actions, Vendra knew she would have to move to carry out a plan that had formed in her mind.
The crossing point at Kervel was well known to all and was heavily guarded on both sides, it would be virtually impossible for them to cross there. But there might be another way, a way that Vendra had learned about when she was involved with smugglers just after Grent fell. It would be difficult to get the wagon containing the rescued women through but, with care and Vendra’s knowledge, not impossible.
Carefully and quietly, Vendra began to move away from her vantage point, but then she stumbled and began to fall and fall and fall into darkness.
Colonel Esta Kernes sipped on a glass of wine as she watched the two sex-slaves perform for her pleasure. Sprawling on the camp bed in her large tent, the colonel was trying to release some of her deep frustration and anger by watching the two slaves caress, suck, lick and fondle each other.
One of the sex-slaves was called teth and was the colonel’s own. It was the one she had enslaved at the site of the fight with rebels when the body of Chaplain-Colonel Orlton had been found, the other was a slave-whore. Before its enslavement it had been the youngest of the four women captured by the colonel and her troops a ten-day earlier, now it was a slave whore called alth.
The colonel sipped her wine again as she slipped her left hand under her robe and through her pubic hair caressing her already dampening pubes as she watched the two sex-slaves. Alth was lying next to teth on the furs covered floor of the tent, alth’s red leather gloved hand was buried inside teth’s cunt, and teth’s back arched from the furs as it whimpered and moaned with pleasure as Alth fisted her fellow slave for the colonel’s pleasure. Naked but for elbow length red leather gloves, red knee-high stiletto heeled leather boots and their collars, the two sex-slaves had been pleasuring each other for a demi-hour as the colonel watched, trying to relax.
It had taken six days for the colonel and her troops to escape the fog that enshrouded them, a fog that Calysa Tethin had confirmed was not natural. When they had reached its end, it was as if they had ridden through a wall, on one side the thick cloying fog, on the other the sunlight of an afternoon. As the last of her troops had come out of the encompassing fog the colonel had looked at the swirling wall, who could have done this she thought with a touch of something she had never felt before, fear.
The colonel had sat on her horse for several minutes looking at the fog then turned and spoke to her adjutant.
“Lieutenant Hestern, send out the scouts, I want to know exactly where we are and how much time we’ve lost,” she ordered.
Lieutenant Hestern saluted and then quickly rode away, Colonel Kerne had stared at the fog for a few more seconds then turned her horse away and rode to the head of the column.
The scouts had returned and confirmed what troops who knew the area had already told the colonel. Enveloped by the clinging fog, the colonel and her command had gone around in a circle, and they were no further forward than they had been on the day they had captured the carriage and its occupants.
Containing her anger, the colonel had ordered her troop to move forward as efficiently and rapidly as possible. Their passage had been rapid with, and now, four days later, they were finally where they should have been a ten-day ago. Frustrated and angry, the colonel had called an early stop to their progress, partly to vent her anger and partly to rest her troops and their horses after their dash towards the border.
As the camp was set up the colonel had sent out new scouts to be sent out with orders to find their quarry or suffer the colonel’s wrath. With those orders given, the colonel had asked her adjutant to bring her sex-slave and one of the slave-whores to her tent and instructed she wasn’t to be disturbed until the morning unless it was an emergency.
With her fingers stroking her mons, the colonel drained her glass of wine, she urgently wanted the sex-slave’s mouths on her pussy, but it seemed to be suddenly getting darker. Colonel Kernes looked at the lanterns that lit her tent, but they appeared to be the same yet the darkness around her was deepening and deepening and she was falling and falling into the darkness.
Aleksandra stood without moving, frozen in place and only able to move her eyes to look around at where she was. But one thing she could do was feel terrified but what she saw, especially when she looked down, and looking down made her glad she couldn’t move.
Aleksandra was standing on a black disc that was just wide enough to take her boot covered feet, but not much else. The black disc appeared to be part of a much larger, translucent disc that was many, many feet across, and was the reason for much of Aleksandra’s terror.
The see-through disc seemed to be suspended very many feet above the ground, suspended at a height that worried Aleksandra, if she fell would she survive when she hit what lay beneath the disc. For beneath the disc was a map like none Aleksandra had ever seen before, it was so accurate, so perfect, that to her eyes it seemed that the tiny rivers moved, and that cities had trails of smoke above them. A feat of unbelievable workmanship and skill must have taken place to create such a masterpiece.
But there were other things to look at and wonder about, at the three, six and nine of the clock stood three other women, one of whom she recognised. Standing directly across from Aleksandra, on the other side of the translucent disc, was an equally immobile Vendra.
To Aleksandra’s left and right, standing on identical black discs were two other women, the one on Aleksandra’s right was the older with a hard, uncompromising face and incongruously dressed in a red satin night robe. The black robed woman to Aleksandra’s right looked much younger, in fact she looked younger than either Aleksandra or Vendra, but she was just as immobile.
Aleksandra felt a deepening of her fear as she tried unsuccessfully to move, whatever had brought her here had brought the other three as well, and that meant power, magical power. Which of the witches possessed such power, wondered Aleksandra, perhaps only one, perhaps only the Witch-Queen herself could achieve such a feat?
At the centre point of the translucent disc, equidistant from the four women was another black disc, an empty one. But as the terrified Aleksandra watched there was shimmering in the air and figure began to form, a figure in grey robes that Aleksandra recognised, the woman that called herself Shadow.
As before Shadow was dressed in a simple deep hooded grey robe that covered her from head to toe and left her face in darkened shade. But the simplicity of her appearance belied the fact of what Shadow had achieved by bringing them all here, Aleksandra knew that such a thing required magical power and exquisite control of the art.
“Isn’t this fun, you all came.” said Shadow with a laugh, as if there had been an option to refuse thought Aleksandra.
“You are all probably wondering why you are here,” said Shadow as she slowly turned in a circle to look at all four women.
“The answer is simple, I thought it was time that the hunters met the hunted. You have been running around, trying not to meet and I thought that wasn’t fair, and I must admit I have... interfered somewhat in your game of hide and seek. I like games you see, I like to play them, and I like to win. But when other’s play my game’s I’ve been known to... stack the deck in one protagonist’s favour,” said Shadow as she again faced Aleksandra.
As far as Aleksandra was concerned this was no game, this was life and death and no words could minimise that.
“Oh dear, how rude of me, introductions are in order,” said Shadow.
“Aleksandra Westergard and Vendra Parrendon let me introduce Colonel Esta Kernes and Sister Calysa Tethin,” said Shadow with a laugh.
Now Aleksandra understood, these were obviously the leaders of the Witch-Queen’s forces that Vendra and she had been trying to escape. These were the women who, if they were captured would possibly torture and kill them or more likely enslave them.
“Now don’t worry, I have no intention of keeping you any longer than necessary, as I said, I thought it was time you met. And besides, I wanted to tell you that I am immensely enjoying the game we are playing, in fact I’m enjoying it so much I’ve decided to change a few things to make it more... challenging. To perhaps level the field a touch, to even out certain things, but which way will this levelling happen is the question you will probably be asking yourself,” said Shadow.
“Of course, I’m not going to tell you what will change, or who will change, or why, and you won’t know what rules I’m playing by, isn’t that exciting. And just to add a twist, none of you are going to remember this little gathering, you see I don’t play fair, I like to cheat,” laughed Shadow.
“Well, this has been delightful, but all good things must come to end, so I must wish you farewell... for now,” said Shadow as Aleksandra felt like she was again toppling forward into darkness.
Vendra blinked, she was face down in the scrub grass, she’d... she’d slipped and ended up here but now she had to get moving. She had to get back to Aleksandra and tell her what she’d discovered and what her plan was. She had to get back and get one of the slave’s faces between her legs, she needed fucking and the need was growing.
Colonel Kernes blinked rapidly then groaned with pleasure, her hips arching from her divan.
“Slut’s, get over here now, make me cum, do it now, shouted the Colonel.
The response was instant, both sex-slaves stood and rapidly walked over to where the Colonel writhed and moaned. Within seconds their faces were between the officer’s legs, their mouth’s working on the Colonel’s pussy.
The Colonel took a handful of each slave’s hair, pressing their faces harder against her mons, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she screamed.
Sister Tethyn paused for a moment and blinked, something seemed to tickle at her memory, something important. But whatever it was quickly faded, evaporating like mist and forgotten.
Slowly she lowered the whip, the words needed to complete the spell remaining unspoken. With a gesture of her gloved hand and a single gesture the partly formed, bloody rune on the suspended sacrifices back healed and vanished, the mutilated skin becoming smooth and flawless.
The priestess dropped the whip and quickly undid her robe letting the black velvet cascade to floor and pool around her booted feet. The spell could wait, it was a measure born of desperation and frustration and now Sister Tethyn felt a different sort of frustration, a frustration that could be adequately relieved by the sex-slave she had been torturing.
The Sister of Torment stepped forward, pressing her naked body against that of the sex-slave, grabbing hold of the naked female with gloved hands as she rubbed her crotch against the sex-slave’s thigh. The priestess groaned as, with hands trembling from need, she ran her hands over the sex-slave’s body, she needed to be fucked and she needed it now.
With trembling hands Sister Tethyn began to undo the bonds holding the sacrifice to the frame, the spell could wait, her need could not.
Aleksandra blinked as she looked at herself in the mirror then she smiled, she loved how fucking sexy the new clothes she now adored wearing made her look and feel. Black was her colour, her very favourite colour and wearing black made her feel so in charge, so commanding. It was just a wonderful sensation of control she thought as she ran her hands over her black satin blouse and black breaches.
Smiling and without thinking about what she was doing, Aleksandra reached to her left and picked up cosmetics that had lain there since she and Vendra had taken over the slave wagon. Several minutes went by, but eventually Aleksandra was finished, her eyes outlined in black with black mascara on Aleksandra’s eyelashes, her eyelids also black and her lips a glossy dark purple.
With a smirk on her face Aleksandra leaned forward and kissed her reflection, “That’s better,” she said then she turned and looked at the five sex-slave’s kneeling around her.
“First you are going to cut my hair for me and restyle it, I want it short and manly,” said Aleksandra, “And, because I’m so fucking excited at the moment, I’m then going to screw all five of you, do you understand, sluts?”
“Yes Mistress, we understand,” chorused the five sex-slave’s, their pleasure at the orders obvious.
For a moment Aleksandra frowned and quickly looked around, she could have sworn she heard a woman’s laughter, but that of course was impossible. Within seconds the idea had evaporated, and the predatory grin had returned to Aleksandra’s painted lips.
“Good, now move your lazy arses,” she ordered and the five sex-slaves leapt to their boot shod feet.