by Anya Howard
The prisoner who had spoken rose to his feet. “Come around and sit with me. I have waited so long for this meeting.”
Gillian could feel eyes upon her from a number of the prisoners, stares so malevolent that her instinct urged her to back away and flee out the doorway. But then another guard from the other side of the room stepped to the table. The uncompromising look he gave her subdued her impulses. She bowed her head and walked about the closest end of the table and came to stand before the waiting prisoner.
His smile was almost bashful as he gestured to the bench. Gillian sat down, catching the grunt made by the prisoner to her other side.
The one who had insulted her before now sneered at her admirer.
“You are a whore,” he hissed. “I shall eat nothing contaminated by your presence!”
Clive did not seem to have heard a word of it. Instead, he shared the food from his plate with Gillian. He even offered the wineglass to her lips. She felt the rude one across the table growing more and more heated. After a time, Clive took a piece of sugar-powdered cake from a platter and told her to eat it, too. As she nibbled on it, he lifted her hair aside and shyly kissed her cheek. Suddenly, the rude one slammed a fist on the table, jarring it and bringing the attention of everyone.
He leaped to his feet and shook a pudgy finger at Clive. “This is hell, my friend—hell! And here you disgrace our people by feeding a concubine!”
Several guards rushed out of the shadows and encircled him, gouging his waist with the heads of their spears.
“Come along, Stephen,” one of them ordered, “your meal is finished!”
Fear flashed in Stephen’s eyes. He raised his hands amiably.
“Have mercy on me, I have been ill,” he said. When after a second order he still had not moved away from the table, one of the guards turned his spear and jabbed his shoulder hard with the butt. He ordered Stephen outside, and the prisoner’s legs started to move, but in the next moment Stephen jerked his head to one side and spat at Gillian. The spittle only struck the table, but it was enough to bring the handle of one guard’s spear crashing over the back of his neck. He staggered forward and was caught by another guard before falling. Several spearheads gouged roughly into him now, making him move at last to the entryway.
Clive sighed and whispered in Gillian’s ear, “I am no longer as he.”
He had the eager, nervous look of an adolescent boy on his first date. She managed to smile at him, but her discomfort at being in the midst of so many resentful men did not ease. In general they seemed bent on ignoring the Disciples with the most unnatural coldness, turning their faces from the lips speaking in their ears and averting their eyes at every peep of flesh in their line of vision. Far down the table, however, Gillian saw one man had taken a Disciple onto his lap. He was obviously mesmerized by the girl, tracing her flesh gingerly with his fingertips and listening as she spoke—as if the fate of the world hung on her words. In the shadows past the musicians, she saw Pearl again.
It was not a prisoner on whose lap Pearl bounced, but a guard. He was a stout man with short curly brown hair, and he fucked Gillian’s roommate with the ardor of a tomcat losing his virginity. Pearl’s face was thrown back. Gillian could see the wide parting of her lips. The reflection of the lantern lights shimmered on her sweat-dewed breasts and the tinkling bells at her ankles.
The musicians stopped their playing. She peered to where they sat. They laughed among themselves, and all took long swigs from the stone jug they passed around before taking up their instruments again. It was a faster tune now, and a few of the Disciples jumped up and started to dance with one another. Some of the prisoners groaned, but Gillian saw more than one pair of eyes watch the girls with something besides antipathy. Soon the dancers’ flesh was flushed and their lips ruddy with glee.
As the night went on, some more of the prisoners began talking to the Disciples. A few of them seemed actually interested in the girls; Gillian caught a genuine lusty smile here and there. But the other conversations were nothing more than blatant attempts to tell a Disciple to be “good.” She was glad to see the Disciples could and did react with the same indifference these exemplars of righteousness had shown them earlier: turning their faces from them completely, and if the man pressed further, simply walking away.
One of the men, however, could not endure being ignored. The prisoner’s eyes glowered when his girl walked away and his face grew livid. He picked up his plate and threw it at her, messing her back and hair with food, and bringing the musician’s tune to an abrupt halt. The prisoner jumped up from the bench and raised his hands and started to babble, beginning to sway on his feet with his eyes turned back in their sockets when the guards accosted him.
He came to his senses only after he kicked at those who held his arms until he was taken outside. Not everyone could be redeemed, Gillian thought. So be it. An uncomfortable hush fell over the table, and the musicians set their instruments down and passed around their jug again.
Despite the preparations Gillian had received, and Clive’s kindness notwithstanding, the presence of most of the prisoners was almost suffocating. All she could think of was finding some way to get outside and fill her lungs with the fresh night air, to forget the bloodless men like Stephen and the babbling crazy.
Clive spoke her name again and she had to make herself meet his eyes. Even with his obvious interest and manners, she suspected it had not been too long since he had looked upon Disciples with the same enmity as the others.
He surprised her pleasantly, when next he asked, “Would you care to take a walk, Gillian?”
“But that’s not allowed, is it?”
He grinned and waved a guard to the table. The guard’s reply to his request astonished her.
“The others will keep a discreet watch, Clive, but yes, you may take this girl for a walk.”
The guard escorted them as far as the entryway, and informed the guards there that Clive was taking her outside.
Her heart fluttered. She was not sure it was wise, and almost hoped they would object. Instead, they directed Clive toward a beaten path between the pavilion and the prison grounds, and to a grove beyond the path. Clive’s hand felt secure as he clasped her own, and she almost smiled as he led her away.
“Come.”
He walked her on down the path, to the shadowy edge of the grove. She glimpsed the barbed wire not too far within the trees. As for the prison, she tried to avoid looking at it. She inhaled the air and found it just as fresh as she had hoped. Trills of songbirds sounded from the tree branches, and somewhere behind them she thought she heard booted feet surveying the territory beyond the barbed wire.
Clive laughed softly and pulled her by the hand into his lap. As his arms laced about her, she shuddered, though she liked the fragrance of him. It was so different than the sourness that rose from most of the other prisoners in the pavilion.
“Gillian,” he whispered. “Would you have me spread your legs and take you right here in the open field?”
She suffered his kiss and found it pleasant enough. He bunched her breasts up so that her cleavage popped over the neckline of the short dress, and with his tongue, traced the areolas of her nipples. Her entire bosom swelled with fire, and the pang of desire that pulsated through her pussy made her forget the guards altogether. His eyes were sweet and tender.
A pang of grief came over her. His eyes were dark and piercing like Bruce’s, she thought. And for a moment all she could think of was the terrible desire to see Bruce again. She wished she could, even now, confess to him the desire and fondness she felt for him.
But Gillian remembered what was expected of her.
She smiled and linked her hands about Clive’s neck and heaved her breasts to his lips. “Why don’t I take you, Clive—strip you down and fuck you in this open field?”
He gave her a tentative smile and combed his fingers through the length of her hair. “You are a naughty girl to speak this way, Gillian.”
He kissed her again, and this time she let herself truly enjoy it. His hands about her waist seemed as hot as the insides of her thighs. Without another word, she pressed her right fingers gingerly over the crotch of his pants. She got a single moment’s feel of its hardening bulge before he cupped her shoulders roughly.
“What are you doing?” His displeasure was unquestionable, but she kissed his mouth lightly, sure her desire would overcome his hesitance.
“What I want to do.”
“I do not care for your words, young lady.”
His disapproval made her want him all the more. “Are you a virgin? I can make you forget you ever were.”
Clive frowned and caught her hands behind her back. “No. Do not speak like this.”
Gillian was more confused than ever. “But I thought you wanted this.”
“I want this—I want you, yes.” He smiled a little again and let go of her hands and traced her lips with his fingers. “But no more talk like this.”
“All right.”
“I long to see you writhe,” he spoke huskily, “and beg for more, but at my discretion.”
She laughed and was glad when he kissed her and rolled her down on the grass. He lifted the hem of the short dress, pulled the panties down to her knees, and stroked her thighs.
“Soft, pretty legs,” he murmured and touched the moist nether lips beneath her pubic hair. “Properly passionate, Gillian!”
He stroked her vagina with his right hand. Her clit swelled under his touch, and it seemed to her that he was particularly fascinated with this small organ. He lay over her open legs, and licked and stroked it some more, until she was sure she would burst in his hand.
Clive made a deep, satisfied sound. He sat back up, pulled her panties off, and spread her legs wide. Then he removed his pants and threw them aside. Kneeling, he pressed the head of his hard cock against her pussy. He was slick with desire, and the heat of it coaxed her juices. He plunged in gracefully and, spreading her legs now as far as they would go, fucked her deeply. But his thrusts were slow and the emotion on his face as he savored each stroke was almost painful. Gillian’s pussy swelled desperately for a full-force screwing. Her hips rose to meet each leisurely thrust, and she began to writhe on the grass, moaning so plaintively she was sure everyone in the pavilion could hear her.
“Faster!”
He paused and eyed her again with displeasure. “You have much to learn, little Disciple. I am a prisoner, yet at least I know my place. Still, I will have my freedom through training you at every possible opportunity.”
She wailed as he started the slow fucking again, clawing the grass as her pelvis rocked in rhythmic desperation. And just as she neared climax, he said, “You will now finish this with your sweet mouth.”
Clive withdrew and watched as she got on all fours and whirled toward him and took his organ into her mouth. She only had to suck a moment or so before he came, firing with such force she hardly felt it shoot down her throat.
He pulled her by the arms to her knees and kissed her forehead, and wiped her mouth clean with his hand.
“You have not disappointed, sweet Gillian.”
She watched as he stood and reached for his pants. Her pussy throbbed so sorely for gratification that she had to hold her hands behind her back in order not to touch herself. When he was dressed again, he told her to rise and hand him her panties.
“Why,” she asked, trying to hide her frustration with a smile, “I will need them, you know.”
He shook his head and, bending over, snatched them up. He caressed them against his cheek and said, “They are mine for now. You might get them back when you come to visit.”
“Visit?”
His eyes shifted to the direction of the prison. “There.”
Gillian felt a shiver of repulsion. That awful place? Never.
Clive straightened her dress. He cupped her face between his hands and kissed her long and adoringly. When their lips parted, he took her by the hand and escorted her back the way they had come. On their way, Gillian spied a guard making his rounds outside the borders of the prison grounds. She could not make out any features, but he paused as she and Clive passed his line of vision. There was something familiar about his silhouette and she thought for a moment it was perhaps the guard she had seen in the woods with Madam that day.
No, she thought, that man had been thin. This one was huskier, more solid.
But she forgot him when a glint of light caught her attention. Clive’s footfalls slowed as her eyes moved to the path ahead. Three men accosted them.
No ordinary men. She would have guessed each stood easily seven foot tall. It was not their size that made goose bumps rise to her skin, however, but that she could see straight through their naked, iridescent forms. As Clive’s protective arm went about her shoulders, she made out the fine outlines of wings arching out from either side of their backs. They all possessed three pairs of silvery wings, layering vertically down their backs and extending to the heels of their feet. Still, she could tell that the span of these wings were as great as or more than the dimensions of the respective men.
Clive whispered urgently, “Turn your eyes, Gillian.”
But she could not seem to look away, and suddenly, one of the winged men turned and cast his magnificent eyes toward them. At once, Gillian felt crushed by an unexpected, overwhelming lust. Her knees weakened and her pussy ached with a tormented passion. She was only dimly aware of Clive lifting her into his arms and carrying her away.
“Who were they?” she asked as he neared the entranceway of the pavilion.
“You will find out in time, sweet.”
Two guards came up beside Clive as he set her down near the doorway. “Go within,” he said. “I will join you shortly.”
She sighed thoughtfully and glanced at the amused faces of the guards. “You will tell them what we just saw—”
He touched her face affectionately. “The Angels pose us no danger, Gillian. But I must speak with your chaperon.”
Angels! The word echoed in her mind. I thought angels were celibate, asexual beings…
One of the guards took her hand. “Come along, Disciple.” She looked back at Clive as the guard escorted her inside, and her heart raced when she heard Clive ask to speak with Sir Douglas.
Her reaction to the unnerving encounter with the glowing men faded away under the nagging question as to what it was exactly Clive planned to discuss with her chaperon.
4
Gillian was not to see Clive again that night. Sir Douglas gathered his wards only minutes later and ushered them back to Madam’s house.
As they stepped onto the porch, Gillian saw at once that Alexandra and Lara had been taken down from the Rapture Pillars. The intimate whispers and soft moans from the shadows told Gillian the two were probably nearby, with whomever had released them. The household itself was alive with talk. Past the right wall of the foyer, a door was now standing open. In the room beyond were Disciples sitting on their knees with their naked backsides toward the door. A woman dressed in black leather pants and a burgundy blouse paced the floor and was scolding the young women. Gillian did not catch what the scolding was about, for Sir Douglas was following on her heels. She felt the agitation of his breath all the way up the stairs.
They returned to their room, where the lantern on the table had been lit and the flame shining through the opaque glass filled the room with soft illumination. Gillian was sleepier than she had expected and was glad when Sir Douglas ordered them to prepare for bed.
She started toward the bathing room with the others when he called her to stop and turn around.
He gestured to her bed, his voice firm again, “Stand over there, Gillian.”
As she obeyed, he patted the handle of the crop that hung through a loop at his belt.
“The prisoner Clive is very taken with you, Gillian. He has waited some time for a Disciple who shared the penchant his rehabilitation has allowed him to cultivate. Hi
s is pleased with you enough to request that you serve as his love-attendant in the prison when it is determined he is eligible. This may be some time, I have heard, but I will make the recommendation you be put in his service when the time does arrives.”
The memory of the prison loomed before Gillian’s eyes. The image filled her with fear, and she started to plead that he keep her from the dreadful place, “Sir Douglas—”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I am not finished. Aside from his favorable report of your talents, however, he also informed me that you addressed him in a manner unbefitting a submissive. Is this true?”
Gillian was shocked. “All I tried to do, sir, was please him; let him know I found him…hot.”
“Hot,” Sir Douglas repeated, and his mouth tightened as if suppressing a smile. “Do you not realize by now that it is not up to a submissive to voice an opinion on whether the prisoner whom she serves is hot or otherwise?”
Gillian nodded. “Yes, Sir Douglas,” she replied, but was shocked again when he lifted the crop from its loop.
“Good, Gillian. Now, bend over the bed and hold on to the mattress.”
Her heart thundered, and she was seized with earthly indignity.
“No!”
For the first time, his tone was genuinely stern, “Now!”
From the door of the bathing room, her roommates watched silently.
“I pleased him,” she protested, “and no, I won’t bend over this bed!”
His eyes flashed angrily and when he reached for her, she brought her forearm up sharply and knocked his wrist away. She turned before he could snatch her hand and bolted out the door. Down the corridor she fled, hearing him run after her.
As she took off down the stairs, he shouted for aid. The guard downstairs came fast to block her way. He might have captured her at the bottom, but she ducked just in time and flew under his reach, and ran on through the front door and out onto the porch.