Virgin City (The Lesbia Chronicles)
Page 7
“Oh my goddess!” Callista shrieked the prayer as she finally found that peak. With Ayla's fingers firmly pressing against her clit, the phallus providing much needed resistance for the clenching of her pussy, she screamed a violent orgasm to the world, then collapsed upon the bed, completely drained.
Ayla released the grip on the back of her hair and stroked her locks whilst gently sliding the toy out of her pussy. When the tip left the swollen confines of her lips, it evaporated back into the ether from which it had came, leaving the recipient of its pleasure laying with legs spread, pussy seeping frothy juices onto the bed cover.
Satisfied that all that could be done for the moment had been done, Ayla sat beside Callista and rubbed her back with the same care she gave all those who came to her for healing. “The anger you feel will not go away with one such session,” she said softly. “You need to let go of whatever it is that has you so consumed with rage.”
“My husband died,” Callista mumbled into the covers. “One day he was there, the next he was gone. Do you truly expect me to simply let go of that?”
“Not simply, no,” Ayla replied, massaging Callista with slow strokes. “But this anger, it is eating you alive. There must be some way to assuage some of it.”
“If Roger had taken me as I was supposed to be taken, I would not be alone,” Callista said. “That is how it is. If the husband dies, the brother takes the wife. But Rog will not have me...” her voice became tremulous. “He is not interested in me.”
“Roger is not his brother. Perhaps he knows that and wishes for you to find someone who can properly fill the role instead of playing at it.”
“Or perhaps he is a pus... ow!” Callista squeaked, for Ayla had slapped her bare bottom.
“Be careful with those angry words,” she warned. “They are more powerful than you think.”
Callista opened her mouth to make a reply, but she was interrupted by something even less desirable than a slap.
"I was mistaken." Atrocious' dry voice was heard from the doorway. "I guess we did order a prostitute."
Callista gasped and rolled away from the sound, her bare breasts bouncing high and round, two distracting globes tipped with neat pink nipples standing against cupcake pink areolas.
"It wasn't three hours ago you were saying you didn't want anyone else," Atrocious said, hobbling into the room. "I guess this one must have whet your appetite."
"Who is this? Is she your mother?" Callista asked the question, forearm clamped across her breasts.
"Atrocious is my lover,” Ayla said.
Callista gave the old woman a horrified look. "Gross!"
"And here you were, professing to be so open-minded a few minutes ago," Ayla smiled, not at all concerned by Callista's disgust.
"I meant whips and chains, not geriatric sex."
"I'm not geriatric. I'm not anywhere as old as she is." Atrocious pointed at Ayla. "She's practically ancient. She could have had sex with your great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother and then some."
"It's true," Ayla admitted.
"That's different. You're old, but you're not..."
"Rotting," Atrocious finished the sentence.
"Would you stop using that word?" Ayla huffed. "It's not very nice."
Atrocious shrugged her thin shoulders. "Rotting isn't very nice."
Callista's expression was one of complete shock and horror as she stared at Ayla. "How could you possibly make love to her?"
"Carefully," Atrocious said. "Bits of me tend to fall off." Her eyes were twinkling with mischief, a fact Callista completely failed to notice.
"I can't spank you, but I can put you in a corner if you don't stop tormenting the poor girl," Ayla said firmly.
"Yes. Put me in the corner. I'll watch."
"No!" Callista got up from the bed, reached for the band of leather that bound her breasts and hurriedly 'dressed' herself. "I don't know what sort of sick games you two are into, but I want no part of them."
"Wait." Ayla laid a calming hand on Callista's arm. "I'm sorry. Atrocious and I have been together since she was younger than you are now."
"Oh,” Callista said, as if it made a difference.
"I'm going to die soon, obviously," Atrocious said cheerfully.
"Would you stop that!" Ayla almost snapped the words.
Callista's fine brows quirked. "Doesn't that bother you?"
"No," Atrocious said. "This body is utter rubbish. I want a new one. Something with wings."
"I would like scales," said Callista. "Then I would be impenetrable."
"Seemed to me like you like being penetrated," Atrocious deadpanned, bringing a blush to Callista's pale cheeks.
"Atrocious, please."
"That's a bold outfit," Atrocious noted, ignoring Ayla. "You should put on a coat. Your kidneys will be getting cold."
"Now there she is right," Ayla agreed. "That can't be comfortable."
"It's not," Callista admitted, scrambling back into her pants. "But it sends a message."
Atrocious snorted. "The message being you forgot how clothes work? Got dressed by diving into a barrel of leather ends?"
"Atrocious, don't be unkind."
"It's alright," Callista said, lifting her head. "I can't be hurt by the ravings of a mad old lady."
"You could be hurt by a stiff breeze," Atrocious snapped back. "Or a sufficiently irritated kitten."
"Watch your words, old woman," Callista replied, her voice growing cold. "I could soon make you regret them."
"I have never regretted any of my words," Atrocious replied from the interior of a closet. "And I refuse to begin now." She emerged with a bundle of woolen fibers clutched in weakened hands. "Put this cardigan on before you catch a cold."
Callista looked at Atrocious askance for a moment, then donned the cardigan. From half-naked harridan to Countess of Comfort, she looked much smaller and less threatening inside the woolen folds.
"What possessed you to dress up like that?" Atrocious asked the question with a great deal of curiosity. "Did it start off as some sort of festival outfit and just grow on you?"
"Like I said," Callista replied. "It sends a message. Like a bumble-bee's stripes."
"So you want people to know you're a bad girl."
"I used to be a good girl," Callista said, blowing on the tea Ayla had made. "But then I wised up. See, good girls do all the work and have none of the fun. Good girls get ignored and taken for granted. Bad girls are the ones everybody pays attention to. Work hard and make responsible decisions? Might as well cast yourself into the ocean for all the good that will do you."
"These city folk have cynicism down to a fine art," Atrocious observed in Ayla's direction. The witch was not listening. She was gazing toward the ceiling, her lips twisted with a wry amusement.
"I'm not cynical," Callista said. "I'm experienced. There's all sorts of sweet, good girls down in those tunnels and you won't ever see them. You won't give them something to wear and something to drink. You won't go down there and heal whatever maladies they might have. You've got Reed and me here instead, don't you? The two worst women in Clitera City."
Chapter Twelve
"Sparkly shiny sea and shore," Reed hummed to herself as she gazed out across the harbor. She was perched on the Rusty Hankor's roof, smoking a lief and letting the world drift by. Perhaps she could no longer remake it, but she could still enjoy it knowing that it had come through her.
"Reed!" Rog hissed her name. "What are you doing?" He hauled his body onto the roof, moving with a decent amount of grace for a muscular man.
"Smoking."
"Ayla wants you to take your medicine."
"I don't want her medicine," Reed said, laying back on the thatch. She took a drag of her lief and puffed smoke merrily into the sky. "I have my own medicine."
"Reed..." Rog slid alongside her, facing the opposite way so that his eyes were near her mouth, and her mouth near his eyes. "She is a healer. She can make you well."
"It's not like you to avoid charmed substances."
A ghost of a smile passed over Reed's face. "Take my advice, Rog. Don't get mixed up with this witch."
"Why not? She seems nice enough. Granny Rogette adores her."
"She's here for all the wrong reasons, alright? She could have come at any time. Any time at all in the last ten years or more. Hell. She was around before any of us were born. Now she shows up with her aging girlfriend..." Reed bit her lower lip and flicked ash onto the roof. "I don't trust her and I won't be taking her help. Neither should you."
"It's a little late for that," Rog admitted. "I just left Callista with her."
"Eh," Reed shrugged. "Callista can't really get any more messed up than she already is. That's one sick little kitty."
"You're sick too, Reed. At least let Ayla treat your chest infection."
"And then what? Wait for her to lose her temper again? Hit me with one of her sticks? She hits people with sticks, Rog. You do remember that."
"I was hoping she'd do that to Callista."
"Oh god," Reed rolled her eyes. "Just fuck her already, Rog."
"She wants Aric."
"But you'll do."
Rog shot her an annoyed look. "I don't want to do, Reed."
"I do," Reed smirked. "I do want to do."
"Who?"
"Jailer Hide. She's in love with me, you know." Reed grinned and stuck the lief between her teeth. "Once I'm done with this, I'll be getting out of here. You probably won't see me for a while."
"Reed..."
"I need to get away from this witch, Rog. I'm really sorry, but I have to." Reed crushed out the remainder of the lief. "I didn't have this infection until she showed up. I have a feeling I won't have it once I'm gone."
"You're paranoid. You should smoke a little less."
"A witch shows up out of the blue, suddenly I'm sick. Suddenly I can't use my powers anymore. Suddenly she needs to stuff me full of so-called medicine. Keeps me sleeping in bed all day. Keeps me in reserve."
"What are you talking about, Reed?"
"She wants to snatch my body," Reed hissed. "She wants to use me to make her girlfriend young again."
"Is that even possible?"
"I'm not hanging around to find out. That witch wants to harvest my organs and grind my bones to bake her bread."
"I think that's giants that want to do that."
"Ayla's close enough."
"Reed, don't go. Stay. You are sick and Ayla will heal you."
"No." Reed shook her head. "If she gave a damn about me she would have come a long time ago. Do you remember Sister Narmi?"
"Sister Narmi? The one who taught us when we were kids?"
"Yeah," Reed said. That's the one. She knew about my talents. She told me that I was special, and that soon a teacher would come to show me how to use my powers." Reed snorted to herself and reached for her herb pouch. "That was well over ten years ago. Imagine how different things would have been if Ayla had shown up then." She paused, rifling through plant material. "Aric would probably still be alive."
Rog sighed and gave her a direct look. “I've told you before, Reed. It's not your fault that Aric died."
"I could have stopped it," Reed disagreed. "If I'd known how. I could have stopped it."
"You take the whole world on your shoulders," Rog said. "Quit it. Aric decided his own fate. It was his fault he died. Not yours. Not mine. Not Ayla's."
"No. It was Ayla's decision to abandon me until it suited her," Reed said. "And now she's here and she's so fucking...." Reed put a fresh lief to her lips and lit it. "... Overbearing! She never asks for anything, she demands it. She doesn't make suggestions, she gives orders. As if she has some bloody right." Reed puffed away furiously, her face obscured by bright blue smoke. "So even if she isn't planning on using me as a spare body for her girlfriend, she's not very nice - what are you smirking at?"
"You don't like not being able to get your own way," Rog observed.
"Of course I don't like it. Who would? Who likes not being able to get their own way, I ask you? Everybody would have their own way if they could." Reed gesticulated with the lief, drawing smoky pictures in the air. "The problem with that damn witch is she always gets her way. Well she's not going to get her way with me." A shrewd look came into Reed's eyes, and a small smile spread across her lips. "I'm going to get away before she gets her way." She flicked the smoldering tip off the roof and got to her feet. "You take care of the Ratlings, Rog. I'll be around."
"Reed... come on. I can't run the Ratlings by myself."
"I'm not any use to you in this state anyway," Reed said. "She's sucked my power, Rog. I'm just like anyone else now. I can't fix things the way I used to."
"We don't need you for your powers, Reed. We need you for you." Rog gave Reed such an open, earnest look that she almost believed him.
"You don't need me, Rog."
"Ah, but he does." Ayla's voice joined the conversation. Reed and Rog lifted their heads to discover that Ayla had joined them on the rooftop. How she had arrived so quietly was unknown, but it was certain that she was standing before them as quietly dignified as ever.
"Let me tell you something," Ayla said, her fine long hair flowing in the harbor breeze. "Every summoner behaves the way you do. Every summoner is suspicious, scarred by a lifetime of cruel experience. Every summoner tests me and ultimately, every summoner learns that I do what I do for good reason."
Reed barely stifled a yawn. "Is every summoner bored by your speeches?"
"Likely, yes," Ayla said, ignoring Reed's bait. "I have told you this once before, but now I tell you again. You can run as far as you like. I will be able to find you."
Reed glanced at Rog, then back at Ayla. Her face was screwed up with perfect suspicion. "I don't believe you."
"Then test me," Ayla said, smiling as if she did not mind at all. "Run away."
“I think that's a trap," Rog coughed.
"I think this is all a trap," Reed said. "I do not trust you, Ayla. I do not like you either."
"Fortunately," Ayla said mildly, "none of that matters in the slightest. Now, will you be running away? Or shall we go inside and take our medicine?"
Reed stared at the witch, felt the pull of the easy option, then rejected it. She pushed off the roof, allowed herself to fall two stories to the ground and rolled, feet to hands to feet again.
Still on the roof, Rog shrugged up at Ayla. "You did give her the option..."
"Yes," Ayla said firmly. "And I told you, my dear boy, that you were to convince Reed to take her medicine. You seem to have failed me."
"Failed you?" Rog stood up, drew himself to his full height and thrust out his chest. "I do not work for you, witch. I am my own man and I fail no-one."