Marri's Approach (Brackish Bay)

by Cerise Noble

  “W-wh-what are you doing? Who are you fighting?”

  “We're attacking Brackish Bay, and we don't need little girls like you in the way.”

  I swallowed hard. “No, sir, I don't want to be in the way, not at all. I'll just go. To your kitchen. And make myself useful.” The man released me, but watched as I turned in multiple directions. “Um, sir? Where—where is your kitchen?”

  He snorted and pointed. I nodded, bobbed a curtsy as if I'd been wearing skirts, and then quickstepped in that direction. The other men fondled me as I walked past, and I flinched away, wincing and exclaiming in distress.

  The one who'd spoken snapped at them. “Don't.”

  They shrugged, and I escaped. Inside my belly was a coiling need for sex, raised to a ridiculous pitch by their heavy-handed groping. Dammit Fortuna, why did you have to build me like this, such that harshness piques my blood?

  I found the kitchen and ducked in. There were dozens of women, all bustling and working at a high speed. I grimaced.

  “Hello? Who's in charge, please?”

  A few of them eyed me, some with curiosity, some with hostility.

  “I'm in charge.” A tall woman with broad hips and broad shoulders strode by. “Stay out of my way.”

  I jumped back. “My apologies, madam.”

  “Is there a reason you're standing in my kitchen?” She strode past me the other direction, and I stepped back farther.

  “I'm sorry. I—they found me in the forest. I wanted to make myself useful.”

  She turned around from stirring the great cauldron over one of the many fires. “Useful, eh? Get over here and stir this. Make sure it doesn't stick, doesn't burn. Or I'll burn your hide. Understand?”

  I scurried over to the cauldron and took the proffered ladle. “Yes, madam, thank you, madam. I won't let it burn or stick.”

  I began to stir.

  Fortuna, if you've never stirred a pot for hours, I don't recommend it. My shoulders hurt. My arms hurt. My hands hurt. My ribs hurt. I just hurt. It was not the way I wanted to spend my evening. First the chef had me on a sort of risotto, and then a pot of corn meal mush. Then there were stews, and soups, and dessert sauces. Since when do armies eat this well? I wished I knew why she was here. She was obviously a cut above most camp cooks I'd ever known in my life. Maybe several cuts.

  It wasn't until very late when the only light was the fires around us that she let me rest. She handed me a bowl full of soup and a hunk of bread.

  “You did well.”

  “Thank you, madam.” My fingers were almost too tired to hold the spoon. “Where should I sleep?”

  She frowned at me then. “You don't belong to anyone?”

  I hesitated. “The man who brought me here, he didn't say anything about it.”

  She looked relieved. “Oh, well he doesn't have to say. It's an invading army. You belong to the one who captured you, unless he decides to give you away.”

  “Oh.” Somehow, it sounded like she'd given that talk to new girls a hair too many times for my comfort. “How do I find him?”

  “What's his name?”

  “He didn't say.”

  She sighed, exasperated. “Rank? Anything? I can't help you if you don't know who he was. There are far too many men in this army.”

  I screwed up my face, trying to remember. “He had a funny square on his armor that was green and brown.”

  “Green and brown? He's one of the scouts then. What color hair?”

  “Dark. Long,” I said. “It was tied in a plait, all the way down his back.”

  “Ah, why didn't you say so? That's Lorenzo.”

  “All right.”

  “Come on. I'll point out his tent for you.”

  I picked up my bowl and followed her. She pointed across the camp to a particular tent that looked like all the other tents. How she could tell them apart was beyond me.

  “That's Lorenzo's tent,” she said. “He is a harsh master, so be good.”

  “Yes, madam. Thank you.”

  I fixed the location of his tent in my mind and then began to walk towards it, weaving in and around the other tents and the people. Most were men, soldiers, and there were a few women soldiers, but not many. There were women and children, but not many of them, either. I came at last to the row where Lorenzo's tent was, and took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the lust that had reawakened at the chef's parting words. Just as I was about to step in, he stepped out and knocked straight into me, splashing the soup all over my face and arms and chest. I crumpled to the ground, crying for real this time. Food! Fortuna, food when I'm exhausted should be sacred, should not be trifled with! Gods be damned.

  He wrapped a hand around my arm and jerked me to my feet. “Stop your crying.”

  I sniffled, hiccuped, and whimpered, but I stopped. “I'm sorry, sir.”

  His sharp face didn't gentle. “I'm partially to blame. Are you burnt?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir.”

  “Good.” He pulled me towards the tent flap. “Come.”

  I entered. Inside was far more sumptuous than I would have believed before, with a great soft blanket, several pillows of some sort of fleece or velvet, and a sort of gauzy curtain in the corner. With a pang, I realized it reminded me of Aleksei's bedroom at Madame Bon's mansion, though his had gone over the line of elegant and into indulgent. This was just enough, Fortuna, to soften the hard edge of traveling for war. He noticed my wandering eyes.

  “I can be soft.” He didn't sound soft.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pushed me down to my knees, then removed my boots. Setting them aside, he brought a bowl of water and a rag to help clean my skin. I couldn't help but gasp at the rough touch and the longing it inspired. He reached for my vest, and I flinched away. There was no way my lie would hold up to armor.

  “No, please, sir.”

  My clitoris begged inside my head, yes, please, sir. Traitor. He paused, eyebrow raised.

  “What's the difference between a gag bit and a snaffle?”

  I gaped for a moment, my cheeks flushing, then closed my mouth. “The gag bit—gags the horse, and the snaffle—doesn't?”

  He laughed. “I didn't think so.”

  “You're not a horseman either, are you?”

  “No, not at all,” he said. “But one of my friends in the army was, and he used to pontificate endlessly on which bits were the best for which use.”

  “Ah.”

  “So who are you?”

  “I'm just an orphan. Father killed in the woods one day, mother serving men in the city. I got lost.”

  “And you have no one who you belong to?”

  I shook my head, eyes wide. “No one.” He reached for my vest again. I leaned back. “I, um. Just because I'm not from the horse tribes doesn't mean I want to have sex with you.”

  “Oh? Who said anything about sex? I'm just trying to clean you up, make amends for my clumsiness.”

  Why does my cunt clench on every silken word he says? It's just because it's been far too long without relief.

  “I, uh, I'm fine. Thank you.”

  He caught my fluttering hands and pushed them to my sides. “I found you in the woods. You belong to me.”

  Gods be damned, Fortuna, why do I keep ending up belonging to someone? I know it's just the way of the world, but ugh. Still, there are perks. My eyes slid up his muscular arms, his broad shoulders, and caressed his sharp jaw line. I bit my lip.

  “There, you see?” he said. “I mean you no harm.”

  My body revolted from my sense, and I remained where he put me, letting him unbutton the vest. It fell away, and with it the padding camp cloth. He pulled it away from my body, his brows quirked with curiosity. I watched his eyes travel up the cloth to the leather armor it was revealing underneath, and I saw the moment he realized what he was looking at. I blocked the first strike, the second and the third, but my arm muscles were too worn from the evening’s exertion, and I tumbled back, my kneeling stance hin
dering my movement. He followed me down, pinning my wrists to the ground. My thigh muscles screamed with the stretch, my feet tucked under my ass and pinned by my own weight.

  His face came close to mine. It was closed now, deadly to me, the enemy in his sights.

  “Who are you?”

  I stared up at him. “My name is Marri.”

  He shoved my wrists above my head so he could hold them in one hand and slap me with the other. I whimpered, the crotch of my suede pants nearly soaked through.

  “What army?”

  “General Amanda Tell.”

  “Who is that?”

  I pretended to cry. “If you don't know who she is, I'm even farther away than I thought.”

  His brows came together. “What are you talking about?”

  “I got lost on a scouting mission. I can't find my way back.”

  He rolled his eyes, and too late I remembered he was a scout himself. He sat up and yanked me forward, pulling me down over his hard-muscled thighs. I whimpered.

  “You expect me to believe lie after lie!”

  I swallowed hard. Fortuna, I'm losing my edge. What the hell is wrong with me? His hand crashed down on my buttocks, but the leather blunted the sting. He realized it, too, and I found myself shoved face first into a blanket while he lifted my hips with his knee and jerked my pants down. I heard a button pop, and lamented silently.

  His hand slammed into my naked flesh, and I hissed. Had it been that long since I was spanked? Or was I still sore from William’s beating? He spanked hard, each impact resonating deep in my flesh, and I began to whimper, my thighs rubbing together in an effort to keep from revealing just how wet my cunt was. He was too focused on turning my ass crimson to notice. I grunted as his palm laid down layer after layer of spanks.

  Too suddenly, it stopped, and I whined. He took it as a protest. It was, but for the stopping, not the spanking, and he snapped at me.

  “You're getting what you deserve. You don't lie to the man you belong to.”

  I panted when a broad stripe impacted my ass. It had to be a belt or a strap of some sort. I grunted again, twisting as it continued to bite harder on my right side than my left. He shoved me back down again, forcing my face into the blanket.

  “Be still. Be quiet.”

  I whimpered, then bit the blanket in an effort to be obedient—but not too obedient. I really need this, Fortuna. He strapped my ass up to the top of my crack and down to the crease. I moaned, needing a more thorough spanking. He caught my hair and turned me to face him.

  “Now. Who are you?”

  I stared at him, eyes wide. I'd forgotten that was the reason for the spanking.

  “My name is Marri.”

  “What else?”

  “I was part of General Tell's army.”

  He cracked the strap down on my ass. “I want the truth. I've never heard of General Tell, and I've been a soldier for a decade. I don't recognize the tattoo on your shoulder, and I should be able to. That's its purpose.”

  I blinked, uncertain. I'd never thought that being anonymous could have any sort of disadvantage. Usually the greater risk was that I would be identified. I licked my lips and tried again.

  “I belonged to Madame Bon in Aluet.”

  “Where's Aluet? I've never heard of it.”

  “You don't know much, do you?”

  That was either the most wrong comment or the most right comment I could possibly make, Fortuna. He shoved me forward and trapped my thighs under one of his, forcing my sweet spot, the juncture between buttock and thigh, to open wider and be more accessible. I sucked in breath and let it out in a variety of explosive, keening cries with each strike. The strap slammed into my flesh, biting so hard on the right side I almost wished it bit evenly on both sides. But it was not to be. He continued, a steady slap-slap-slap echoing in the tent. I whimpered with pain.

  The strap shifted lower, and then it was crossing the top of my thighs with every smack, and I was bucking, twisting, and crying out. Abruptly he stopped, then turned and pinned me down, his weight settled over my ass, his hard thighs between my sore ones. The leather pants pressed hard against my thighs.

  “You don't want to be spanked anymore, do you?” I shook my head, the thigh spanking having done me in. “Too bad.” He reached for something, and then he bound my wrists together. I whimpered, pleading with my eyes. “You're going to be spanked until I am satisfied.”

  It's going to be a long night, Fortuna.

  Chapter 5

  Lorenzo ran possessive hands over my back, and then he began to unlace the chest armor, down my right side, then down my left. I lay still, not able to strike far enough backwards with my wrists bound together. He untied the tops of the shoulder straps from each other, leaving the front panel and the back panel separate. He yanked the front one out from under me, and I gasped, the stiff leather scraping over my nipples. I'd taken to wearing it without a shirt in an effort to conceal it better under other clothing. He tossed both parts to the back of the tent, the lacing trailing after.

  I was now bare to the top of my thighs. My body burned with his gaze. I wanted nothing more than to arch up and offer him my dripping cunt.

  Then again, Fortuna, the only reason I had been resisting the urge was so he wouldn't find my armor. Too late now. I arched hard, lifting my ass and blushing as the air brushed my damp auburn curls. He stopped. My lips curved in a wicked grin as he trailed a finger over my buttock before sliding it along my slit. I moaned.

  “You're so wet.” His voice was awestruck. “What the hell?”

  I pushed back onto my knees farther, opening my lips. He played, far too lightly, with my most sensitive flesh. I shivered.

  “Please, Lorenzo.” He wiggled his fingers in between my thighs, held close to each other by the pants, and cupped my peach. His thumb sank in, and I groaned. “Oh, gods, Lorenzo.”

  He began to fuck me slowly with his fingers—too slowly!—and then faster, rotating them and pressing until my hips were pumping of their own accord, and I was seeing sparklers in front of my eyes. I arched hard, pressing my hot flesh closer to his pumping fingers. He continued even as my orgasm ripped through my body.

  “Oh, gods! Fortuna, yes!”

  I lay still for a minute, dazed with the force of my release. It really has been too long, Fortuna.

  His fingers were still inside me. He scissored them, and my flesh woke up. I grunted, tightening my cunt muscles and offering my crimson ass for his pleasure.

  “You enjoy this.” He began to fuck me again, lazily, drawing all the way out to circle my clit each time he did.

  “Gods, yes. Don't stop, whatever you do!”

  He didn't. The delicacy of his teasing drew me up to greater and greater heights without ever getting quite close enough to come. So I began thrusting my hips backwards, trying to get more and more stimulation. After a bit more begging, he complied. I lost myself in the pleasure that erupted from my core.

  This time it took me longer to recover, but he didn't let me have long. He had shifted around, then he hauled me over his thighs again, pinning my upper body with a leg over the small of my back. Then he used both hands, one holding my intimate folds open, and the other teasing. His touch was far too lightly teasing. When I was finally crying and begging to come, he plunged his fingers in deep and fucked me hard until I shattered a third time. By then I was boneless, weary, and limp.

  His voice was ominous. “I've heard that it hurts worse after you've had your pleasure.”

  I froze. “W-what?”

  “Spanking. It hurts far worse after you've orgasmed.”

  “No, no! No, please!”

  I panted, my fingers scrabbling ineffectually at the blanket, my back forced into a hard arch by his legs. He picked up the strap and laid it across my ass. I wriggled, determined to get rid of it, wondering if he was right, and that I wouldn't enjoy it now. I struggled while he removed my pants the rest of the way and bound my ankles together. He slapped the backs of
my thighs hard when I almost kicked him. The lacing came off of the leg guard panels, and they were tossed with the rest of my armor. I kicked backwards with both feet, but he blocked and then forced them down to the blanket. I cried as he slapped the back of my calves, over and over and over again. The sting was excruciating, far worse than the sting on my ass or even my thighs. It burned. I could feel the heat rising from my skin.

  “Don't you dare kick me again.”

  I was a babbling mess by the time he was finished handprinting my calves. “No, sir, no, sir.”

  He began to spank my thighs, and it was a struggle. Sometimes I could keep my legs rigid, forcing them to stay down, but at others I flinched and winced and tried to cover my thighs with my calves, which didn't work so well. He spanked my calves again, then returned to spanking my thighs until they were throbbing with pain.

  “Please stop, please stop!”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Marri! I don't know what you want! I'm telling you the truth!”

  “I doubt it. First you lied about being from a horse tribe. Then you lied about the hunter and the bear. Then you lied about the army. I'm beginning to think that everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.

  “It's not! I swear! I'm trying to tell you the truth. Please don't spank me any more!” I began to sob. He stroked my body, big long strokes of his hot hands over my aching flesh. “Please.”

  He picked up the strap and began on my ass again. The tattoo of slaps did me in. It was a barrage with no respite. I gave in quickly, lying limply where he pressed me, but he didn't stop the punishment for a long time.

  “We're done for tonight, but only for tonight.”

  I moaned, incapable of communicating in any other way at the moment. He pushed me to the side of the tent and fastened the wrist and ankle cuffs together. I curled around myself, my knees in my chest and my body pulsing with pain.

  Fortuna, I never did get to eat.

  I cried myself to sleep. I woke the next morning to the scent of something gut-crampingly good. I opened my eyes and looked blearily around. No one else was there. Lorenzo was gone, and so was my armor. Gods curse him, Fortuna. I can't wait for his turn under the wheel.