by Tony Roberts
“No,” Metila shook her long locks, moving to the door. “But tonight, she may inflict upon you a lot of pain. Tomorrow she will be a woman, no longer a girl. She will have all the adult emotions of my race, and the sexual abilities, too. She will want to exercise them, be warned, but unlike tonight, she will be in control of them.”
Argan shook slightly. This was something he had no experience of; his only preparation had been from the words of Metila, which could never properly prepare him. Metila opened the door, and Kerrin was framed in the doorway, his first concern the prince. When he saw that Argan was standing unharmed, he looked across at Amal and his eyes widened in surprise.
Metila curtly beckoned him in. “Go remove all breakable furnishings. Now!”
She used Kastanian when speaking to him, unlike the Bragalese to Argan and Amal.
Kerrin looked at Argan for confirmation and he nodded. Metila vanished into the corridor. “What’s going on, ‘Gan?” the bodyguard asked.
“Poor Amal,” Argan nodded over to the moaning girl. “She is close to her Growing Through. I must attend her. You may hear lots of things from this room but you are not to enter. It won’t be permitted.”
“Are you alright? It’s not something I’m happy with!”
“I’ll be fine. Metila is going to get something for me to help, so she said.” Argan stood over Amal, looking as she writhed in her unconscious state. He felt helpless, watching as she apparently suffered. He couldn’t help notice that her nipples were hard and engorged, pushing through the flimsy fabric. There was also a smell emanating from her, something….. pleasurable. He moved away, unsettled by the upwelling of a delicious feeling inside him.
Kerrin lifted a few small chairs and tables out into the corridor. By the time Metila returned, carrying a tray and a few bottles, cups and dishes in them, only the bed remained in the room. The window was shuttered. Two candles flickered in wall brackets. Metila regarded Kerrin. “You go. Not return until he commands.”
Kerrin gave Metila a long look, one not designed to give her any comfort, then he stiffly turned on his heel and slammed the door shut.
Metila sneered as she put the tray down on the floor. “He’s a fool,” she said, switching to her native language. “He’s too worried about you, Lakhani.”
“He’s only doing his duty, and he’s a close friend, Metila.”
She waved the reply aside. “You must listen to me now; this is very important. When she wakes, she will desire to couple with the first male she sees – and that will be you. You must be prepared to be physically attacked – she does not wish to harm you, just to copulate. She will wish to do it for a long, long time.”
“How? I’ve never – done anything like this before.”
Metila poured half the contents of one bottle into a cup, then picked up a pile of leaves and began shredding them, dropping them into the cup. “You will drink this potion. It will do two things to you; one, it will give you endurance. You will feel terrible in the morning, but that is normal. You will recover. The second is that it will give your organ down there life for many watches. It will not go soft. That is what she will want – a constant hardness to satisfy her needs.”
Argan took the cup and looked at it suspiciously.
“Drink it in one go,” Metila advised, picking up the tray. She stood while Argan obediently followed her advice. He grimaced. It was bitter.
He put the cup on the tray and she moved to the door. “What now?”
“Now you must remove your clothing – all of it. You will soon feel the effects of the potion. You will be outside yourself – and it will be loud and violent. You will be scratched, bitten and battered about – be warned. Good coupling!” she said and left, closing the door behind her.
Alone now with Amal, Argan turned around and looked at his friend. She was gasping in her sleep, mouth open, head back, her chest lifting up. He slowly unfastened his jacket and dropped it to the floor, kicking it under the bed. His other garments followed, lastly his loin undergarment, somewhat reluctantly. Now he was naked and aware of a glow spreading through his body, and a tingling of his skin. His organ began to tingle, just as Metila had promised, and he watched in fascination as it hardened and swelled. Now the room was getting hot and sweat began breaking out over his body.
There was a feeling of strength flowing through his veins and he flexed his arms. By the gods! If an army had this potion in battle, they would be hard to defeat!
Amal cried out and thrashed from side to side, and Argan knelt by her side. The scent from her body filled his senses and he touched her, slowly moving his hands to the two small pieces of cloth on her body. Without hesitation, he pulled them off, knowing she had to be naked too. Her body was fully revealed to him now and he knew suddenly he had to couple with her. She was so desirable. This was not what he felt towards Velka. Velka he liked, and he knew she was going to be his wife in the future, but Amal was something much more compelling.
Her eyes snapped open.
Argan stood up and stepped back in alarm. Her eyes were wide but her pupils tiny, like some wild creature. Her mouth opened and her teeth bared, and a hissing snarl came from her mouth. She rolled off the bed in one fluid movement, surprising Argan. Her hands were like claws, reaching out for him.
“Amal,” he said in a tight voice.
All he got back was a growl and she was on him, knocking him to the rug and she was atop him. He was stunned by her strength. Her legs gripped his thighs and one hand was at his throat, fingers round it. She hissed at him, and he remained still in fear, wondering what in the name of Kastan was going to happen next. Her other hand closed around his hardness and she screamed in pleasure, then moved her hips and suddenly he was inside her, deep, feeling the smooth warm wetness about it.
Amal threw her head back and began riding him violently, bouncing like a woman possessed. The wetness emanating from her made her movements noisy, with liquid sucking sounds filling the room.
Argan felt his blood racing around his body – the contents of Metila’s potion were now gripping him fiercely, and he wanted this girl more than anything he had wanted in his entire life. He wanted to make love to her over and over. Part of his mind wondered what was happening to him, and a thought popped, unbidden, into his head. Lust. That was what he was feeling. Lust.
He suddenly broke her grip round his throat, swept her arms aside and took hold of her shoulders and twisted violently, throwing her over onto her back. She screamed in rage and dismay, then her face transformed into joy as Argan plunged repeatedly into her. Her legs clamped around his back and her nails raked his back cruelly. Out of her mind, she bit into his shoulder, making inarticulate noises. Argan didn’t mind – or notice that much – as he was fully under the effects of what he had taken. He was indestructible, full of power. The demands of his body drove him on, matching Amal’s lust.
The room shook to their violent love making.
____
Argan’s awakening was slow and painful. His arms, back, chest – everything!! – hurt. He gradually became aware of the darkness in the room and remembered the candles. They must have gone out. His eyes were heavy and sticky. His head pounded. Was this how one felt after being trampled by a herd of angry fantors?
A crack of light showed around the shutters, and he guessed it was day outside. Day? He could remember some of last night, like some dream, full of female anatomy and a driving madness within. There was none of that now. Shards of pain shot through his body as he tried to move, and he gasped with the agony of it. He realised he was curled round the sleeping form of Amal, the naked Bragalese girl was resting her head on his right arm, eyes shut, her face peaceful. She was breathing evenly and deeply. His eyes roamed over her form, the lithe, olive-skinned girl – woman now, he supposed – coated in blood.
Blood! He sucked in his breath and examined her closely, but there seemed no wound on her. No, it was his blood, dried and caked on her. There were a couple of deep bite marks
on his shoulders and that was where a lot of the blood had come from, by the look of things. They both ached badly, and he knew he would have to move carefully. From the stinging sensations down his back, he expected that there would be more blood there.
He moved, and her eyes flickered open. The eyes, a deep brown, looked at him for a moment, then a sleepy smile spread across her face. “Lakhani,” she whispered, “you were – wonderful!” The last was breathed out with emphasis.
“I can’t remember that much,” Argan admitted, groaning as he tried to get up onto his knees.
“I can – but like it was a dream. I was possessed, just like I was told I would be.”
Argan examined his wounds, on his knees. “Agh, I’m a mess.”
She flicked a lock of long hair away from her face. “You will survive – you are Lakhani, after all,” she said. “I am exhausted. I need to sleep more.”
Argan nodded, then picked her up and placed her on the bed and slipped the blankets over her. “I will have to get these seen to,” he said, feeling tired himself. “You can rest here until you’re able to get up.”
“I am yours, Lakhani,” she said softly, looking at him with those brown eyes, eyes that Argan had a sudden compulsion to dive into and swim in. “Forever.”
“I am Velka’s betrothed,” he said, a touch of regret in his voice.
“Yes – you are to marry her. I am yours though. You are my bonded master. I will want you many times, even though you are to be married.”
Argan didn’t know what to say. To have an extra marital affair was not something Kastanian society looked up to, and the recent experience with the trouble his parents had had made him reluctant to say what he really wanted to.
“You are not married yet,” Amal said, mumbling. “I will have you again soon.” Then she was asleep.
Argan sighed, half-smiled, then bent and kissed her forehead. “Soon, Amal,” he whispered, then gasped as he got to his feet again. Gods! He was sixteen, not sixty. He slipped on his leggings he found under the bed, and tied them. At least he was half decent. He went to the door, rubbing his eyes, and opened it.
Outside, one guard and a tired-looking Kerrin were waiting. Kerrin looked shocked at the state of Argan, fully revealed now in the daylight-filled corridor. “By the gods, you look terrible, ‘Gan!”
“I feel terrible,” he admitted. “But I’m alright, and so’s Amal. She’s sleeping.”
“What – what did she do to you?”
Argan examined his bloodied form. Blood was still welling up from his shoulder wounds. He touched the first one and hissed, withdrawing his hand swiftly. “Go fetch Metila, and then go get some sleep yourself, ‘Rin. You look as bad as I feel.”
Kerrin shook his head. “My place is to guard you.”
“I’m commanding you, you empty-head. You’re not fit to guard anyone in your condition. Go.”
Kerrin nodded and stumbled off. Argan told the guard to allow entry to Metila and nobody else unless he gave permission. He went back and sat on the floor against a wall, making sure he gently pushed his back against it. His body throbbed and pounded. What did he remember? Wanting Amal, yes, being consumed with lust. He was surprised that he knew what to do – but then perhaps instinct had guided him. Neither of them had been intimate with anyone before, and yet they had apparently done it without much in the way of mistakes.
His loins ached. Gods – he hoped they wouldn’t drop off. He cradled them experimentally and decided that was a bad move. Had he been kicked there by a squadron of equines? Amal must have been at it most of the night.
The door opened and Metila appeared, smiling at him. As he went to get up she shook her head, shut the door, and made for the shutters. “You stay there, Lakhani. I shall let a little light in,” and she opened the shutters a touch, just giving enough light to see most of the room. She looked over at Amal. “She shall sleep for some time yet. I shall care for her until she is able to return to her duties.”
“When will that be?” Argan asked, concerned Amal would be unwell for a while.
“Later today. Bragalese women are tough, Lakhani. You should know that.” Metila knelt by his side and peered at his wounds. “Yes, it was a good coupling; she was very passionate.”
“Will it be like that all the time?”
Metila laughed, her eyes crinkling. Argan saw that the witch had many of the physical features that Amal possessed; the brown eyes, the darker skin, the long brown or even black hair, the litheness, smooth skin, and shorter build than the average Kastanian women. She had a few lines here and there on her face, denoting she was much older, but at first glance one could make the mistake of believing they were mother and daughter. The Bragalese woman stopped laughing and cocked her head to one side, curious. “What is it, Lakhani?”
“I was just thinking you and Amal look very much alike. Very beautiful.”
Metila smiled, and Argan decided he did like the woman. He had a thought, one he would not have had the day before, of what it would be like to make love to her. He wondered at that; it had all been about dealing with Amal’s change and sexual awakening, but had he gone through something similar? He certainly looked at Metila differently now, and Amal. They were no longer merely women, but potential lovers. Was that normal? Would it show? Would people think ill of him if he looked at women with that thought in his head? Would women recognise that? He frowned.
“You are too kind with your words,” Metila said. “You need healing. I have a potion here that will help,” she held up a very small brass cup full of what seemed to be crushed leaves, then spat in it. She saw Argan’s look and giggled, drawing another admiring look from Argan. “No, I am not for you,” she said, noting his look. “One Bragal woman and you think you can do the same to all? You are a typical young man; control that,” she prodded his loins. “Or else you will be the servant of any woman who knows how to control a man through love making.”
“Like a Bragalese witch, Metila?” Argan smiled, a gleam in his eye.
Metila wagged a finger at him. “I would kill you if we did that now. You need to recover. I am much older than you, Lakhani, you should spare your emotions for her and others of that age.” She mixed the paste with her finger, and then put some on Argan’s shoulder wound.
He hissed and bit his lip. “I hope love making isn’t like this every time. Will she bite like this again?”
“No, only at the time of Growing Through. From now on she will be in control of her passions, but she will know what to do. Last night she could not control it. She will still be very passionate, and you will get scratches, but only if you are good. A Bragalese woman will soon learn if a man is not up to pleasing her, and she will leave.”
“Really? Goodness…… Kastanian women too?”
“I don’t think so,” Metila shook her head, placing a second blob on the other deep wound. “Kastanian women are less – passionate – than Bragalese. They are more settled in marriage too. Kastanian marriages are meant to last forever, so if you are going to marry the Varaz girl, as I hear, you will have to stay with her for life.”
“And Amal?” he said, looking over at her, trying to ignore the deep stinging pain as the woman pressed more of the paste to his scratches.
“She will be yours, Lakhani, do not fear. I can see problems with your future wife, but that is for you to sort and nobody else. Now, remove your leggings.”
Argan looked surprised, but after a curt gesture from the woman, he did so, wondering about her reaction to his nakedness. She looked at him for a moment, nodded, and then treated his leg scratches. “You are like your father,” she commented, looking up at him.
“Yes, you know him quite well; you caused a lot of trouble between mother and father. Did you use a potion on him?”
Metila smiled enigmatically. “Maybe, maybe not. I could do the same to you and you would not be able to resist. As I said, you are not strong enough, and I do not sleep with everyone I meet. I decide, not the men.”
Metila pursed her lips. “Men mistakenly think we are just for their pleasure; and that women like me are whores, good just for love making. We Bragalese do not do that with everyone; if we do not like a man then we will not touch them, and they know it. We only do it with men whom we wish to, and whom we wish to get something from. A Bragalese woman is very attractive to a man and we know that, and we therefore use what we have to get what we want. Would you say we are the weaker, or the men, in being so easily controlled?”
Argan grinned and closed his eyes. The pain was getting very uncomfortable. “I am just like the other men, then. If you can control father so easily, I will be, too. Amal will control me.”
“If a man has a Bragalese woman following him, like you have with Amal, then you are indeed fortunate. You can use her to get the truth or anything you like out of them without torture. You ask her to seduce them and get information, and she will, happily.”
“I wouldn’t want to use her like…”
Metila put her finger to his lips, then gave him a stern look. “This is a man’s world, so what can a woman do? Would you make her less useful to you? She would not think good things of you if you did so. She loves you, I know, I have seen it in her eyes. You have someone there who will sacrifice her own life for you. Do not become like many other men and think we have little use and that we are less than equals.”
“I wouldn’t think that!”
She sighed and nodded. “I believe you; you are a very good man, a good Prince, yet you would not make a good emperor. Your father is not the first of what I have said, and is definitely the latter. Treat Amal like a person, not an object, and she will serve you for the rest of her life. I hear good things about you Lakhani; do not disappoint me.”
“I shall not.”