Instructing the Novice

by Evangeline Anderson

  Only in a dream would I be dressed like this and having the kind of inappropriate relationship with my assistant that I’ve been having since we got to the Tower, she thought.

  As she thought that, they came around a curve in the corridor and Lizabeth saw another one of the large wooden doors bound in bronze. But this one had a lock on it and a yellowed paper sign that looked tattered and old was hung from a string on the knob.

  “Silence please—meditation in progress.”

  “Oh, what’s that room?” Lizabeth asked in a low voice, pointing.

  “The Meditation Grotto,” Joren answered promptly, but in a normal tone which made Lizabeth wince and hope they weren’t disturbing whoever was meditating.

  “Don’t worry my dear, the only one in there is Mistress Goldahh and she hasn’t emerged in five cycles,” Mistress Anarrah said.

  “She’s been meditating for five whole cycles?” Lone frowned. “Isn’t that a long time?”

  “Well, I suppose it is.” Mistress Anarrah looked sad. “But you see, she decided to take a vow of silence and locked herself in there after her Novice died rather suddenly. I suppose she’ll come out when she’s ready. Only the Mistress Superior is allowed to visit her—she brings Mistress Goldahh’s meals herself and councils her daily.”

  “That’s…very kind of her.” Lizabeth frowned. The Mistress Superior didn’t strike her as the caring, supportive type. But maybe she was just prickly until you got to know her.

  “Yes, most kind. Mistress Goldahh came from Yonnie Six to stay with us for just a little while —she’s one of the richest women on the planet you know. But then she decided to give up her glamorous life and make a life-long commitment to the Tower—as so many of our Mistresses do,” Mistress Anarrah remarked.

  “Oh?” Lizabeth said. “And why is that, do you think?”

  “Well, it comes down to love, really. You see, there are so few places on the Yonnite home world where the relationship we have here between Mistress and Novice is understood and tolerated,” Mistress Anarrah said.

  “They don’t believe a Novice should penetrate his Mistress,” Joren put in helpfully. “Not with his shaft, anyway. Though they do allow penetration with the tongue.”

  “But sometimes a woman just needs a shaft inside her—don’t you find, my dear?” Mistress Anarrah said to Lizabeth.

  “Um…” Lizabeth’s cheeks grew hot when she remembered the terrible need she’d had the night before and the way Lone had fucked her with the thick black phallus to ease her desire.

  “And love between a Mistress and Novice is strictly forbidden on Yonnie Six.

  Mistress Anarrah went on, thankfully not making her answer. “They believe that males aren’t fit to be anything but bodyslaves. But you and I know this isn’t true—males are worthy of love and devotion too—don’t you think, my dear? At least the right male is.” She gave Joren a loving look and her Novice returned it, his brown eyes shining with devotion.

  “Absolutely.” Lizabeth nodded but found she couldn’t meet Lone’s eyes as she spoke. “I think that’s very true.”

  “Well—here we are,” Mistress Anarrah said brightly, saving her from having to find something else to say about the subject. They had gone around another curve in the corridor and arrived in front of yet another bronze-bound, wooden door.

  “Let me get that for you, Mistress,” Joren said quickly. He opened the door with a flourish and waved them all inside, smiling.

  “Thank you, my darling.” Mistress Anarrah trailed her fingers over her Novice’s cheek in a sweet caress as she entered the room and Lizabeth and Lone followed her.

  “Wow,” Lizabeth breathed, looking around. The classroom was actually a huge library with leather-bound books of all sizes from little ones about as big as Lizabeth’s palm to large ones bigger than her torso. They ran from floor to ceiling in rows upon rows that filled nearly every single wall of the room.

  There was one exception—at the far end of the classroom was a long, rich wooden table with comfortable, leather-padded seats and reading lamps every few feet. It was situated in front of the one wall with no books because it held a massive fireplace instead. In the grate, a flickering fire of gold and crimson flames was burning brightly and crackling quietly to itself.

  “I’m afraid I have one of the few rooms in the Tower that is only partially warmed by the underground hot springs,” Mistress Anarrah said apologetically. “It gets a bit chilly in here—especially on bare feet. So I make sure to have a fire going all the time here—or at least, Joren does.”

  “Yuh, that I do, Mistress. I’ll throw a bit more fuel on now.” Her Novice went to the fireplace and began tending the leaping flames.

  “I am sorry—I do hope you won’t mind the chill too much,” Mistress Anarrah said.

  “Please don’t apologize—this is wonderful.” Lizabeth looked around in awe and breathed in the spicy scent of real books and leather and wood. “Are all these Yonnite law?” she asked, motioning to the rows of volumes.

  “Oh my no, my dear! Yonnite Law seems complicated to an outsider but actually it’s quite simple once you master a few basic principles. No—these represent my life-long study of all kinds of legal systems. I believe I have books here from every known sentient culture in the galaxy. It’s by no means my complete collection—most of it I store electronically, of course. But these are the books I simply cannot do without—I like to hold a book in my hand when I’m learning from it, don’t you know? Not just view it on a screen or have it fed into my brain with a neural jack-in.”

  “Um, you can do that? Feed information directly into your brain?” Lizabeth remembered joking about something similar with Lone but she had never dreamed it would be an actual possibility.

  “Oh my, yes!” Lizabeth said. “But only if you’ve already got a jack installed. See?” She lifted her silvery hair and showed Lizabeth what looked like a tiny, pin-sized port located just under her right ear. “Do you have one?” she asked. “It would make the transfer of information much easier.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Lizabeth shook her head. “Can I get one here?”

  “At the Tower? I’m afraid not.” Mistress Anarrah sighed regretfully. “It’s a special medical procedure you can only get done on U’la Prime. It’s very expensive but worth it, in my humble opinion.”

  “Ah, well…” Lizabeth shrugged. “I’m afraid I’ll just have to learn the old-fashioned way.”

  “That’s all right, my dear. I’m happy to teach in any style that suites you.” Mistress Anarrah smiled. “Very well then—let’s get started, shall we? Please come have a seat at the table and tell me which parts of the Yonnite law are giving you trouble.”

  Lizabeth was more than happy to do so. She wanted to dive right into her studies here and make up for the time she had lost studying because the needing had been so bad for the past two weeks. Lone sat quietly beside her and before she knew it, she and Mistress Anarrah were deep in the intricacies of Yonnite law…

  * * *

  “Very good, my dear! You’re grasping this beautifully!” They had worked through the morning, had a simple, flavorful lunch which appeared to be the Yonnite Two version of sandwiches, (though the filling resembled purple lunchmeat and turquoise slices of some kind of fruit,) and continued for several hours after lunch.

  It had been a long day’s work but very enjoyable and most illuminating, Lizabeth thought. Also, Mistress Anarrah seemed very happy with her. She beamed at Lizabeth who smiled back.

  “Thank you. I’ve been studying law most of my life—it’s my passion. But there were just some strange parts of the Yonnite code I didn’t understand. Now that you’ve explained, I find that it’s much clearer.”

  “I’m so glad it’s becoming clear to you. Now, there are a few gray areas you should be aware of—especially if you’re prosecuting well-connected Mistresses and the plaintiffs in this case are males, as you say. Hmmm…now where is that book on Yonnite tort reform?”

&nb
sp; Mistress Anarrah put a thumb to her mouth, nibbling her beautifully shaped nail thoughtfully as she scanned the rows and rows of books.

  “Oh, there it is,” she said at last, pointing to a wall on Lizabeth’s right. Right up at the very top.”

  “Where is it? I’ll get it.” Lizabeth hopped up, glad to stretch her legs and was starting for the rolling stepladder when Lone stood up behind her.

  “Let me fetch it for you, Mistress,” he murmured. “That stepladder looks steep.”

  “Oh, no—I don’t mind.” Lizabeth breezed over to the ladder—which really was rather steep, especially when the book she was going to get was about thirty feet up—and began climbing. Lone watched in apparent concern from the bottom, holding the ladder steady for her, though she hadn’t asked him to.

  Lizabeth climbed and climbed, clutching the railing tightly as she got closer to the high, vaulted ceiling. Had she thought that the top of the bookcase was thirty feet up? Well, it felt more like fifty feet and she had never liked heights. She thought of Lone’s offer to get the book for her but if she backed out now she would feel foolish. Besides, she was perfectly capable of doing this. Lifting her chin, she kept going.

  “All the way up,” Mistress Anarrah pointed. “There—that big blue one bound in yibben hide with the gold writing on the spine.”

  “This one?” Lizabeth frowned at the book her new mentor was indicating. It wasn’t one of the ones that was as big as her torso but it wasn’t much smaller either. It was at least twelve inches thick and looked like it would weigh about a ton. Still, she was up here now so she might as well get it.

  Taking a deep breath, she slid the thick volume out of its space and hefted it in her arms—both arms—because there was no way she could lift it in just one.

  “Oof,” she muttered to herself. “This must weigh a hundred pounds. Or at least fifty.”

  “Mistress are you sure you don’t want me to get that for you?” Down at the bottom of the staircase ladder, Lone was looking more concerned than ever.

  “No, no—I’ll be fine,” Lizabeth said firmly. “It’ll be good exercise for me. I’m always telling myself I need to do more strength-training when I go to the gym. Just hold the ladder steady and I’ll be right down.”

  But it wasn’t going to be easy going down without a hand to hold onto the rails. Nevertheless, Lizabeth stubbornly told herself she could manage. Going backwards, she stepped down carefully, feeling for the step with her bare foot and finding it as she clutched the heavy book to her chest. Then the next step and then the next…

  Everything would have been fine, she thought later, if it wasn’t for those damn black ribbons she had to wear tied around her calves and ankles like shoe-less gladiator sandal lacings. Unbeknownst to her, the left one had become untied again. As she stepped down with her right foot, she somehow got her toes entangled in the silky thing.

  With a gasp she missed the step and then lost her balance. In the space of a heartbeat, she was tumbling backward, the heavy book of Yonnite tort reform still clutched desperately to her chest.

  She had a brief moment to wonder if she was going to break her neck or her back. She had only managed to come down a few feet on the ladder before tripping and she was falling from the height of a second or third story window at least. She heard a frightened exclamation from Mistress Anarrah below but a scream barely had time to form in her own throat before someone caught her.

  The heavy book bounced against her chest and mouth at the same time, splitting her lower lip and knocking all the wind out of her. Lizabeth tasted blood and her choked gasp turned into a muffled cry of pain. Then worried gray eyes were staring down into her own.

  “Mistress? Lizabeth? Are you all right?” Lone rumbled.

  Lizabeth tried to get air back into her lugs. God, this stupid book weighed a ton.

  “I…think so,” she managed to get out at last. “Just hurt my lip. But it…it could have been worse. Much worse. Thank you, Lone.”

  She looked around and realized that she was still half-way up the ladder and the big Kindred was holding her with one arm while he grabbed the railing of the rolling staircase with the other hand. The floor was still quite far away—the sight made her dizzy.

  “Wow, Lone—how did you get up to me so fast?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “I started climbing up the staircase the minute you started coming down it,” he admitted. “You, uh, didn’t look too steady, Mistress—not trying to hold that huge book and climb at the same time.”

  Lizabeth was tempted to bristle at him and protest that she was perfectly capable of getting her own book. Except…hadn’t she just proved the exact opposite?

  “Thank you for catching me,” she said instead. “Um, you can put me down now so we can go back down the ladder. Your arm has to be killing you.”

  “I’d prefer to carry you, Mistress, if you don’t mind. My arms are perfectly fine,” Lone said quietly.

  She almost protested that she could get down the staircase herself but there was a longing in his gray eyes she couldn’t ignore.

  He’s really worried about me—he wants to keep me safe, she realized.

  She sighed and nodded.

  “All right, thank you Lone. If you’re sure I’m not too heavy. Me plus this book is a pretty heavy lift.”

  “You’re never too heavy for me, Mistress,” he murmured. “I’ll have you down in a moment and then we can tend to that lip of yours.”

  “Oh…” Lizabeth reached up and felt her bottom lip carefully. She winced at the tenderness and saw there was blood on her fingertips. “Wow, Yonnite law is harder than I thought—literally,” she tried to joke, though her mouth really hurt.

  Lone gave her a smile as he swiftly and smoothly descended the stairs with her still cradled in one muscular arm.

  “Very funny, Mistress. All right—here you go.” He set her gently on her feet on the ground and then looked over at Mistress Anarrah and Joren, who were watching them silently. “My Mistress has a small injury—do you have a care kit and some ice I could use on her?”

  “Certainly we do,” Mistress Anarrah said quickly. “Joren, would you be so kind as to take Lone to the kitchens and get him what he requires to tend to his Lady?”

  “With pleasure, Mistress.” Joren jerked his head towards the door. “Come, lad—it’s this way.”

  Feeling a little shaky, Lizabeth sat back down at the large table and sighed deeply. But the minute the door was shut, Mistress Anarrah came and sat beside her.

  “My dear,” she said, giving Lizabeth a frank, appraising look. “We have to talk.”

  “About what? My hurt lip?” Lizabeth touched it with the tip of her tongue and then wished she hadn’t—it stung. “Do you have an incident report form you want me to fill out or something?” she asked.

  “No, my dear—it isn’t your lip I want to talk about. It’s your Novice.”

  “Is something wrong with Lone?” Lizabeth sat up and looked at her anxiously. Had her new mentor figured out that the arrangement between herself and Lone was strictly a temporary one? Did she know they weren’t really a “love match” and want to kick them out?

  “Oh there’s nothing wrong with him, my dear—at least, I don’t think so—though many societies would. Please, don’t look so worried.” She patted Lizabeth’s hand soothingly. “I just want to talk. Your Novice, my dear, is a treasure—something we Mistresses on Yonnie Six hunt for, sometimes all our days—without finding. Your Lone is a true submissive.”

  “What? Submissive?” Lizabeth frowned and sat back, recoiling instinctively.

  That word, “submissive” conjured so many unwelcome images in her mind, mostly from the case where she had defended the Dominatrix. She had visited the “dungeon” where her client worked and had seen men tied to the Saint Andrew’s cross and begging to be flogged or crawling on their hands and knees wearing collars and butt plugs and ball gags. There had been one in particular who kept trying to lick her shoes and k
iss her feet, until the Dominatrix—Madam Whiplash had been her name—had swatted him away with a long leather riding crop.

  Most of the men on display in the dungeon had been middle-aged and flabby with unsightly body hair and too much fish-belly-white skin on display under their ridiculous leather harnesses. That, added to the bizarre way they were behaving, equaled a real turn-off for Lizabeth. Which was a shame, actually—she had read a few books on BDSM that sounded mildly intriguing. But that one case had turned her solidly off any kind of kink—at least any that involved submissive males. She knew many people liked the Lifestyle and she didn’t judge them for it—she just didn’t want it for herself.

  “Submissive,” she said again, making a face. “What in the world would make you say that about Lone?”

  “Why, what is that look on your face?” Mistress Anarrah exclaimed. “Submissive must mean something else in your culture than it does in mine!”

  “Possibly,” Lizabeth admitted. “To me it brings to mind someone who’s always begging to be spanked or tortured sexually. Someone crawling on the floor, trying to lick his Mistress’s boots or suck her toes or something like that.” She shivered.

  “Why no, my dear—that isn’t what I meant at all,” Mistress Anarrah assured her. “Far from it. What you’re describing is what we call a sexual masochist—someone who needs to be disciplined or humiliated in order to achieve arousal.”

  “That is what I was thinking of,” Lizabeth admitted. “I had a client once who did that for a living—disciplined men who got off on being disciplined. The whole thing was…” She shook her head. “Very distasteful to me. The idea of doing anything like that to Lone—of spanking him or tying him down and…” She shook her head. “It just doesn’t appeal to me at all. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, my dear. When I say that your Novice is a true submissive, I don’t mean he wants you to punish him. I mean he wants to serve you,” Mistress Anarrah said gently.