Princess to Pleasure Slave 25: Insidious Imp Edition

by Amanda Clover

  Princess to Pleasure Slave

  Insidious Imp Edition

  By Amanda Clover

  @amandasmut

  This book and all its contents are copyright 2017 by Amanda Clover. All rights are reserved and no portions may be reproduced unless for the use of brief quotations for review purposes.

  All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of parody and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.

  A Vow of Chastity

  The small, gray-beaked finches rolled in the dust in the abbey's courtyard. Sister Ioana Valduva watched the birds as they chirped and hopped beneath the statue of Saint Ysolde. They were so happy. So free to go and do as they pleased.

  Ioana was not listening to Sister Oriadne's lesson. It was something dreadful about the keeper of the stone heart and why a married woman should never touch herself without her husband's permission.

  Sister Ioana did not know why these lessons about chastity were necessary, she had taken that vow when she had become a sister of the Order of the Mountain Flower. The silver Idylwhite flower pendant that hung atop her black scapular, resting heavily against her ample breasts, was a reminder to Sister Ioana that she belonged to the goddess first. Everything for the goddess. As if Meryiana the Healer needed the devotion of a girl of eighteen years or she would lose her power.

  The abbey's bells rang the hour, ending the lesson on chastity and lifting Sister Ionana spirits. It was time for meditation and, as always, Sister Ioana had chosen to take a walk through the surrounding countryside. High in the mountains of Esbek there were no bandits or monsters to fear. It was a day's walk to the nearest town and only a few hermits lived in the surrounding peaks. Sister Ioana would be free of worry and free of the stern supervision of the elder sisters and Sister Superior Agatha.

  The nuns made their way from the courtyard to the main chapel. They filed inside and lifted their voices in a short hymn to praise Meryiana.

  An elbow nudged Sister Ioana in her side.

  "Are you coming to the music room?" whispered the sister beside her. Sister Clarya was one of the few women at the convent that Ioana counted as a friend.

  As always, a lock of scarlet hair poked out of Clarya's wimple and fell over her forehead and one green eye. Her small nose and cheeks were dusted with freckles and she had a slender body that disappeared entirely under her habit and scapular. Only her full, pouty lips presented any suggestion that she was a sensual harlot, turned to the convent to save herself from a life of whoring. Which was why Sister Ioana liked her so very much.

  "No music room for me today," said Ioana. "I have meditation and I intend to get out from these walls and go for a walk."

  "You're always off on the prowl," chuckled Clarya, nudging Ioana again with her elbow. "Looking for a man to finally take your maidenhead?"

  "I lost it riding horses," hissed Ioana. "And do not speak of such things. I do not want my walk to be given penance duty."

  "Right." Claraya cut her green eyes towards Sister Superior Agatha. The stern head sister of the abbey watched them singing their hymns through a pair of crystal glasses perched at the tip of her nose. Ioana and most of the other sisters hated Sister Superior Agatha. She growled orders at them when she was in a good mood and when her mood was foul, well, Meryiana help them.

  The hymns ended and the sisters rose from the pews. There was a soft murmur of conversation as they headed in different directions to their next lesson.

  "See you, princess," teased Clarya. "Don't get yourself grabbed by any of those mountain orcs."

  Clarya made a monstrous face and disappeared into the crowd of girls headed to the music room. Ioana sighed and followed the sisters going to the meditation chapel. Sister Uleena was waiting at the door. She smiled serenely and nodded to Ioana. It was all the permission Sister Ioana needed to hurry back to her solitary quarters and stuff her books under her bed. She took a small flask of water, changed her shoes to hiking boots, and hurried out of the abbey.

  She emerged into the bright midday light and blinked for a moment as the sun warmed her dark habit. She shielded her eyes and smiled at the blue sky and the desert mountainside. It was a lovely day, not particularly hot, and some of the high desert flowers had begun to bloom adding color to the meadows of dry grass.

  "Going somewhere?" The familiar growl of Sister Superior Agatha caused Ioana's heart to skip a beat.

  "Sister Superior!" Ioana ducked her head obediently, causing her silver Idylwhite pendant to swing and thump against her breasts. "I am going on a meditation walk to praise the goddess. Sister Uleena has granted me per--"

  "You think you are better than the others," said Agatha, stepping so close that the mounds of her breasts almost pressed against Ioana's bowed head.

  "N-no," said Ioana. "I am a oathsworn sister, d-devoted to Meryiana like all the others of--"

  "Orphans and reformed whores and beggar children," said Agatha. She roughly lifted Ioana's chin and forced Ioana to gaze up into Agatha's icy blue eyes. "In the cities, I hear there are convents where lords send their castoff daughters, their... troublemakers. And here you are, the daughter of a king, in my abbey. In these mountains. You look down upon the others."

  "No!" Ioana cried. "I am nothing. I am just a devoted sister of the O-order of the M-mountain Flower! I was just going to see if I could find some... some... Idylwhite."

  Agatha pinched Ioana's chin with her fingers, hard enough that it made Ioana bite her lip to keep from crying out.

  "Your father sent you hear to keep you out of trouble," hissed Agatha. "That shapely body. Those full lips. Those bright, silver-blue eyes. You are beautiful, Sister Ioana."

  "Th-thank you," cried Ioana, not understanding the compliment.

  "I pay you no respect," snarled Agatha and she released Ioana's chin. "You are an image of the goddess. You mock her with your beauty and you invite the attention of men and women. You invite sin into my abbey."

  "I am sorry," said Ioana. "I mean nothing by... I am sorry. I wear the habit and scapular. The wimple. I wear it--"

  "You wear it like a harlot," snapped Agatha. "You shake your hips with each step and wet your lips before you read aloud. Take your sinful body out on your walk. Get it out of my sight. Those pleading eyes... pleading me... GO!"

  Sister Agatha flushed red. Ioana had never her seen her blush and it made her feel strange.

  She stumbled away from the abbey and along the desert path she normally took down the mountain's gentle slope. Perhaps, Iona thought, her body was sinful. Maybe she was mocking the chaste goddess. She had so many fantasies, but she never dared to act upon them, even to tell them to Clarya. Not since her mother had found her diary in the castle in Radorest and had sent her away to the convent to seek a life of quiet chastity.

  The things she had written in her diary were caused by demons, proclaimed her mother. Lurid imaginary tales of men, women, and monsters having sex. Demons featured in some of those dark fantasies. Yet they had only been a game to Ioana. She had taken the things she had read about in her father's library and used them to populate her own erotic fantasies. She had not realized the magnitude of her blasphemy until the cleric of Meryiana, with his long nose and coal-black eyes, had explained it to her with bloodless anger.

  "You are under the spell of evil forces," he had explained. "The only way for you to rid yourself of their curse is to devote yourself to Meryiana. She will heal all sins, even perverse lust."

  So her family had sent her away to the Esbek Mountains, to this abbey on the furthest reaches of her father's kingdom. In her year since arriving, she
had received no letters from her family, not even her brothers. She was alone in the convent with all these other women.

  Ioana tried to focus her attention on the natural beauty of the world. The soft rush of the grass in the gentle wind, the burble of a trickling stream, the hop of desert hares and the darting lizards that sometimes bent blades of tall grass beneath their perched weight. The mountain finches played in the sky, occasionally chased away by squawking, solitary crows.

  The world was beautiful. She could see for miles over the Esbeks to Grand Peak and the Red Wife, the two massive mountains that stood over these lesser peaks. She found some recently bloomed Idylwhite flowers with their starfish-like blossoms of perfect white. She plucked them and pressed them into her copy of Meryiana's One Hundred Teachings. She found a spot that looked down into the green valley of Ordille and took out her water. She quenched her thirst and pulled back her wimple to let the breeze dry the sweat from her dark hair. The sun warmed her black scapular and she leaned back on the rock, her breasts lifting the symbol of Meryiana with each breath. She remembered those days in her mother's garden, playing with the tamed rabbits and ducks, listening to the royal musicians and eating finger sandwiches. She wished she could go back to that and the nights writing her stories.

  "Are you allowed to do that?" Came a voice from behind her.

  Iona jerked up, her face reddening with shame as she tucked her silky black hair back under her wimple. A bearded man stood behind her. He was quite ugly, with skinny limbs and a deeply-lined face that seemed to swallow up his tiny, squinting eyes. His hair was tangled and his beard reached almost to his bellybutton. He wore shorts and a tattered tunic, like an urchin boy might wear, though this man seemed to approaching old age.

  Ioana stood and held her book against her breasts as if it might shield her. The man smiled, showing off missing teeth. He carried an enormous pack upon his back piled with pots and pans, parcels, and sacks of fruits and vegetables. He balanced his weight on a walking stick of thick black wood.

  "Didn't mean to scare you, sister," he said. "I saw you sprawled here, I thought you might have fallen and hurt yourself. My name is Axuris."

  He held out his dirty hand.

  "Axuris?" She asked, shaking his hand daintily and quickly pulling her hand away.

  "That's it," he said. "What do they call you?"

  "Ioana," she said. "Sister Ioana."

  "Well, Sister Ioana. Would you like some lunch? A sandwich? I was about to have mine and I have plenty." He slipped his huge pack off and thumped it loudly on the ground. He took out a sandwich wrapped in brown paper.

  "No, I should be getting..." Her words died on her lips as the old man unwrapped a glorious length of fresh bread, vegetables, cured meats, cheeses, and dripping sauce. It was as if he had plucked the sandwich from her family's kitchen in the castle. It was the sort of thing her father would have eaten with relish and she and servants would have divided into careful portions for she and her mother.

  Axuris tore the sandwich in half and held a portion out to Ioana. The bread was still crispy, still steaming, the cheese slightly melted. It was incredible. She could not resist and took it from his hands. He sat down on the boulder she had been using as her own seat. There was still room for her to perch upon the edge. She sat down, staring in awe at the sandwich and comparing it to the gruel with the occasional bit of meat she was allowed at the convent.

  "Gods," she whispered and she bit into it. She had taken four bites and gulped them down before she realized Axuris was staring at her with a grin on his face.

  "Hungry, weren't you?"

  "Mmmmhmmmm ihhhh reeahhh kwaaate good," she said, her mouth still full of the delicious sandwich.

  "Enjoy, my dear," he said. "We can talk when our bellies are full."

  She managed to control herself as she ate the rest until she was stuffed full, the savory, vinegar-tinged taste of the sandwich and spiced meat still lingering in her mouth. She sighed and smiled contentedly. Axuris handed her a tin cup with sweet, cool mead in it. She drank without hesitation, enjoying the honey-flavored alcohol. There were no prohibitions against drinking for followers of Meryiana. There were rules at the convent, but Ioana hated those. She drank it all and the sweet mead added a bit of warmth and rosiness to her cheeks.

  "You have a book," said Axuris.

  "Oh, yes, it is the teachings of Meryiana," said Ioana and she handed the old man her book. He paged through it and came upon the pressed flowers.

  "Ah, Idylwhite, very lovely. Could I have one? My wife would enjoy it very much."

  "Of course, sir," she said. "Take whichever you'd like."

  He plucked one from the pages and carefully tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.

  "Do you like to read other things?" He asked.

  "When I have the chance," she said, though she was allowed no books of her own at the convent. The library was accessible only to senior sisters and was completely religious texts.

  "I have something for you in return," said Axuris, reaching into his pack. He brought out a slender book with a red leather cover. It seemed very old and well-worn. "It's not much, but supposedly the man who traded it to me said it has a magic spell inside. I don't know. I can't read it."

  He passed the book to Ioana. There was a strange symbol on the cover. The pages were like onion skin and the writing inside was sloppy and cramped. But she could read it! It was written in Old Kornasi, one of the steppes languages. She had studied it with her antiquities tutor when she was a girl. The nomadic ancient Korsani people had written beautiful poetry about war and nature on the hides of their slain mounts. To find a book like this written in such a language was incredible. A treasure.

  "I cannot take this," she said. "You are too generous. I think it worth quite a lot."

  "Really?" He scratched his head. "Well, then, I suppose I will have to have something in return."

  Her heart beat a little faster as the ugly man gave her a lecherous look.

  "Oh, no," she said softly. "I have taken a vow of chastity."

  "Yes, of course," said Axuris. "Then a kiss? Just one kiss. There surely is no law against it."

  "No, there is not," agreed Ioana.

  "So then a single kiss is not such a high price," said Axuris. "I know you are young and comely, I am tattered and bent low by time. I would treasure this small gesture far more than some old book I cannot read."

  She looked at the book in her hands. She did not want to kiss this strange, ugly man, but she very much wanted to keep this book. It was a sliver of hope, a splash of color, in her otherwise monotone life at the convent.

  And what if it really did contain a spell? The Kornasi were known to have wild blood magic.

  She looked at Axuris again, her cheeks heating with more than just the one drink of mead and her heart beating a little faster. This man had broken bread with her. He was offering her a priceless gift for just a kiss. She could not refuse this bargain and she had to work to contain her excitement.

  "Very well." She smoothed her scapular on her lap. "I will make that trade."

  Axuris cackled with glee and hopped from the boulder seeming surprisingly spry. He danced around to where Ioana sat upon the granite stone and stood over her, backlit by the afternoon sun.

  “Pucker up, my pretty sister,” he said and reached out to caress her face. She resisted the urge to jerk away from his rough, callused hand. Her lashes fluttered and heart beat faster. She put her chin forward, tilted her face up to his, and puckered her lips for a kiss. She closed her eyes and held her breath.

  What am I doing? She thought as his shadow blotted out the sun and he leaned down over her. She opened her eyes at the last moment and saw a flash of herself reflected in Axuris’s black eyes in his sun-worn face.

  His lips pressed to hers, firmly, warmly. His kiss lingered, it deepened, and she parted her lips to gasp something out to him. Instead, his tongue thrust, hot and thick into her mouth, pressing her tongue back and denying her
the ability to speak. She tried to pull away, but the old man’s hand curled around the back of her head and held her tightly. His tongue moved in her mouth, like a mollusk searching in the hot flow of her saliva, spreading that warmth through her entire body.

  “Mmmmmmm,” she cried against his lips. Her eyes were wide in the reflection she saw in his glassy black eyes. That darkness seemed to grow darker and bigger. His tongue slithered inside her mouth and he sucked at her lips. She could not stand it. She hated it and wanted it at the same time. She wanted to scream. She cried out again, “MMMMMMMMMMMMM!”

  The darkness was all around her. Ioana plunged into it and fell from a great height.

  It was nearly evening when she awoke. Her body hurt. Her eyes opened slowly. She felt strange and the wind stirred across her in a strange way. She lifted her head from the granite boulder and realized that she was indecently clothed. Her black scapular had been pulled off her body, along with her holy symbol, and her habit had been lifted up to her neck to expose her underclothes. She wore two slips beneath her habit, one made of black-dyed cotton and the other of white silk. The black slip had been torn away and the slip of white silk pulled up her chest like her habit.

  She was mostly naked, lightly sunburned, and her breasts spattered with a liquid that had partially congealed and dried onto her reddened mounds. Her pink nipples were soft and puffy in the warm evening. Her quim felt touched. She reached down and brushed it with her fingers, stroking the soft, dark fur of her womanhood and feeling the folds which were brittle with dried liquid.

  She felt ashamed and grabbed her torn black slip to wipe her breasts clean. The liquid there was sticky and musky and Ioana knew, without ever seeing it before, that this was a man’s seed. Axuris had violated her and spilled his seed upon her body. She discarded the soiled garment behind some bushes.

  Had the old man spilled his seed within her as well? The old pervert had dared to defile her chastity, might he also have flooded her womb with his seed?

  She decided that it was unlikely. There was not enough liquid on her thighs or the boulder beneath her. She fought the urge to cry, to be enraged, and pulled on her clothes. She straightened her habit and replaced her scapular and wimple. The silver medallion of Meryiana hanging against her breasts seemed to calm the last of her fears and anger.