Message-ID: <25038asstr$963040210@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Message-ID: <20000707084937.25684.qmail@nym.alias.net>
From: Delta <delta@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} RP "A Question of Honour" by Delta 1\5 (MF)
Date: Sat, 8 Jul 2000 03:10:10 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/25038>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, apuleius
RE
Should you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by
E-mail at:
delta @ nym . alias . net
Comments and critizisms are welcome.
Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character
within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead. No
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's
imagination. Copyright retained by the author and this post
is for private use of the reader only. It is not to be published
in any form whatsoever, including being made available on BBSs,
or on Web Pages, without the express prior consent of author.
Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which
they reside are asked to please pass by.
Delta.
A QUESTION OF HONOUR (c) 1995
by Delta
Part 1
The man stared at the dry creek bed with a mixture of loathing
and relief. Here it had started, here it would end. After looking
carefully in both directions he stepped out and crossed the cracked,
baked mud.
It was done. His shoulders slumped, betraying the exhaustion
which threatened to overcome him. He breathed deeply, preparing
himself for the hard slog to the spring.
It had been difficult, avoiding the waterholes during his
journey through the wasteland, yet he had done it willingly,
gladly. None would know of his leaving, all would assume that the
one which he had been had met some untimely, or perhaps timely, end.
None would suspect, would dream, that he had done what most
considered impossible. And most important of all, none would even
think to look for him.
He would have to think of a new name, he decided. The one he
had before first crossing the creek bed would no longer be appropriate.
That one, innocent in the ways of men, had died soon after the crossing,
leaving the one whose name was best forgotten. The one whose name
was best forgotten had died as well. It had been a lingering death,
or perhaps an awakening - both portended the same. Now there was only
the man, the past burned out of him by the sun, the haunted dreams
only ghosts of what they had been. Perhaps they would come no more.
He tried to laugh, but no sound came from his parched throat.
He needed water. He recognized the danger signs all too well.
He could no longer sweat. The name could wait, his thirst could not.
The man took a step, then another one. He did not look back. With
each step he could feel the ghost of the one whose name was best
forgotten ease away, further and further, until it was only a bad
memory.
The woman screamed and looked wildly about her for the escape
which was not there. Every fiber of her being radiated the terror,
the hopelessness of her position. Every fiber of her being lied.
Her assailant stood back and laughed as he looked at her proud
breasts which peeked from the ruins of her torn blouse. Fine, lightly
tanned breasts which heaved as she gulped in huge draughts of air;
fine breasts, a little more than a handful, which would feel so good
squashed against his chest. She could read it in his eyes, that and
the confidence of a man in a situation traveling a familiar path.
He would not guess until too late, until either the knife
attached to her forearm or the one in her boot slipped between his
ribs, that he had been led along the path like the tulk he was. He
had already replaced his hand weapon in its holster. He was supremely
confident.
She had thought that all of the raiders had left after the sack
of the caravan. Even so she had taken no chances and hid her charges
well, only occasionally venturing out for water. For the past two
days she had suspected that someone was hunting them and had acted
accordingly. It had done her no good, for he had caught her.
Yet it was his loss and her good fortune, for he had a pack
animal with him, loaded with goods from the sack of the caravan. They
would come in handy in the crossing of the wasteland. Yes, the gods
had been good. Now all she had to do was to lure him into her arms.
The man spoke in his foreign tongue. She stared blankly at him,
breasts still heaving. He licked his lips, then spoke in her language.
"No where to run, tulkwa." She looked down at the insult so he
wouldn't catch the anger in her eyes. "Why not just do yourself a
favour? Make me angry and you'll regret it."
It was time to answer. "I'll do anything you say if you promise
not to hurt me." Her body spoke of a defeated being, her voice soft
and breaking. She looked up at him, through her eyebrows. Did he
really think his predatious smile was calming?
"That's better. You and me can become good friends. Do as I
say and you won't be hurt," he lied.
She nodded minutely. It wouldn't be long now. Then movement
caught her eye and her stomach tightened. The tulk had a partner,
one who had, no doubt, heard her scream and was coming to join the
fun. Even at this distance she could see he had a shoulder weapon.
If she killed this one, she herself would be killed and then what
of the others? Her shoulders slumped. She would have to ride it
out, take what they wanted to dish out and wait for her opportunity.
It would come eventually, especially if she made it worth their
while to keep her alive, and she could do that.
The hand which grabbed her forearm shocked her back to reality.
Damn! He had closed his hand right over the sheathed knife and had
jumped back as he grabbed for his weapon. His eyes were narrow,
angry.
"Tulkwa! Did you think you could slip it through my ribs as
I took you?" He stepped back another pace. "Now you've made me
angry. It's going to be a long day for you." He spat. "Take it
off - slowly and carefully." His weapon was pointed at the middle
of her body - not a chance he would miss. "What's your name, tulkwa?"
"Takene," she answered defiantly, as she unstrapped the knife
and dropped it on the ground.
"Takene," he rolled the name over his tongue. "I prefer Tulkwa.
So, Tulkwa," he sneered, "don't stop there, keep going. Undress and
show me how pretty my little Tulkwa is." He laughed as she glared
at him.
The dirty, torn, tan blouse came off easily, exposing her breasts
to him. Nice thick nipples perched on the tips, pointing slightly
upwards. He licked his lips once more, but the weapon didn't waver
in the slightest.
"Pinch them," he grinned wickedly. She hesitated but, when she
saw his finger tightening on the trigger, gave in and brought her
hands up. She pinched her nipples and rubbed them, bringing them
out to their full glory. She could see he was excited by it, the
bulge in his pants growing. Behind him, his partner was still
approaching, not hurrying, sure there would be plenty left for him.
"Very pretty, little Tulkwa," he sneered, "now the boots -
slowly." She cursed to herself, and pulled up the pantsleg, turning
slightly to hide the knife. Her effort failed, and the brute's
eyes narrowed further. "Toss it carefully this way," he ordered and
she complied. "It's going to be a rough afternoon for you," he
promised.
The boots and socks came off and the brute grinned as she
hesitated once more. His grin widened as she began to strip off
her pants without his having to say anything. There was a new
admiration in his eyes and she knew what he was seeing. Her body
was lithe and willowy. Long shapely legs moved into softly rounded
hips. Her flat belly, promising delights within, melded smoothly
into her small waist and narrow chest. The breasts, mounted high
on that chest, appearing larger than they were, nicely contoured,
tipped with the now hard nipples. Her graceful neck coursed upwards
to her angular face with the prominent cheekbones; her cool grey eyes,
large and captivating, stared at him calmly, as her long black hair,
loosely tied behind, moved in the breeze.
She could see him calculating the risks. Have her, then kill
her and be safe, or risk the journey with a dangerous woman for the
high price she would surely bring. She moved slightly, sensuously,
to shift the odds a little in her favour. His eyes lit up at the
movement and again his tongue came out to wet his lips as she began
peeling off her undergarment. The small triangle of short black
hair pointed its way to paradise.
"Play with yourself," he ordered.
Takene flushed. He was going to derive the maximum of
satisfaction from her, she knew. Humiliation was just a part of
it. She moved one hand down to the junction of her legs and began
stroking softly, while the other hand returned to stroke her
nipples. The brute grinned. It was difficult for her to lubricate,
there was nothing exciting at all about her situation, yet she
knew it would be to her advantage. If she was going to be taken,
she might as well not suffer the pain of dry intercourse.
Takene cast her thoughts back, to other, better times, to her
man, before he had been killed. The gentle sweep of his hand
across her body had always excited her, thrilled her with the
knowledge of what was to come. Such a gentle, loving man. She
felt the juices beginning to flow and groaned as her now moistened
finger found her clit.
The brute moved forward, then stopped. "The others. Get them
out here."
"What others?" she questioned, her hopes dashed, her mind jerked
back to the present.
"Don't play with me, or I'll cripple you, find them, then come
back to have my pleasure." There was no joking, no subtlety in the
man. He would do exactly as he said, and then there would be no
chance at all.
"Iro, Lere, come out," she called.
Two youngsters appeared off to her right. The boy was in early,
the girl in late, adolescence. The brute saw that they were no threat,
and smiled. His partner, approaching from her left, had not seen the
youngsters yet. When he did, the girl, Iro, would reap the benefit
of his attention. Takene grimaced. Still, it was better than death,
she shrugged to herself. At least this way there was still a chance.
The body and mind would repair themselves in time.
Takene wondered at her ice-cold appraisal of the situation.
There was no emotion in it, none at all. It was unlike her, yet
the situation was unlike any she had ever faced, as well.
"Girl, watch carefully," the brute ordered. "Watch how the
Tulkwa does this, and learn. Learn well or you'll be beaten." He
turned his attention to Takene and leered at her. "You know what's
next."
Takene held herself tight inside as he undid his pants and his
member, large, thick and erect, sprang loose. He would want her to
crawl to him so she sank down to her knees. "Satisfy me enough and
the young one won't get it," he paused judiciously, "until tomorrow,"
he amended.
Takene contemplated fixing him, biting down hard, but the
weapon he pointed at Iro, as well as his partner, now mere meters
away, convinced her to play the game. She closed her eyes and
moistened her lips. She prayed she wouldn't gag.
Her eyes flew open at the sharp sound.
The scream caught the attention of the man. It meant people.
People were a danger, yet people meant water as well. He turned
and headed in the direction of the scream. His pack was heavy on
his back but he did not remove it. Once he put it down it was
unlikely that he would be able to pick it up once more, so he
stumbled on, like an automaton.
The uphill slope would have annoyed him before, now it simply
existed. Nothing was easy. It was just one more test. One more
test of the many he had taken in the journey. A rock rolled under
his foot and he caught himself before he fell. He dared not fall.
Looking up, he saw them across the field. The man and the
woman. The words which reached him he didn't understand. The
action he understood all too well. It was dangerous, what he was
doing. He knew this, but his body continued moving, as if the mind
had nothing to do with its functions.
The man considered his options. His thoughts came slowly.
He knew, somehow, what the ones before him, the ones who had died,
would have done. Yet he was no longer them. He was a new man,
born of the trek. What would this new man do?
The woman removed her clothes. She was beautiful, he understood,
yet the understanding meant nothing. Not knowing why, he wanted to
hurry, yet it seemed that his body understood only one pace. It was
enough. Still he knew not what he was going to do. This surprised
him, for he had always been quick.
No, he decided, it should be no surprise. A new man had nothing
to guide, to shape him. The decision must be reached in the fullness
of time.
The woman was naked, her assailant growling something at her.
The assailant's focus changed, weapon moved; there were others. The
others, who he could not see, did nothing. The decision was still
his to make. The woman sank to her knees to pleasure her assailant.
The man knew he would have to decide soon.
The sharp sound of his weapon startled the man, who had not
realized he had drawn it, had not felt his hand move. So, he thought,
that was the decision. He considered it a moment, as the assailant
fell over dead. A good decision, he concluded.
Takene was stunned by the turn of events and scrambled to her
feet, her eyes darting, from the man with the weapon, to her dead
assailant's weapon lying on the ground before her. Her heart was
pounding and she dismissed the notion. She wouldn't have a chance.
She was now in deep trouble.
One look at the man's flat emotionless eyes had convinced
her of that. This man was infinitely more dangerous than his
predecessor. He was a casual killer. She backed up as he advanced,
her hands trembling with a fear the other had not engendered in her.
The killer recovered the fallen weapon and her knives. He mouthed
something at her, no sound coming forth. She stared at him blankly.
His eyes turned to stone. He pointed the way the children had gone,
then pointed at the ground in front of her. Resigned, she called
the children forth once more.
The killer stood like a rock, his wide brimmed hat shading the
flat, lifeless eyes. His face, beard, clothes, everything, were
coated with a thick layer of dust. Tension sang throughout his
body.
The children appeared and the killer's weapons swung to
cover them. He motioned them to her and she took them and placed
her body between them and the killer.
Suddenly he seemed to sway, and Takene realized that the man
was exhausted. Her eyes brightened. There was still a chance.
"You look tired, my friend," her voice shook a little. "Why
don't you sit down?" She motioned to a large rock. He didn't
appear to understand - or did he? The killer took a few slow
careful steps towards the rock, and Takene's eyes went wide with
surprise.
She was obviously the children's guardian, the thought slowly
forced its way into his mind. She would need her weapons. He
carefully placed the dead man's weapon and the woman's knives down
on the rock. His own weapon was a dead weight in his hand, so he
returned it to its holster.
He looked around and spotted the pack animal. She would need
that, too, he decided, but the canteen of water would be his. He
stumbled as he walked towards the animal. He knew the woman would
be able to pick up the weapon and kill him. He wondered if she
would do that.
The thought interested him. That, too, was an acceptable
outcome. He reached the animal and took up the canteen, turning
as he did to see what the woman was doing, whether he would be
able to drink before dying.
The woman was putting her clothes back on. He raised the
canteen to his cracked lips and filled his mouth with water. He
desperately wanted to swallow, but his throat was too dry, the
pain would be too great. Slowly a trickle of water made its
way down his throat and at long last he swallowed. He followed
that with another mouthful, then replaced the top.
She would need a canteen, he decided, and left his empty one
on the animal. He turned and made his way in the direction of
the spring, wondering, once more, if she would shoot.
Another sip of water.
He was so tired, so incredibly tired. The confrontation had
taken much more out of him than he would have thought. Another
swallow. So damned tired.
He was falling. She had shot him after all. Acceptable.
As the killer walked away, Takene stared at the rock and the
weapons. Was he playing with her? Would she reach the rock only
to see him turn and fire? She decided not to take the chance and
began dressing herself.
"Damn." She cursed in a low voice. He was going to the
pack animal. They would need it. She would have to hunt him down
and retrieve it. She was just slipping back into her torn blouse
when he lifted the canteen and turned. He took a long time in
swallowing.
It was a day for surprises, she thought, as he unslung his
own canteen, hung it on the animal and started to walk off. She
stepped to the rock, motioning the children to take cover and
picked up the weapon.
The killer fell and did not move.
"Did you shoot him, Guardian?" Lere wanted to know.
"Hush, Lere. Of course not. He only fell." Takene was
busy replacing her knives in their sheaths.
"Then why isn't he getting up?"
"Hush, Lere." But Takene was wondering the same thing.
"Are we going to help him?" Iro asked.
"Help him?" Takene was astonished.
"He helped us," Iro defended her position.
Takene thought about it. Yes, he had. The only time he had
been threatening was when he had ordered the children out. As soon
as he had seen they were only children, he had relaxed, left her
her weapons and left. A possibility occurred to her.
"Yes, Iro, we will help him."
The man lay on the sweet grasses, under the shade of the tree,
breathing shallowly. It had been a struggle to heave him up on
the animal to get him here. Takene and Iro had fallen with him
when they pulled him off. Now they rested.
Takene loosened the strap and pulled off the wide-brimmed hat.
Longish sandy hair covered his head and was plastered, in places, to
his dust caked face. He reeked of stale sweat. He would have to be
cleaned up, she decided.
"Iro, help me get his clothes off. Lere, fetch water and soap.
If we're going to be with him any length of time, at least we shouldn't
have to put up with the smell," she explained to the children.
Children. It was interesting that she still thought of Iro as
such. She was a young woman now, just of marriageable age. Small
wonder that the brute had smiled when he saw her. Iro would bring
a good price in the pleasure camps as well.
Together they struggled and removed the man's pack. His shirt
followed. Iro gasped as she looked at the scarred torso. This one
had suffered much. She wondered if she had been right to want to
help him. What could such a one be capable of?
Takene looked upon the scars as a good sign. This one would
be capable, she thought. He would be worth the effort if he agreed.
If he did not, well, he had saved them so they owed him this little.
His boots were a struggle, but his pants came off easily. He
had lost much weight, most of it probably water. Iro looked curiously
at his genitals. The only male member she had seen previously had
been that of the dead man. How could a woman take such a huge
thing inside herself she wondered. This one, limp and small in
comparison, was not nearly so frightening.
Takene smiled to herself as she saw Iro's interest. Learn well,
young one, she said to herself.
"Oh, Lere, thank-you. Now keep a good look-out while we wash
the man." Takene and Iro slowly removed the dust and grime of the
trek, revealing the man beneath. He had a strong face, Takene saw,
a firm jaw under the thick beard, straight nose, good forehead. His
teeth were clean and well kept. The beard would have to be shortened.
In his pack they found nothing to identify him. Extra clothes,
dried rations, and his kit. Taking his scissors, Takene trimmed the
beard and mustache. She froze. Her heart began beating, pounding
within her chest. She recognized the face. Any from Slindaria would.
What to do? She could slit his throat here, now, yet that would
not get her to Slindaria.
Something else occurred to her. What was he doing here? How
did he get here? Such a one as he would have had no trouble getting
water - why was he in such a condition? No, slitting his throat would
not get her and her charges to Slindaria. This man could. If handled
correctly, this man could do it. If he would not, she might have
to kill him after all. Who knew what such a one would do?
The beard would have to go. She took out the razor.
The sky was darkening and the man lay on the bed of grasses.
They had placed a ground-sheet over the grasses and a light blanket
covered the man. Takene made certain her charges were safe in
their beds then returned to the man. Iro had asked what she was
doing.
"Procuring passage," was her answer. It didn't satisfy Iro,
but that didn't worry Takene. Better, perhaps, she did not know.
Takene undressed completely and crawled under the blanket with
the man. She turned him gently onto his side then snuggled back
into his chest, pulling his arm over her and resting it on her
breast. Her revulsion at being with such a one would have to be
contained. It was all part of the plan. Now to sleep.
The man shifted, moving his upper leg forward, nestling it
over her lower leg. Takene's eyes flicked open. It had been
too long since she had slept with a man, and now her legs were
open, her body still remembering the abbreviated pleasure of
the early afternoon and desiring more. She moved her hand down
to caress herself.
The breath on the back of her neck warmed her, excited her,
as her finger traced the outline of her lips, felt them engorge
with blood. Mmm. Yes, she was lubricating, feeling the heat
both within and from the body behind her. Too long, it had been
too long.
Holding his hand against her breast with one hand, the other
stroked ever so softly over the lips, until she felt the moisture.
A finger dipped inside and she stifled her moan, even as she shivered.
The man's arm tightened about her in reflex, cupping her breast,
driving her on upwards. Desperately trying, and failing, to keep her
breathing even, Takene found and stroked her clit, gasping as the
bolts of white lightning tore through her insides, making the
connection between nipples and clit, weaving all the little energies
of her body together.
Her pulse was racing, her heart hammering, and she wondered
that it did not wake him. His soft breath on her neck inflamed her
further and she knew she could not stop. Her finger circled ever
faster, her mind conscious only of the pleasure, encouraging the
spiral up to . . . her breath caught as her body tensed and held
on the edge. Pressing her fingers into her soft folds, Takene jerked
as the great release coursed through her body, alternately tensing
and relaxing it, until finally she lay quiet, totally drained.
Sleep followed, sleep with its beautiful dreams which she would
not remember upon awakening.
End of Part 1, A Question of Honour, by Delta.
delta @ nym . alias . net
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+