12/98
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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The Horsewomen - 3 (FF, f-beast)
a Love Story
by Jeanne de Stein

Nine parts posted separately. This is # 3
Parts posted one  every weekend to this group.

3. WINTER

They tied his hands behind his back, not cruelly but in a
matter-of-fact way, just to keep him under control, and
marched him to Ariti, the smith. She had her little portable
forge going and she was clearly expecting them. Sarissa
offered to work the bellows. They made him kneel before the
little anvil, and then Atossa carefully removed the studs
from his pierced nipples, which had healed completely now.
She handed the studs to Ariti, who had obviously lent them
to her. Instead, rings of red gold were pushed through the
holes, and he wisely kept as immobile as he could while
Ariti bent the ends of each ring so that they overlapped,
fished out a red-hot little rivet from the charcoal-fired
forge and joined the ends together. She repeated the
procedure with the second ring, and he was truly a
horsewoman's slave.
    He was told to stand up, and obeyed (he understood
enough of the language now to know what his owners expected
of him). Both Sarissa and Atossa felt the rings and looked
very pleased. Atossa looked him straight in the eye while
she twisted the rings gently, testing his reaction. He was
not afraid of what she would do, and she sensed it. She
smiled and patted him on his cheek. He had clearly been a
good dog. All the while, the girl Halanna had been present,
looking on in silence. And now he knew that Halanna lived
with Ariti, and he presumed that they were lovers.

By now, the women moved camp very frequently, as the game
and the edible plants and the grazing of the immediate
neighbourhood were rapidly exhausted. The high-wheeled carts
were rolled up to the tents, and each household---normally
two women, occasionally three, or two and one girl---loaded
their belongings, hitched the horses to the vehicles,
mounted their steeds, and the horde left what had been a
lively scene just minutes before. Now only circles of
flattened grass, the black hearths and the ubiquitous
fettering-pole remained to tell a passer-by that horsewomen
had lived here. The squeaking, ungainly carts made up the
centre of the procession. Archers trotted off to form an
advance screen, the main body of horsewomen rode ahead of
the vehicles, and there was a small rearguard too. The older
women kept close to the chiefess, Hikati---the woman who had
decided that the captive Fallou should live--and the girl
who carried the standard, the light pole with its grotesque
array of horsetails, red ribbons, brass bells and the white
male skull with the dangling jaw. The slaves travelled on
the carts, one or two of them driving (the other carts were
usually handled either by young girls or by very old women).
There was one exception: he had to walk, and he had to do it
just as when Atossa and Sarissa were bringing him home after
the capture, his elbows held by straps and with a lariat
tied to his balls. It was perhaps deliberate cruelty. He
felt honoured. Women riding close by him sometimes smiled at
him, and occasionally they lashed him loosely and playfully
with the end of their reins, still smiling their friendly
smiles. He returned them with what he hoped was the right
mixture of frankness and deference.
    These marches were not in any way exhausting. He was
hardened now, and the Sisterhood travelled slowly because of
the clumsy carts, and in easy day's marches.  At night, they
slept under the open sky, which was no hardship either in
this hot and dry weather. Then his arms were free, but never
his sex; and he would long remember these nights, when he
rested between his two mistresses in the ring of sleepers
around the smoldering night-fire. Nobody used him sexually
while on the trail, but he helped keep the two women warm on
chilly mornings. He enjoyed that. Those sleepy moments gave
him much of the closeness that he craved, as a consequence
of his growing devotion to his two strange owners.
    At last, after just two days on the last campsite, there
was a new tension in the morning air. Several of the old
women stood outside their tents, sniffing the dry wind. He
sniffed it too, but could not discern anything out of the
ordinary. Then he saw the thin white chalk-lines across the
morning sky, the high feather clouds that boded a change of
the weather.
    They broke camp again and moved to the northwest with
such haste that he had to ride a cart---males were never
allowed to ride horses, that was a taboo or a superstition
among the women. A horse ridden by a male would be skittish
and unpredictable ever after. Trees were more frequently
seen now, and late that evening they came to the edge of the
forest. The next day they entered it along a well-worn
track, and after only three hours on the march they saw what
was clearly the winter camp. It consisted of two longhouses,
built out of sods and timber, and a couple of simple sheds
for firewood, hay and diverse odds, ends and purposes. There
were several hearths in each house, and little compartments
around them, suitable for two or three to sleep. They moved
in and settled for the season. Rainstorms came and went,
with occasional glimpses of the sun in between.
    Life was easy enough. Hunting parties went out; it
seemed that much of the game had moved into the forest too.
There were camp chores to do, and edibles to gather from the
woods when the weather permitted. But there were also long
hours spent resting on or between the furs and the covers
spread around the fires, under the smokeholes. The time was
passed with storytelling and singing, in between long spells
of plain dozing. There was lovemaking after dark, too.
Occasionally, other women used him, but it was mostly Atossa
that rode him. Being used sexually in the presence of some
twenty savage women and equally savage little girls was a
new experience to him, but clearly quite normal to them.
Fortunately, it did not inhibit his performance. On the
contrary: he had served nearly all the onlookers, too, and
whoever used him represented them all. In his mind, he saw
it as a gang-rape. He understood that a rape was a bad
experience for a woman. He remembered the girl that had been
assigned to him in En-Tor's house, and though he had at that
time regarded himself a civilized person who had tried to
rape her in a considerate manner, he now remembered the
expression in her eyes and felt ashamed of himself. Living
with these women had taught him not only to obey them, but
to respect them. Using a woman against her will was not only
physically impossible, it was also unthinkable. But for
males, this was clearly another matter. He loved it.
    There was one thing that really was a mystery to him. By
now, he had already had sex very often with both Atossa and
Sarissa, and at least once with practically every adult
member of the Sisterhood. None of them had ever tried to
withdraw before the ejaculation, and he had not been able to
take any precautions at all, of course. That was not his
business, anyway. Still, only two of the women were
pregnant, and they had been pregnant already when they had
used him. It seemed that these women could somehow control
their child-bearing in a way that he could not make out.
None of the---often quite revolting---methods of terminating
a pregnancy that he knew of had been used. The whole matter
remained an enigma. And, by the way, just why were the
daughters so uncommonly like their mothers?
    He did not know the answers to these questions until
much later, after the end of this story, in fact, and then
because he had asked about them, and received an answer. But
there was something that he did learn, and that was the
language. This was in fact pretty easy to do: the guttural
pronunciation had hidden from him the fact that the
structure and much of the vocabulary were closely related to
the Coast Dialect, which he was quite fluent in. The rest of
the words, relating mainly to horsewomanship and hunting,
had originated somewhere to the east, among inland tribes
that his people knew little about. Now when his two owners
had time to spare, his understanding of the language
progressed rapidly, and he was also learning to speak it,
though more slowly.
    Being able to understand Atossa and her lover, and to
speak with them, deepened his attachment but did not
otherwise change his relationship with them. Occasionally,
he found his new role peculiar, not to speak of his easy
acceptance of it. He had never thought of himself as a
slave-nature. Slaves were of course different from freemen,
submission was inborn with them. But come to think of it,
many slaves had been freemen or freewomen earlier---was
their nature different then? And he had also  thought that
women were naturally submissive, which patently did not
apply to these ladies! Anyway, he found his slavery under
Atossa quite natural. Indeed, he sometimes caught himself
wishing that she would treat him sternly, that she would be
demanding, even deliberately cruel to him, without him
knowing why, perhaps in order to have her reassure him that
she really cared about him.
     Yes, even cruel. He had always been proud of his
manliness, and he had taken for granted that he would not
fear pain if it came his way. Now, the pain that he had been
given, and was occasionally given again, served as proof of
his fortitude. His very ability to make a good slave, and to
bear his slavery with dignity, was a matter of self esteem.
He did not care what they did to him, he could take it.
Correction---he did care about it. For with a slight feeling
of amazement, he suddenly saw that the thought of being
tortured by Atossa (and Sarissa, and any one of the more
attractive horsewomen and girls, such as Ariti or Aryana or
even Niki, but especially by Atossa) aroused him sexually.
Whenever his thoughts dwelt on his piercing, and his first
rectal penetration, and the infernal thornvine, and the
straps and the indignities, an erection was the inevitable
result. During his life with these women, cruel treatment
and sexual pleasure had become inextricably associated in
his mind.
    As long as she would not kill or maim him (and the
better he came to know her, the less he feared this) he
actually longed for Atossa to give him pain. And he was not
the slightest ashamed of himself because of this. He did not
feel debased by this strange desire, on the contrary, he
felt stronger, more fully alive; and Atossa would surely not
cast him aside as long as she found it sexually exciting to
torture him, which she plainly did. And though she was
cruel, she was also careful not to harm him, and she even
seemed emotionally attached to him. At least he hoped that
he was right in thinking so.
    He was not alone in eliciting this cruel response in the
hearts of the horsewomen. They delighted in making all their
man-slaves helpless, in fettering them, chastising them, and
making them suffer before using them, or preferably while
using them. They felt that way towards all of them,
including Mikrou, the young boy.
    His face was still beardless, his body hairless. He
rested, fear in his eyes, on his back on the furs by the
fire, while the women were all over him. At first sight,
their behaviour was not threatening. On the contrary, it
would have been motherly if it had not been so overtly
sexual, and if their intention ultimately to use him had not
been so obvious. Lykomaki was holding his wrists in a
vise-like grip, his arms pulled up above his head. Ariti and
Timesse controlled his widely spread legs. Sarissa, who was
pinching his ear with two fingers while squeezing his little
balls with the other hand, had her face close to his; Aryana
was busy with the boy's penis. Would any of the women bother
to use it? Between them, Sarissa and Aryana had given him a
hard-on that was quite respectable for a child, but it
hardly seemed up to the job yet. The boy would not be ready
for his first ride until two or even three years had gone
by.
    Sarissa raised herself a little and glanced at her
companion, who let go of her toy, only to reclaim it when
Sarissa came down on top of the boy. She rubbed herself
voluptuously against him; he whimpered. Was she heavy? He
nodded. Too heavy? He hesitated and she laughed out loud. He
was still able to breathe, was he not? Both hands in his
hair, she kissed him aggressively. She forced his mouth open
and invaded him with her tongue. He gave a choked sound but
seemed to respond. Perhaps this was not his first
tongue-rape. Sarissa disengaged, and they looked briefly at
each other, face to face, before she left him, only to be
replaced by Aryana. Aryana kissed him too, just as brutally;
but she also wanted her nipples sucked. The boy obeyed, and
the onlooker felt a pang of longing: he had often wanted to
do this, or even caress his mistresses' breasts with his
hands, but he had never been given an opportunity to do it.
All the while, Atossa sat close by, looking on; but she was
holding a long, supple switch in both hands, flexing it
expectantly.
    One by one, all the girls and the women followed
Sarissa's and Aryana's example. After leaving the boy, they
began forming couples. Soon, all of them except Ariti and
Atossa were writhing and squirming all over the place, lips
around nipples, tongues meeting, fingers deep in each
other's sex. But they began sitting up and taking notice,
when Atossa tied the boy's hands while Ariti held them.
    When the boy understood what they were going to do to
him, he first seemed to want to protest, or at least beg for
mercy, but then to change his mind. That was understandable.
Even these two women, who had not yet participated actively
in the orgy, were clearly too excited to care about his
opinion. Atossa threw the straps across a rafter, she,
Ariti, Lykomaki and Timesse grabbed the free ends, and the
boy suddenly found himself suspended by his wrists, his toes
a foot above the floor.
    The audience was delighted. Girls and women gathered
around the subject, caressing him and each other, slapping
him playfully, pinching him. The boy was terrified. Atossa
elbowed the crowd aside. She stood in front of him, speaking
softly to him.
    She soothed him with her hands. Murmuring inaudibly, she
held his sex between them and restored his erection and his
arousal, which fear had repressed. They were both breathing
audibly. It was understandable that the child was sexually
excited; but Atossa too was visibly aroused, with parted
lips and a curious light in her yellow eyes. She moved her
hips a little, and suddenly Fallou saw that she was
lubricating so copiously that the tattooed insides of her
thighs were wet. The other women went back to their previous
activities, but with an eye on the show.
    And then Atossa stepped back, raised her right arm and
started to whip the boy. In a panic, he tried to evade her
strokes, but in vain: he managed only to produce a helpless
dance that simply served to increase the enthusiasm of his
tormentor. He screamed, and Atossa screamed triumphantly
back at him. In spite of her savage excitement and his
attempts at evasion, she managed to whip him systematically,
half inch by half-inch, from the shoulders down, until some
twenty lashes later, she dealt the last blow just a finger
above the root of his penis, which was now pathetically
flaccid. Clearly, his only remaining sensation was pain. His
shrill screams gave additional proof of this.
    By now, the other horsewomen were quiescent. Ariti was
the last to calm down: she had found Halanna and was busy
with her. Niki rested beside a girl of Sarissa's age,
Artanne. Atossa looked around and found her slave. She
dragged him to his feet and gave him a quick and quite
brutal version of the sexual massage that she had given to
the boy. It did not take long: he already had an erection
that he had been too absorbed in the spectacle to notice.
She pushed him toward the boy, who was covered with red
stripes and had tears rolling down his face, and made her
wishes clear.
    He was to suck the boy off. That was really very nice of
her, wanting to give her victim pleasure after the terror
and the pain. But Fallou had never considered doing a thing
like this, not even after his capture; he looked imploringly
at her and tried to resist. Impatiently, she kicked him over
and began whipping him. She stood over him, keeping him down
with one foot on his belly while the lashes rained down on
him. He could have evaded them, or at least tried to do so,
but this thought never came to him. More in fear of Atossa's
displeasure than of the pain she was giving him, he cried
out his surrender. He would have to do it. He made no
resistance as Atossa took him by his hair and dragged him to
his knees. The onlookers cheered. He looked up and saw the
boy's face, grimy, marked with tears, terrified and
expectant. Bravely, he scampered forward, drew a deep breath
and took the childish little ting in his mouth.
    The owner squealed and swung his hips. Fallou sucked the
penis cautiously and felt it grow on top of his tongue. He
also saw Atossa take up position behind the boy, switch in
hand. And then, the beating started anew.
    Very deliberately, Atossa laid cut after cut across the
boy's buttocks. Each time one of them landed, the boy jerked
violently forward, ramming his member into the man that
fellated him. Now he was crying out again, and the delighted
screams and groans of the women kept the beat of the
whipping. Hurri's bones, thought Fallou, the pain must slow
him down. I'd better try to bring him as quickly as
possible, that will be better for both of us. He sucked more
energetically, and in between, he used the tip of his tongue
on the underside of the gland, just as En-Tor's most
experienced slavewomen used to do. With his hands, he held
on to the balls.
    He did not know how many lashes the boy had received
when the penis suddenly began to jerk, and Mikrou came,
ejaculating a thimbleful of salty, pungent come. The boy's
cries took on another sound, and those women that had not
yet had their orgasms had them now, to judge by the noise
they made. Fallou swallowed convulsively, then he sucked
once or twice, opened his mouth and sat back. Atossa threw
down the switch.
    And then she raped him. She did not bother to fetter
him, she just bowled him over in the hay and then she was on
top of him like a hawk striking her prey. At first she held
his wrists, but she had to let go of one of them in order to
give a helping hand to his member, and then she took a firm
grip on his ears instead. She did not ride him but
half-rested on top of him, her wild-animal face inches from
his. He looked into her eyes, quietly jubilant. She did not
try to restrain him when he touched first her face, then her
breasts. He found her nipples and tweaked them cautiously,
while the pain pleasure grew so overwhelming that his penis
felt as if it had been cut open lengthwise. He pulled, and
she gasped and forced his mouth open and tongued him
brusquely; she did not seem to mind the lingering taste of
the boy. Then she put both her hands behind his head and
lifted it, pulling it close to her left breast.
    For a moment, he saw it close up, the dark, tattooed
nipple and aureole and the olive-coloured half-dome of the
breast itself. Then he took the nipple between his lips and
sucked it cautiously into his mouth. Atossa shoved herself
at him, and he sucked a little bit harder and played the tip
of his tongue again, this time over his owner's nipple. She
groaned with pleasure, disengaged and gave him the other
breast. He complied willingly and massaged the first breast
with his fingers. Her movements were growing violent, and
now she took her breasts away from him, pinned down his
wrists and began kissing him instead. When she came, she
cried out into his open mouth, and he cried back as her
orgasm triggered his, and they came both of them together
and now he did not know the difference between pain and
pleasure. She had used him, that was enough.
   She rested for a long time, slumped on top of him,
without in any way trying to relieve her weight upon him. He
liked it that way. They both breathed heavily, but none of
them moved until his shrinking organ softly left her of its
own accord, and he felt something wet running down the
inside of one of his thighs. A little later, he stood by the
brook cleaning himself, shivering and with chattering teeth
in the cold grey light, and Atossa appeared in the doorway
and called him back in a voice he had never before heard her
use.
    When he returned, they had taken the boy down and put
him between Niki and Artanne. They seemed to take good care
of him, but Fallou wondered what the experience had done to
him. He was after all just a child. Atossa gestured Fallou
to her side. She warmed him, and then they slept,
half-waking when one or the other moved. Once, he nuzzled
her face, and she responded with a drowsy kiss, a gentle one
this time.

What was he to her? Not a lover; he dismissed that thought
out of hand. The inequality between them was too great,
greater than that between a man and a woman of his own
people, greater even than that between a freeman and his
slave woman. He could love her, of course, as long as he did
not aspire to the standing that would entitle him to be
loved by her. He wondered to what extent she understood his
feelings toward her, and cared about them. Sometimes he
suspected that she understood them very well, and was
amused, the way a great lady might be amused by the clumsy
calf love of a page, or by the tail-wagging devotion of a
dog. That was perhaps what he was: a pet.
    But you can appreciate a pet, its obedience and its
love, and this was perhaps what she did. For there was this
new voice she used sometimes, and there were little gestures
and caresses that were quite unnecessary, if she just wanted
him to perform sexually, and unnecessary by definition if
she just wanted him to do her bidding. So perhaps she felt
differently about him than about other slaves, or even than
horsewomen did feel about slaves in general. If this was an
illusion, it was at least a comforting illusion. And he also
remembered how at first he had hoped that he would be
Sarissa's slave, and not Atossa's; but Atossa seemed to
treat him with much more consideration than her younger
friend did, who was certainly amused, and even tolerantly
amused at times, but always in a contemptuous fashion, and
who would occasionally reveal that his feelings, his pain
were of very little account to her. Atossa could be cruel;
callous she was not.

Now and then, he was reminded that he was an outsider, in
the Sisterhood but not of it, and with a limited
understanding only of its mores. One day, for instance, the
slaves were unceremoniously bundled out of the longhouses
and had to huddle in the hay shed instead, with the
wrappings they had managed to snatch before their expulsion.
The women then seemed to redistribute themselves, with
Atossa and Timesse and Halanna and Aryana and Pirritta and
Artanne and their likes in one house and Sarissa, Hikati,
Lykomaki, Ariti, Niki and so forth in the other---every
pairing was dissolved. There was singing, of which he could
hear little and understand nothing, and drums and rattles,
and at times women crossed the yard, from one longhouse to
the other, in complete nudity; and once or twice loud
screams were heard that drowned among the voices of the
other sisters. This continued far into the night, and the
voices grew silent without any command or invitation coming
to return to the houses; the sisters were probably too
exhausted to care about their slaves.
    He asked the oldest of them, Kakou, about this custom,
but got nothing intelligible out of him except some obscure
hints about spirits and unspeakable obscenities. He wondered
briefly what an unspeakable obscenity would be, considering
those that were nearly everyday occurrences here. But he got
nowhere.
    Instead he found that the boy Mikrou had crept up to him
and was huddling close to him. That was understandable in
the cold and the damp; but then he recalled that though the
boy had been cruelly whipped on that evening a couple of
weeks ago, he had received nothing but pleasure from
himself. The lad seemed to be randy, in fact. Fallou had
known men who had preferred or at least used young boys, of
course. This sort of thing was common among En-Tor's
retainers and quite accepted along the coast too. He had
never practiced this custom himself---except on that
evening, of course, but that was under duress. Still, he was
not really shocked.
    Instead, he was stimulated. He pinned the boy down with
a knee and both hands and came down half on top of him. He
could not use a woman the way a woman should be used---so
why not the boy instead? He held both wrists and kissed the
boy, who submitted without a sound. He thrust his tongue
inside while rubbing his sex against the boy's thigh, and
his own thigh against the boy's penis, which he could feel
erecting. He was now fully on top of Mikrou, pushing his
legs apart as if he had been a girl, rubbing sex against
sex, and the boy panted and was clearly aroused. He pinched
the boy's nipples, and the panting grew heavier; he pinched
harder, and the subject gasped, and harder, and he
whimpered; and then he pinned down the wrists again and
kissed him again. He disengaged. The boy was either too
randy or to scared to move. Fallou thought later that he
should have asked himself which, but he did not. He took the
boy's member and massaged it gently and the boy moved his
hips appreciatively. He changed his grip on the wrists and
brought one of Mikrou's hands down to his own sex. The boy
took the member obediently and moved the skin up and down.
    They rested a while, slowly masturbating each other.
Then he grabbed the boy by the hair and pushed his head
down. He had sucked him off once---now the boy could damn
well return the service. Mikrou did not make too many
difficulties. The Dark Ladies would know if he had not done
this before. He did a passable job of it, too, apart from
some choking when he had to take rather too much aboard. But
when he proved his competence by using the tip of his tongue
on the gland, Fallou pushed the boy away. He had got another
idea.
    He would use the boy for a woman. He turned him over on
his face, got between his legs without listening to his
whispered protests, and impaled him though his anus. It was
tight. He hurt, both of them hurt, and still he pushed his
way in gradually, into the warm soft little body that he
could hear weep softly under him, gritting his teeth to keep
his orgasm back. He took a deep breath; the immediate danger
was over. He pushed his hands under the boy and took his
nipples again; the he began thrusting gently.
    The boy seemed calmer. He seemed to respond to the
nipple-teasing: perhaps he was feeling more than just pain.
Down to his penis. Masturbate him. Do it while you thrust,
and in the same rhythm. The boy gasped. And suddenly he
came, wetly, spurting pathetically while calling out into
the rainy night. Quiet---be still.
    Fallou was not done yet. He started his thrusting again,
slowly, very slowly. It was cruel, of course: the boy had
spent whatever lust he had known, and had to endure the
remaining torture. Mikrou panted again, but differently. The
boy whimpered while his tormentor grimly held himself under
control, seemingly for ever, until the pain-pleasure became
unendurable and he could not hold back anymore and he banged
away like possessed on top of the sobbing boy and then he
climaxed and pumped his come into his victim.
    He disengaged, trying to extract himself without causing
more pain. Then for a while, he rested by the boy he had
used in such an inconsiderate fashion, listening to the
miserable little sounds he was making. He did not know what
to do to comfort him, or even to ask forgiveness; his feeble
command of the language failed him completely, the words he
had learnt from his mistresses were harsh words of command
and obedience only. He imagined that it would not do to just
try to hold the boy. It occurred to him that whatever the
women did to males, their slaves should not do it to each
other. And he was completely powerless to explain his sudden
insight to Mikrou. Damn it, he thought---was this the
regular lot of slaves among all peoples, including his own?
If he ever returned to claim his inheritance (a thought that
he had very rarely now) then he would be more compassionate
to his house slaves than he had once been taught to be.
    And then he had to go down to the brook of course in the
miserable dark and dank and stand on the soggy ice-cold
ground while he washed his sex, and no Atossa called him
back in to warm his shaking body.

(To be continued with part 4)
