Captive by Aishling Morgan Read Free Book Online

Alanthor had responded with a disinterested nod and the boatswain had once more taken Aisla by the arm, pulling her from the state cabin with her drawers still halfway down her thighs. In the poky cabin he occupied in the bows of the Arrow, she had been obliged to suck his penis and swallow a good mouthful of thick, salty sperm. By then the combination of the bottom warming and his cock had brought her on heat and she had masturbated with his sperm dribbling down her chin and her skirt up to make a show of her sex, at which he had shown no surprise at all. Since the beating she had taken trouble to learn correct etiquette, trading the use of her mouth and breasts for information. Most of this came from the boatswain, Grathor, who came to regard her as his own, and if he applied the rope’s end to her bottom occasionally, he also held her when she had been beaten, entirely understood the way such treatment aroused her and fucked her regularly.
    At last they reached Jihai. Aisla found a place at the bow where she was out of the way of the seamen and watched as the Arrow came in with both fascination and an ever increasing sense of insecurity. Jihai was a city of squat houses and low domes rising from a wide harbour onto one of a range of low hills. At the top of this stood a bulky fortress. Aisla knew the name, and that it was famous for glassware and velvet, nothing more, and was surprised by both its beauty and the sense of tranquillity. Low, crennellated forts guarded either side of the harbour and a boom had been slung between the two breakwaters of piled boulders, but otherwise there were no signs of the military activity she had been expecting.
    As they approached the harbour signals were exchanged and the men on the breakwaters began to work the boom, opening a passage for the Arrow. Count Alanthor came to stand on the sterncastle, along with his officers. Sulitea also appeared, dressed in the longest of the Dwarven smocks she had purchased in Utan. Her face was set in a petulant expression, which grew stronger as the Arrow approached the quay and it became possible to examine the dress of the locals. Aisla realised Sulitea’s concern at the sight of the Jihai women, all of whom, even the fishwives selling their wares along the quay, wore long, neck high dresses of rich colours. Her own sailcloth skirt and straining leather jerkin suddenly seemed tawdry, while the long slice of cleavage that she had showing both for comfort and to tease the sailors seemed an act of blatant exposure.
    They docked and Aisla waited until the gangplank was down, feeling excited and nervous as she stepped out onto the foreign quay. It was crowded, and while most of the people nearby were busy, a fair number had turned to stare. Aisla returned nervous smiles until Grathor jumped down beside her, casually squeezed her bottom and then smacked it. Despite being used to his treatment, Aisla squeaked and found herself blushing as several people laughed.
    ‘Your mistress considers a Dwarven smock unsuitable for the streets of Jihai,’ Grathor announced, ‘and nor does she wish to have you trailing behind her dressed like a ragamuffin. The Lord has given me a purse and I’m to take you to a seamstress, and perhaps to show you one or two of Jihai’s other attractions while we’re at it, eh?’
    He finished with a knowing wink. Aisla smiled back, unsure of how his blatantly lewd manner could relate to being shown around Jihai.
    ‘The Lord patronises several couturiers,’ Grathor said, casually taking her around the waist and steering her across the quay. ‘Yasma’s is perhaps the best, although she will doubtless complain at so little notice. Come.’
    He took her hand and led her across the quay and into the city. Aisla became more confident as they made their way through the streets, but continued to feel embarrassed. For one thing none of the women and few of the men reached her height, and plenty of attention was directed to her