“I do not find myself satisfied with that which I see,” he said, somewhat afrown. “Remove your arms from before you and straighten your body so that I might have what little pleasure sight of you brings.”
Famira’s head came up in wounded anger, hate filling her dark, flashing eyes, and then her arms no longer shielded her as she sent a look of daggers to Cimilan.
“You are a brute and a beast!” she hissed, leaning toward the male in her fury. “That you care naught for me I already knew, yet I thought you intelligent enough to keep the fact from others! Now my kinsman must surely face you, for you have voiced your lack of caring! Ceralt! It is the law of our people!”
She stood poised in anticipation, her eyes held fast to Cimilan, her fists clenched at her sides, yet the first words to come to her were not those she had anticipated.
“Of what law do you speak, Famira?” Ceralt inquired innocently. “No more was said before me than that the man to whom you belong is displeased with you. In that, Cimilan is correct. Your attempts at obedience are scandalously poor, and you shame me before him.”
The female’s head flew around to send her shafts toward Ceralt, and the color had risen truly high in her cheeks. “You low, vile, crawling sednet!” she screamed, beside herself with rage and disappointment. “To side with another against your own blood kin! You are as base as all men, Ceralt, as base and as filled with lust and decay! I despise you all and shall hate you forever!”
She then attempted to throw herself past Cimilan to the tent entrance, seemingly bent upon departing without clothing. Cimilan threw his arms about her to prevent this, and she turned to the attack as a child of the wild, claws and teeth set to commit violence. Famira had not learned, as I had, the futility of attack upon a male with no weapon save strength against his strength, yet the lesson was swiftly taught her when Cimilan forced her to the lanthay fur upon her back. The two struggled briefly less than two paces from where I lay, and then Cimilan had Famira’s wrists above her head, held by his left hand, his knees straddling her body. The female fought to free herself, head tossing back and forth, breasts rising in great agitation, body twisting between Cimilan’s knees, yet her strength was not equal to the task. Cimilan allowed her her struggles, a thing which brought bitter memory to me, for Ceralt had also allowed me a time of struggle, knowing full well how useless the attempt would be. I put my cheek to the lanthay fur, grasping it in my fists, finding that I also grasped strands of my own hair. Famira’s desperate grunts of struggle were much too familiar, and the ghost of shame touched my sense of honor and fitness. For what reason Mida had placed me there, upon my belly beneath the hand of a male, I knew not, yet I knew how difficult it was to bear. I could not touch the male of my own will, could not take him if desire came to me, could not send him to a corner and silence when matters of import required undisturbed thought. The life was not one I might easily accept, and Ceralt’s stroking hand upon my hair brought scant comfort. The male somehow sensed my disturbance, yet his gesture was the sort to comfort a slave. It did naught save agitate a Hosta war leader.
“Enough of this foolishness,” came Cimilan’s voice, and I looked up to see that he frowned upon Famira. “Your words and actions are equally unacceptable to me, and I wonder that a wench might be allowed to grow with such ignorance. This ‘lust’ you speak of as a part of men is also to be found in women. Have you never been instructed by a woman older than yourself?”
“My father has never felt the need to have me schooled in debasement!” snapped Famira, a light sheen of sweat covering her body. “Though you defile me with every touch of your hand, I shall resist you forever! I shall not wallow in the filth you and your ilk are so fond of!”
I had often wondered how city males saw to their needs when their females loathed their touch, and therefore watched Cimilan carefully. I had thought that some might perhaps joy in forcing themselves upon unwilling females, yet Cimilan was not such a one. The male regarded Famira’s flushed, resolute face in silence, then slowly shook his head.
“There is no filth to be wallowed in when a man puts his woman to use,” he said, more, patience to be heard than I had expected. “Women long for the touch of a man, for women have been shown the pleasure a man is able to give them. You, however, are still a girl, and the time has come for you to be shown.”
Famira frowned with lack of understanding, yet when Cimilan’s head lowered to her breast, a groping desperation seized her. She writhed at the feel of his lips upon her flesh, and cried out, “Cimilan, no! Do not offer me such debasement before others! Do not soil me before my kin!”
“Debasement seems to suit your flesh,” Cimilan murmured, his head raised somewhat so that he might regard the spear his lips had brought about. “Be silent a moment, and listen for the voice of your needs.”
His head lowered to her a second time, yet no more than the specified moment had passed before Famira’s breath came in great gasps and she again resumed her struggles.
“Release me!” she screamed, fear now clear in her features. “Do not touch me so, I beg of you! My shame is too great to bear! ”
“Shame?” inquired Cimilan, his tone even yet remorseless. “Do you often feel shame here?”
His free hand went to Famira’s womanhood and she gasped in mortification, then cried, “Oh!” at his touch. His fingers moved in a restless rhythm, and the woman beneath his hand could not restrain herself. She threw her head back with a moan, arched her body, then commenced weeping in a manner she had not yet done.
“No more, Cimilan, please no more!” she wept. “I fear what you will do to me. The pain was greater than any I have ever felt!”
“Do not fear, satya,” whispered Cimilan, his hand leaving Famira to move to his breech. “The pain will not visit you again, and should not have been allowed to spend this much time in your memory. The fault is mine, and I must now rectify it.”
He moved to her then and brought his body to hers, and again she pleaded and wept to remain untouched. The male heard her cries and responded with soothing noises, yet slowly, inexorably, he made her his. Her cries lessened when he was full within her, and her tear-stained face looked up toward his.
“There was, in truth, very little pain,” she allowed, her voice low. “Yet my discomfort is great and I feel no pleasure. Might I not be released now to replace my garments?”
Cimilan laughed softly and leaned down to touch her forehead with his lips. “Your discomfort will disappear when the tightness of you is lessened,” he said, his tone gentle and caring though he still held her wrists. “I am far from done with you, so your garments shall remain where they are. Do you feel this?”