~Subject: THE HORSEWOMEN # 3
~From: an438434@anon.penet.fi (Umbra)
~Date: Sat, 9 Dec 1995 07:07:23 UTC
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.femdom
NOTE: This story is for adults only.  As will be evident,

   all characters and settings and all action are entirely fictitious. 
===========================================

   THE HORSEWOMEN 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 thing 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 neither 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.