index


Message-ID: <50715asstr$1110921006@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; q=dns; c=nofws;
        s=beta; d=gmail.com;
        h=received:message-id:date:from:reply-to:to:subject:mime-version:content-type;
        b=RpZOY9rZvxy5IZKrhF7MJ0qmGkxdMkz+Lbh62Al42qFQQ1GkgU5fMsBVxSsEzVWfimsL0wO6TGIfs4ccZSYA2YKCgojCjR/9DMv0VSMm0d17l89o6Nzma5kwF5qUgOyMU+rH3cqCUa4RNi2qzz5Wwq+kuzgM0DFILhIvyKM3B3M=
From: Lord God Pantokrator <lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com>
Reply-To: Lord God Pantokrator <lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Moons of Yothis, Part 2: The Hidden Room (m/f, m-1st, f-1st, mast., voy., fantasy)
Lines: 713
Date: Tue, 15 Mar 2005 16:10:06 -0500
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


This is the second part of The Moons of Yothis, an erotic fantasy
series. The first part is "The Summoning Circle."

<1st attachment, "Part 2, The Hidden Room.txt" begin>

The Moons of Yothis, Part 2: The Hidden Room (m/f, m-1st, f-1st, mast.,
voy., fantasy)

   Earth was very far away.  Aaron Connell, sitting on the bank of a wide
brown river, stared up at the night sky trying to find his own sun, but it
was impossible.  He might have been halfway across the Galaxy, or in
another galaxy, or another universe.

   A whole night had passed since Aaron had fled the thaumaturgist
Zamphor's manse, leaving behind two dead...wizards...(he forced his mind to
think the word) and a host of alien creatures.  While there he had nearly
lost his virginity to an indigo-skinned girl named Azha, and nearly lost
his head to an assortment of armored warriors.  He had fled with nothing,
not even the clothes on his back (Zamphor had left him naked in the
summoning circle while his seneschal taught the boy the local language),
and later that day he would probably reach the city of Ptella.

   Sitting on the bank of the flowing river, beside a dirt road, Aaron
considered what he would do.  Ultimately, he had to find a way back home.
He had hoped he would pop back to Earth with his summoner's death, but he
remained, and so, somewhere, did Olivia, a girl from Aaron's school whom
Zamphor had also summoned.  She had disappeared on a mysterious errand
before the attack.  He would need to find her.

   And then there was Azha.  Azha, whose mouth had done such amazing things
to him the night before.  He imagined the sensation again, the heat, the
light, dangerous caress of her molars, the cinnamon-smell of her silver
hair, the way she sucked so hard it felt like his spine nearly wrenched
inside-out when he came.  He had begun to masturbate in earnest, too
aroused and worried to sleep, when he heard voices behind him.  Aaron
pressed his belly against the riverbank and peered over the brittle grass.

   A four-wheeled wagon approached, pulled by two animals that looked like
oxen or water buffalo.  Two men sat on the front bench, laughing at some
private joke in a language Aaron did not understand.  They had clay-colored
skin and black hair and beards, and they wore broad straw hats and plain
linen smocks.  The wagon was covered and Aaron could not see inside.  For a
moment Aaron considered jumping out, greeting them, asking for clothes, but
then he saw the axes and bows just behind the men, and the way their black
eyes swept the horizon when they did not laugh.  Aaron hid again.  The
wagon rolled by, followed, a moment later, by an outrider on a horse/camel
thing wearing steel-ring armor.  These men were dangerous, and he let them
pass.

   Too excited to sleep, Aaron stood up (wiping away ants that had taken to
conquering his leg while he lay hidden), and moved with renewed energy
toward the city.  He was terribly thirsty, and even the muddy brown water
looked tempting when Yothis's white-orange sun rose and the moons faded
into white shadows, but still he pressed on, pacing himself like he did in
track and rugby.  He only had to jump off the road once when he spotted a
dustcloud heading toward him: he hid and mounted soldiers rode past him. 
The one in front held a banner showing a green crab on a white background,
and they all wore light ring armor.  Curved swords hung from their belts,
and hoods covered their faces.  They looked very important, and Aaron
decided that they were nothing like the police back home, and probably more
like the ghetto cops he had seen, hands on guns, at the edge of his old
neighborhood.  He set out again as a new colony of ants began a new
conquest, kicking his leg until the nasty things fell away.

   Aaron reached Ptella by midday, parched, exhausted, and covered in dust
from his trek.  It was an extraordinary place, watched over by cruel-eyed
soldiers.  Its people hurried about in attitudes of fear, except for the
well-dressed merchants (or nobles, or priests; Aaron did not know for sure)
who strode through the busy crowds with sneers on their faces.  Aaron
skirted the edge of a slave market where men and women of many different
races were sold off to the wealthy.  He shook his head and kept walking,
backtracking when he approached a dangerous-looking slum, until he came to
a run-down ghetto.  The people looked poor, but they smiled at him, and
Aaron smiled back.

   Ptella had no "city wall," or rather, the wall only surrounded the very
heart of the city, and suburbs spread out from it, sun-baked villas in a
Roman-ish style and old villages of wood and stone that the city's
expansion had swallowed.  Despite his thirst and growing frustration, Aaron
hid until sunset on a hill overlooking a house of white adobe.  He was in
what people called the "Nazhaki ghetto," and no guards came near the place.
Someone had hung clothes out to dry, and Aaron would have no trouble
climbing the low fence.  He had stolen before when his mother had not fed
him, and the thought did not trouble him.  Only getting caught troubled
him.

   At last the sun slid down to the west.  Aaron screwed up his courage and
ran across the street.  No one saw him, or at least no one cried out.  He
jumped over the low fence and prowled through the shadows of the small
parched lawn, studying the hanging clothes.  There were trousers, shirts,
and undergarments, most brightly colored in a zig-zag pattern or with
blocky animal shapes that reminded Aaron of American Indian work he had
seen once.

   Aaron reached carefully for a pair of pants.  Just then a door flung
open and banged loudly.  His heart seemed to bounce off his tongue as a
young woman stepped out, moving quickly.  Aaron caught only a gimpse of
her: black hair, olive skin, and a tear-streaked face, her body hidden by a
flowing checkered gown.  He inched away, slowly, into the corner of the
lawn, but it was not yet dark and even a quick retreat could not save him.
The girl spotted a naked boy only a few steps from her and sucked in a
great gulp of air to let loose a scream that would have wakened the whole
city.

   Working on instinct, Aaron jumped forward with an athlete's speed,
clapped his hand around the girl's mouth, spun her around, and pinned her.
She went completely stiff, trembling like a rabbit as the naked boy
entangled her.

   "I'm not going to hurt you," Aaron said.  The local language came
quickly to him when terrified.  "I was...stolen away...and robbed.  I just
need clothes.  Do you understand?"

   The girl nodded.  Aaron said, "Don't scream" and removed his hand, but
kept one hand on the girl's wrist as she stepped away.  She looked back,
caught sight of Aaron's nakedness, and quickly looked away, shamefaced.

   "I'm really sorry about this," Aaron said.

   "W-what are you d-doing here?" the girl said.

   "I'm an escaped..." Aaron paused.  Did these people condone slavery?  "A
man abducted me and my friend, a girl named Olivia." He paused a moment to
let the (false) implications of the abduction to play through the girl's
mind.  "My name is Aaron.  I'm from far away.  I've lost everything and I
just want to get home.  I'm not a criminal, I'm a student." He coughed and
spat trail dust.

   "Alright," the girl said.  She pulled free from Aaron's grasp, but
slowly, and made no move to run.  She still kept her head down.  "As long
as you're not a brigand or a..."

   "Just a lost traveler in need of pants," Aaron said.

   He thought the girl smiled at that, though she did not look at him. 
"Take what you need."

   Aaron looked at the odd clothes.  "Um...what are men's clothes around
here?"

   Now the girl definitely smiled.  "The russet trousers there," she said.
She pointed and her finger touched Aaron's chest.  She squeaked and her
hands dropped to her sides.  "The red trousers and the mustard-colored
vest."

   "What about this vest," Aaron said, pointing to a blue vest with silver
embroidery and shiny buttons.

   The girl looked behind her again, as Aaron had half-hoped, then gasped
again and looked away.  Aaron grinned; the adrenaline was driving him to
boldness he had never imagined possible.

   "Th-that's my father's best vest," the girl said.

   "Oh, I'm sorry," Aaron said.  He pulled on the trousers, which billowed
out a bit but felt silky and comfortable on his legs, and buttoned up the
vest.  He felt like a cross between an Arab prince and a Chinese dock
worker.  "Thanks for this," he said, and he meant it.  "I'm dressed now."

   The girl turned around and looked him carefully up and down, then
glanced demurely away.  Aaron studied the girl in turn.  She was pretty,
not beautiful, but with a pleasant face that seemed less exotic than the
other Yothisans he had seen, his lovely hazel eyes and a slightly crooked
nose.  Her gown was all-concealing and not very flattering, though Aaron
guessed she was thin and a little taller than him, maybe a year or two
older.  Her cheeks were still a little wet: she had been crying when he
first saw ehr.

   "What's your name?" Aaron asked.

   "Wenet," the girl said.  She paused.  "You look like no people I have
seen."

   "I'm from America," Aaron said.  "Far from--" Something caught in his
throat.  He bit back a cough, fearing that other people might be in the
house, and felt his face grow hot.  Finally he pulled in a weak breath,
doubled over and a bit dizzy.

   "You need water," Wenet said.  "I'll go get some."

   Aaron looked suspiciously at the girl, and her hazel eyes fell again. 
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered, then glanced up at the
boy, whose trim, athletic physique the vest revealed nicely.  "I promise
I'll be right back.  You can hide if you want."

   Aaron, despite feeling pleased with himself, hid.  Wenet returned a
moment later with a jug of water, a silk belt (the trousers were a bit too
baggy), and sandals.

   "Thank you for everything," Aaron said after draining the cup.  He
stepped into the sandals and fastened them.  "But there's one other thing I
need to ask of you."

   Wenet stepped away, casting her eyes down, but for a moment her hazel
eyes met Aaron's and there was curiosity there.  Aaron almost asked the
question he would have never asked on Earth: "Would you like to go
upstairs? Do you have a closet?  Do you want to make love?" He fought
against the urge and said, "I need to find my friend, Olivia.  She's as
strange-looking as I am, and I bet she'd stand out, but I need to know who
to ask."

   The girl nodded.  "The Eastgate," she said.

   Aaron glanced toward the inner city, protected by its wall.

   "No, it's just a name," Wenet said.  "It's where caravans leave to go
east around the mountains.  There's a market there.  Someone would have
seen something."

   "Thank you," Aaron said.

   "It's...it's nothing," the girl said.  She looked toward the Eastgate
and a tear slid down your cheek.

   "What's wrong?" Aaron asked.

   "It's nothing.  Things are very hard right now.  Ptella has no love for
us.  We--Never mind, just go.  I hope you find Olivia." She wiped her eyes
angrily.

   "Thanks for everything," Aaron said, shaking is head in bewilderment. 
The girl smiled at him and disappeared into her house.

   Aaron slept like the dead between two close-together buildings and awoke
in the late morning when the sun found him.  Asking directions, he made his
way to the Eastgate, where he stole breakfast (answer to the chicken and
bean burrito) from an inattentive merchant, then spent much of the morning
just walking around, stunned at the variety of the alien world.  It was all
too much to take in: countless types of people, dressed in styles that
looked familiar but that Earth had never seen, selling products Aaron could
not imagine.

   By midafternoon the owner of a sherbet stand revealed that a girl
matching Olivia's description (her red hair and white skin was utterly
alien to Ptella) came through a week ago with a man wrapped in a red coat.
They took last week's caravan toward Tilnabar.  He could learn nothing of
Azha.

   The current week's caravan was almost ready to go when Aaron found it.
Unfortunately, without money he had no way of getting a place, and he had
no skills that interested the caravan-master.  The man shooed him away as
the thirteen wagons prepared to head out, flanked by mounted and walking
guards armed with spears and recurve bows.  Sad-faced men and women with
features and clothes like Wenet, the girl Aaron had met, sat on the farther
caravans, while others contained arrogant-looking merchants or wealthy
travelers.

   The atmosphere of the Eastgate had seemed tense, but suddenly it
exploded somewhere behind around.  Aaron turned and heard screams of
"Nazhaki!  Nazhaki!" A mob swarmed up the street, chasing a man in a
red-and-black robe with messy black hair and olive skin.  Aaron jumped to
the side as the rioters swarmed, tearing at one-another in their desire to
get at the man.  He stumbled and the man at the front of the mob jumped on
him, kicking and tearing, but to Aaron's surprise the man got up again and
kept running, his expression determined.  The rioter behind him made
another grab, pulling at the fleeing man's coat, but this carried him close
to Aaron.  The boy hesitated for a moment, then punched the man in the
face. The rioter stumbled back, spitting teeth, then roared and rushed
Aaron again.  The smaller boy sidestepped, redirected the man, and sent him
flying into the rest of the mob.  The first two rows slammed into him and
fell, and the whole group snarled up, tripping and cursing.

   A rock whistled by Aaron's head.  Another flew and struck the fleeing
man in the back.  Aaron pulled him to his feet, not knowing what else to
do, but he was not running fast.

   "Hurry!" Aaron shouted.  He looked up at the caravan guards, who watched
keenly, their bows ready.  But the man staggered along, fumbling in his
dark blue vest.

   "Hold on," he said.  "I need to--here!" He pulled a green scroll from
his jacket and unfurled it.  The guards drew their bows back.  Aaron tensed
to dive in case they opened fire, but the guards aimed at the mob, not at
them.  Aaron spared a glance behind him.  Most stopped when they saw the
archers, but a few did not and they died horribly, shot full of arrows, and
fell to litter the dusty street.  Aaron stared at the violence, turning
around just in time not to slam into the last wagon.  They had begun to
move, rolling slowly east, pulled by ox-like beasts.  Above Aaron a guard
readied another arrow.  Men reached down and pulled the blue-vested man
into the big wagon.  Others picked a surprised Aaron up and dropped him
next to the man.

   A man brought Aaron and the other man (who introduced himself as Porot)
water and Aaron waited for his nerves to steady.  They had already left
Ptella, which was a black line on the horizon.

   "So, why are you on the caravan?" Aaron said.  He looked back at the
city, wondering if he should return.  The trip took two weeks and he had
nothing.  He sat across a small table from Porot, with no one else nearby.

   Porot blinked, then looked very tired.  "You don't know?"

   "I'm not from around here," Aaron said.

   "I'm getting out while I can," Porot said.  "Ptella hates the Nazhaki
enough, and--"

   "So, what is a Nazhaki?" Aaron asked.  She looked as human...or as
"gree"...as other people he had seen on Yothis.

   "You're not from around here," Porot said.  "I'm a Nazhaki, and Nazhaki
is my people.  The details are unimportant; suffice it to say that I hurt
no one and Ptella despises me and all my people.  They are wicked men, and
will get what they deserve when Uxalan comes."

   "Uxalan?"

   "Where are you from?" Porot asked, raising an eyebrow.

   "America," Aaron said.  "So, Uxalan?"

   "The thaumaturgist of Kei.  He'll make himself known soon enough, now
that Zaphor and Viskel are dead.  Ptella will be his plaything, and by then
I will be gone.  But enough: once the guards calm down, the caravan will
have to see our scrolls." He waved the green piece of paper.

   "What's that?" Aaron asked.

   "That's my scroll.  For passage.  You do have a scroll, right?"

   "I didn't ask for passage," Aaron said.  "I helped you get away from
those thugs and they pulled me up here."

   "Oh no, oh no," his face paling.  "You need to get out!" He looked out
of the wagon toward the city, but it was only a black streak.

   "Wait, I didn't ask to come along," Aaron said, half-standing. 
"Actually, I did, but--"

   "He'll kill you," Porot said, his voice weak.  "He'll kill me!  A
Nazhaki smuggling people?  I'm dead already!" A shadow crossed over the
wagon's far end: guards checking scrolls.

   Aaron turned to the man.  "Hide me," he said.

   "Where?  I--"

   "Your room!  You have one, right?"

   "It's too small," Porot said.  "We need...I know." He stood up and led
Aaron through the large wagon, down to the ground on another exit.  He
tripped and Aaron helped him up, and together they reached another wagon.

   "In there," Porot said.  "Take a left, then a right, then up.  It's a
food storage room.  My cousin Hobodot drew the plans for these multi-tiered
wagons.  Be careful.  Don't eat anything that isn't in a barrel: they take
a count.  And if you're caught, I never knew you."

   Aaron thanked the man and quickly found the storage room.

   The guards came regularly over the next few days but never found him,
and he plucked raisins and bits of jerky from a wooden bin.  At last the
caravan-master had counted all the scrolls, and Porot told the boy he could
move around, though very carefully.  Aaron remained as hidden as he could
and studied his new world, which still felt terribly alien.  Many moons
hung in the sky by night, and Aaron saw how many structures were half-open:
in the dry season it never rained, and in darkness the natives saw less
well than Aaron did.  He watched the yellow grass roll by, and the
occasional black tree.  Wild dogs followed the caravan until outriders
drove them off.  Aaron realized he could identify none of the exact species
around him.  He thought back to his biology lessons: none of the species of
Earth remained, he realized, but higher orders remained.  He could not
remember if lions and oxen were a genus or a family or what, but there were
definitely lions and oxen.  Everything seemed a bit askew, though.  Aaron's
limited studies furnished him with no way to make sense of the strange
world, which violated everything he knew in both its strangeness and its
inexplicable familiarity.  He wished suddenly for Olivia, who no doubt knew
everything about taxonomy, but she was somewhere near Tilnabar on a dead
wizard's errand.  He wondered if she knew if he was dead.

   To pass the time during the days, he spoke with the Nazhaki, who were
friendly, big-hearted people.  They were merchants and craftsmen, and not
scholars, but Aaron learned what he could of animals.  Politics, however,
proved touchy: the Nazhaki hated Ptella, and would only describe old
cruelties, murders, pogroms, and ghettos.  They reminded Aaron of old
European Jews, though with the stiff courtesy of Victorian Britons.

   Of course, that is not how Aaron spent most of his time.  It took him
hours to learn that Porot's daughter was Wenet, who had given him his
clothes, and he rushed off to visit her.

   Though stunned and delighted to see him, she recovered quickly.  Wenet
explained her situation over tea: the Nazhaki were the inhabitants of an
old empire, and Ptella despised them for their old connections, and for
their strange gods.  The violence had grown too much to bear, and her
father chose to leave for Tilnabar.

   She talked of other parts of her life, too.  When younger she had
studied with the Adepts of Lorth, exploring the secrets of magic, but they
had increased her tuition as Nazhaki became despised and she could not
stay. Abandoning her studies, she returned to her father to study business.
Aaron tried to get her to perform magic, but she seemed to depressed even
to dwell on it...though Aaron imagined she might have a trick or two up her
sleeve.  He saw the girl several more times as he slipped from wagon to
wagon, and worked to seduce the girl, despite her old maid's constant
attention, until he met Hurik, Wenet's paramour.

   Though Aaron should have hated the guy, he found him pleasant and
mild-mannered, the sort of "nice young man" that was tough not to like.  He
was quiet, friendly, not too smart but evidently a gifted tailor, and Aaron
found himself hanging out with the youth, polishing his language skills and
learning about the world.  He learned quickly that Ptella's sexual mores
were a bit less liberated than suburban America's: Hurik knew almost
nothing about the opposite sex.  Aaron decided to tutor him, both for the
vicarious thrill and out of a weird sense of duty.  He also offered them a
safe hiding place, away from Wenet's prying maid: behind the food storage,
where Aaron had hidden for a few days.

   Every few days Hurik would come back with new excited stories, and Aaron
pretended to be the experienced lover, describing what they should do next
in the hidden compartment they had found in the food wagon.  "Today we
kissed," Hurik would say, and Aaron would tell him, "Next time stick your
tongue in her mouth." The next day there would be more: "I put my tongue in
her mouth." "Next time, massage the sides of her breasts." Sure enough, the
next day: "I caressed the sides of her breasts." "Next time, unbutton her
blouse and stroke her breasts." Around this time Aaron worked up the
courage to watch them from behind the wooden slats where fruits were
stored, but both members of the couple grew more nervous.  It took several
days of goading until Hurik unbutton his girlfriend's blouse.  Aaron beat
off to the sight of Wenet's large, full breasts, much bigger than her
conservative clothing indicated.  They were a delicious tan color, lighter
than her pretty face, with small dark nipples that grew hard as Hurik
stroked them, kissing the girl's delicate lips.

   Aaron spent the next day wracked with fear: rumors of a stowaway had
spread through the caravan.  He looked around at the yellow grassy
nothingness stretching in every direction and realized that if found, they
would simply leave him to die.  Porot gave him different clothes to wear to
keep him disguised, and he hopped from wagon to wagon, never staying long,
as they approached the northern mountains.  Porot was always willing to
feed him, and Aaron gained an appreciation for the various wraps, soups,
and little stuffed balls that made up Ptellan cuisine.  "We are Brothers in
the Air," he would say as he fed the voice, then explain that it was
translated from Nazhak, where it sounded much more beautiful.  He always
smiled, though his eyes were tired and strained, and Aaron wished more than
anything that he had something to give these people who had given so much
for him.

   The next day things grew stranger: Aaron, feeling comfortable with
Hurik's worshipful position, mentioned that he could beat off thinking of
Wenet.  He planned to get at least some piece of the girl (with Hurik's
permission) before he reached Tilnabar without a penny to his name.  Still,
Hurik's response surprised him.

   "Beat off?"

   A brief conversation revealed that sexual education in Ptella was
woefully lacking.  Hurik, taught shame from a young age, had never
experimented enough to come.  Aaron sent him on his way with a brief
explanation of how to perform the act and what was involved.  Hurik asked
for personal assistance, but Aaron refused: he wasn't gay, and some things
a guy just needs to figure out by himself.

   Hurik ran up to Aaron the next day.

   "It worked!" the Nazhaki boy cried.  "It was incredible!  It--"

   "Hurik," Aaron said.  "First, that's not the sort of thing you boast
about.  Second, you shouldn't be running around.  A lot of people hate
Nazhaki."

   His voice and face fell.  "But, it was amazing.  I want...I want to do
that sort of thing with Wenet."

   "I bet you do," Aaron said, smiling.  He decided to pace things.  "Just
ask if you can masturbate, and then come on her breasts."

   "But I couldn't--I mean--"

   "Of course you can," Aaron said.  "Just ask.  Come on: don't you want to
see those nice breasts when you come, spray them all pearly white..." He
let the rest of the fantasy lie.

   Hurik only nodded dumbly.  "It was...it was everywhere!" he said, and
disappeard.

   Aaron quickly found himself in his usual hiding spot, masturbating while
Hurik and Wenet made out.  Like last time, the boy pulled his girlfriend's
blouse open and fondled her heaving breasts.  Aaron jerked off, watching
the show.  Then Hurik leaned forward, kissed Wenet, and whispered something
in her ear.  Wenet gasped and shook her head.  Aaron muttered a curse under
his breath.  He should have taught Hurik how to pleasure his girlfriend,
not himself.  That would be a great show.  But after a great deal of
cajoling, Wenet reluctantly nodded.  Hurik, grinning from ear to ear,
stepped back and pulled his pants down, revealing a hard cock.  Wenet
stared at it with a mixture of bewilderment, fear, and fascination, and
remained very still as Hurik beat off.

   The boy's long shirt kept falling over his dick.  In frustration he
peeled it off, revealing a well-proportioned torso.  Wenet's eyes widened,
watching the show.  Hesitantly at first, then with more enthusiasm, Wenet
ran her fingers across her full breasts, touching herself.  She spread her
legs and breathed heavily while Hurik pumped.  Growing suddenly
overstimulated, Aaron came with a muffled gasp, then stroked his half-hard
dick.

   Hurik came with a groan.  A wash of semen splattered across Wenet's face
and she froze, her hands flying behind her as if to cling to the wall. 
More semen came with another jerk, splattering over her breasts, and more,
throwing ribbons of come across the shoulders of her blouse.  Finally,
after several more spurts that hit the girl's feet and the floor, Hurik
stopped coming.

   Wenet was a mess.  Her tan breasts glistened with semen, which had also
landed in her hair and stained her blouse.  Hurik stared in horror, pulled
up his pants, and apologized, horror plain on his face.

   "I'm sorry," he said.  "Sorry!" Without another word, he ran from the
storage room.

   "Wait!" Wenet cried and jumped up after him.  She ran to where he
disappeared, took a wrong turn around some barrels of grain, and saw Aaron,
who hastily put his dick away.

   It was too late to hide, though.  Aaron stood there, a bit dumbstruck,
looking at the semen-covered girl.

   "Are you alright?" he asked.  What else could he say?

   Wenet looked down at herself and pulled her thin blouse over her chest.
But it was no use: semen leaked through it, exposing dark nipples, and
pleasant curves spilled over the blouse's top.

   "I'm...he..."

   Aaron stepped toward the girl, who instinctively backed up until she sat
on the bench where she had received Hurik's load.  She stared at Aaron
fearfully, but also with an excited gleam in her eye, and panted,
breathless, as he approached.

   For Aaron's part, he needed release again so badly he hurt.  He didn't
know this girl, and this was not his world, which lended him a wild
courage. As Wenet sat, transfixed, Aaron unlooped his belt and lowered his
pants.

   Wenet yelped with surprise as Aaron's dick sprang into view, but did not
move.  Her hazel eyes fixed on the tip of his member as the boy started to
stroke.

   "Take your shirt off," Aaron said.  His hand shook as it worked over his
cock, he was so nervous.  Everything told him not to fool around with
another guy's girl, but he ached for release and Wenet did not protest.  In
fact, she smiled slightly as she pulled her drenched blouse off.  She clung
to the wall still, her shoulders slim, her breasts proudly presented, as
Aaron moaned and jerked his cock.  He wondered if Hurik would return, and
fear made his knees wobble, then excitement made him groan.  He leaned
forward and Wenet pushed against the far wall.

   "Don't hurt me," she said, though she did not pant with fear.

   "I won't," Aaron said as he reached down and took one of the girl's
breast in each hand.  They were so soft, softer than Aaron imagined a
girl's breasts would be, and he handled them gently, feeling the warmth of
the skin, the slipperiness of sweat and semen.  Then his dick bumped the
place between Wenet's breasts and an idea came to him.  He stepped forward
again, standing between the girl's legs, and pressed her breasts together.
He slid his dick forward until they nestled at the bottom of her breasts
and slowly thrust forward.

   The sensation made Aaron hiss through his teeth: it was as tight as he
wanted, slick and warm.  He quickened his pace, pressing her breasts
together, and his thumbs touched Wenet's nipples.  She gasped.  Aaron
pulled the girl's hands down to replace his and quickened his pace again,
his head spinning.  Wenet spread her legs more, and Aaron realized he could
fuck her right now, hike up her skirt and take her virginity, losing his
own in her wetness.  But he resisted the idea: he shouldn't even be doing
this much with the girl.  Still, the thought of sinking into her pussy, of
fucking her until she came, pushed him over the edge, his pace quickening.

   For a moment Aaron remained on the edge, too far to pull back, but not
yet ready to come.

   "I'm going to shoot," he said, "all over you." Wenet squeezed her tits
together and Aaron came, shooting semen onto the girl's neck, which ran
down her breasts.  He felt his balls empty for the second time, wobbled,
and leaned against the wall, hanging over Wenet, shivering with ecstacy.

   After a moment he looked down at the semen-splattered girl.  Aaron
reached out, lifted a gob of semen onto his finger, and raised it to her
mouth.  Wenet, too stunned to do anything else, swallowed it, and the rest
that Aaron offered her, sucking on his finger.  Aaron felt his dick twitch
and stepped back.

   "Are you alright?" he asked.

   Wenet nodded and smiled.

   "I...uh...I should go," Aaron said.  "S-see you around.  Don't tell
Hurik about this."

   He staggered from the food wagon, pulling up his pants, and headed to
his work room, pondering what he and Hurik could do with Wenet next, his
fingers numb from the intensity of his sex-play.  Aaron walked among the
slow-moving wagons that crossed the dry savanna.  They were still days from
Tilnabar, and they moved east beneath the tall brown mountains to the
north. As the boy watched the horizon, he saw mounted figures: not the
outriders he had seen before, but hard-looking men with feathers woven in
their hair, little more than black silhouettes in the sun except where
their weapons glinted.

   "Raiders!" came a loud cry, and then an arrow landed next to Aaron's
foot.  he turned and ran, dove under a set of wagon-wheels, and held onto
the bottom of the wagon as arrows clattered into the wood.  Somewhere in
front of him and ox screamed.  The arrows stopped and he peeked out.

   The raiders, armed with bows and sabers, feinted toward the caravan, but
retreated before they came too close, dodging nimbly between falling arrows
on their small black mares.  One caravan guard in the wagon next to Aaron's
took an arrow in the lung.  He fell and lay still in the tall yellow grass.
Then the raiders were gone in a cloud of dust.

   Everyone came out to witness the destruction.  Three had died.  They
died not wait to bury them: the caravan leader screamed for everyone to
prepare for another attack and people retreated to their wagons.  Aaron ran
to find Porot.  As he approached the Nazhaki wagons, both started to fall
behind.  Their oxen looked sickly and weak, and the fat driver of one
cursed when Aaron walked by, muttering about poison.

   Aaron found Wenet and Hurik standing outside their wagon.  They stood a
few paces apart.  Wenet had changed out of her semen-drenched cloathing and
studied the far horizon, while Hurik stood shamefaced, shifting from one
foot to the other.  Both looked surprised when they saw Aaron.  Wenet
blushed, her hazel eyes glittering with the recent memory.

   "What's happening," Aaron asked.  "What's wrong with the oxen?"

   "Sick or something," Hurik said, looking at one miserable specimen.

   "And the head caravan isn't slowing down," Aaron said.  "We're forming a
long, thin line with a couple of stragglers.  Doesn't that seem stupid?"

   "My father's too afraid to speak with the caravan leader," Wenet said,
"but I'm not." Without further word she trotted off toward the head wagon.
Hurik shrugged and followed, as did Aaron.

   "What are you going to say?" Hurik asked.

   "To slow down," Wenet said, walking with purpose.  But though she moved
quickly, the head wagon raced ahead.  The other wagons clustered around it,
leaving the two Nazhaki wagons behind.  Aaron spotted mounted figures
moving along the foothills of the mountains, dozens of them.  Aaron stood
beside one of the wagons in the middle of the cluster and looked back at
the two in the distance.

   "Oh no," Aaron said.

   "What?" Wenet asked, her voice tense.

   "You say people don't much like Nazhaki?" Aaron asked.

   "They hate them," Hurik said.  "That's why our families are leaving
Ptella."

   "What does the caravan owner think of Nazhaki?" Aaron asked.  He watched
his companions' faces fall.  "I think your people are a sacrifice.  Those
brigands will take two wagons and leave the rest in peace."

   "No!" Wenet cried.  "They wouldn't!" She turned back toward the two
wagons, but it was already too late: the raiders swept down from the hills,
at least one hundred strong, their raised swords glinting in the setting
sun.  Aaron could do nothing: he watched them come and envelop the wagons
like locusts.

   "Wait," Hurik said after a moment.

   Aaron squinted.  He could see no exchange of arrow fire, except an
occasional missile flying from the wagons.  He saw no lit flames, could
hear no screams or clash of fighting.  In fact, the raiders remained just
out of bowshot, screaming and shouting.  They parted around the still
wagons like a river around standing stones and raced east, toward the rest
of the caravan.

   "They're taking the mobile targets first," Aaron said.  He looked back
toward the nearest wagon.  "Inside!"

   They scrambled inside and looked out, but could see almost nothing: the
setting sun turned the oncoming cavalry into a blur of black and orange. 
Above them, men shouted orders.  Bows twanged and an arrowhead peirced the
wagon wall near where Aaron stood.  Raiders raced past the wagon, firing
arrows, and men above them screamed in agony and mortal fear.

   Horses pulled level with the wagon and three laiders jumped inside. 
They landed hard with a crash of armor and drew short stabbing swords, good
for close-in work.  Aaron caught a glimpse of hard veteran's eyes above
thick beards.  Wenet screamed as they came forward.

   Aaron turned and ran up the steps, only to slam full-force into caravan
guards running down to meet the new threat.  He flew down the steps,
tumbling end over end, hit the ground with a dull thud and felt nothing
else.

   ***

   You can look forward to more exciting adventures on Yothis in "The Moons
of Yothis, Part 3: A Queen of Dust." If you have any thoughts, comments,
reviews, or critiques, please send them to lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com.

	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
	This post has been reformatted by ASSTR's
	Smart Text Enhancement Processor (STEP)
	system due to inadequate formatting.
	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

	
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
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> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+