Nuë and the Djinn

The second time it happened, Nuë was riding her horse. She felt it begin, clenching her teeth, her nipples twinging and hurting sharply, one after the other, pleasure going straight between her legs.

She leaned forward, resting her hand on the horse's neck. Not now, in the middle of the day, on the trade road where anyone might see. She wanted to get off the horse, but she quickly knew she couldn't. It was that dog of a sorcerer. And Mihel.

Nuë cried out in surprise with the intrusion into her bottom, and then the tugs and biting on her nipples came, such sensations.

She was trying to stay aware, trying to ignore the pleasure, his fingers spreading her sex. It was Mihel. He was going to do that, here and now, no way for her to stop it. Mihel's tongue came, teasing her all around the place she wanted. She shuddered, biting her lip. It went on and on, a torment of pleasure.

Nuë was trying so hard not to move her hips, feeling the soft warm and wet tugs deep between her legs. His finger swirled at her passage and returned to her bottom, steady thrusts with his finger. She whimpered, unable to stop it, her arms straightening, leaning forward in the saddle and jutting as another finger--his thumb--went into her passage. Then he began to move them both, finding a rhythm.

Mihel latched onto her with his mouth, Nuë feeling like he had found the source of every sensation and was sucking it into his mouth. She liked what his fingers were doing far too much. It was fast. The feelings rose and rose, her lips parting, her head falling back. She didn't want to make noise. She was unable to stop it, her voice almost inaudible, hearing how needy she sounded. Her tongue came, trapped between her teeth, her eyes closing.

They slitted open a moment later, trying to hold on to the world, the sensations between her legs too strong. The pleasure suddenly crashed on her. She gave a series of light grunts, so satisfying, trying not to make any sound and needing to. She shuddered in the saddle, her hips pumping, rubbing herself on it, harsh pleasure, crying out again low. She strained and finally pulsed, releasing, so good. It passed, her heart pounding, heavy twinges. She realized she had closed her eyes again. She opened them, panting.

"It's just like my brother to get himself bound by a deadly powerful sorcerer, staring down the face of eternity and in the grip of despair, and then spend the whole time enjoying it fucking women," Rasmin commented on his horse beside her, eating an apple. He tossed the core, sucking his fingers.

Nuë glared at him and then cried out, her head turning sharply, almost falling from her house, catching herself. She cried out again and louder, her hand going to her nose. Rasmin was pulling her off the horse. Tears were running down her face, her nose smarting like it had been hit hard. She was sure it would be bleeding.

"Let me see," he said, tilting her face, pulling her hand away. Rasmin laughed.

"What's funny?" she cried.

"Somebody fought back. You feel it, but you're fine, little sister."

Nuë was still panting. "Couldn't you at least go to the spirit world for a time so I can pretend that didn't happen?" she said.

"Didn't happen!" Rasmin echoed as he walked to his horse, getting back on. "What's the fun in that? Have you forgotten? Here, let me remind you." Rasmin began to moan and move in his saddle and Nuë cried out in fury, on foot, attacking him while he was on his horse, trying to hit him. His horse startled, dancing out of range, Rasmin laughing again.

Nuë ran back to her horse, grabbing the reins, enraged. She threw herself into the saddle, between her legs sensitive, her nose still hurting, charging at him, yelling. Rasmin kicked his horse, running from her, almost falling off he was laughing so hard, Nuë in pursuit.

"I'm going to take you to the marketplace to sell that horse when we get to the city," Rasmin called back between hitches of laughter. "We'll wait for it to happen again and I'll make a fortune. Every woman in Heltas will bid on it."

"Shut up, Rasmin!" she yelled after him, her face red.

#

Ezrel strode through the streets, people unaware. Mihel rode his body. It was midday.

The sorcerer's first act upon ordering Mihel to enter his body this time had been to go down to the docks and pick a fight. When he had hurt the men sufficiently to satisfy himself, he had left them and wandered through Heltas whistling and yelling, startling people who didn't see the source of the sound, which also amused the sorcerer.

Mihel didn't doubt that, given a little time, the sorcerer would think about other things to do with his newfound talents. Thievery. Probably murder. But the sorcerer seemed content, for now, to hunt another woman.

Mihel saw the woman that Ezrel chose. There wasn't anything Mihel could do about it. He hadn't asked to be bound. He doubted Ezrel even remembered he was in here. She was a young Heltasian marketwoman, plump and dark-haired, with bright eyes and a ready manner. Mihel didn't know what drew Ezrel to the woman. It could have been anything. Her large breasts, maybe. Ezrel seemed to like those.

They followed her, finding no opportunity. Mihel began to get hopeful the sorcerer might run out of time, that Mihel would be thrown out of the sorcerer's body before Ezrel could figure how to get her alone. But he saw the decrepit abandoned courtyard, the ruined clay brick of a broken small house in front of it, when the sorcerer did.

Seeing his chance, Ezrel clapping his hand over the woman's mouth from behind, bringing her there, the woman struggling.

The sorcerer threw her down onto the grass, falling on her, straddling her, his hand on her mouth again when she tried to scream. With his other hand, he ripped her shirt, her large breasts exposed, her struggles arousing them both because Mihel was in this body. Mihel was experiencing the look and feel of a woman under his hands, under his mouth, feeling Ezrel's arousal. Ezrel was biting her nipples, the woman crying out behind his hand.

The sorcerer plunged his hand in his pocket for a cloth, bringing it across her mouth, tying it. Bringing his finger to his mouth and sucking it, the sorcerer hiked her skirts, his knee opening her legs. The sorcerer shoved his finger into the woman's ass. The woman arched. Mihel did it all with the sorcerer, a surge of arousal and Nuë was under him, her breasts exposed, her legs spread, his finger in her ass.

In his head, Mihel knew that his arousal had brought her here, that their spirits were trying to complete the joining. In this moment, he didn't care, wanting her. And he'd just be bound again if he stopped, Ezrel back in control.

Nuë wasn't looking at him. He'd gotten control of the sorcerer's body early. Mihel didn't think Nuë could see him this time. Wherever she was, she was probably awake. The sorcerer's body was Mihel's for now. Not for long. He went down, spreading her legs wider, spreading her lower lips.

He did it slowly, enjoying it. He teased her, his finger moving in her ass, licking all around her clit, not touching it. Her hips began, small tense movements. She swelled under his tongue, Nuë beginning to make the sweetest sounds of need, obviously trying to be quiet. He watched her little pussy flush, drawing his finger gently from her ass and running it through her new slick, bringing it down and pushing in again, much easier this time, his finger thrusting in and out. His thumb found her pussy, sinking in.

He spread her wider with his other hand and finally ran his tongue over her distended clit, Nuë trying very hard not to make any noise. Mihel twirled around it with his tongue, his fingers still moving, finding a rhythm, and then he landed, suckling her clit, strong tugs, his finger and thumb moving in and out of her ass and her pussy because his incora always protested, but she always like this so much.

Mihel's tongue was busy while he sucked, his fingers moving in and out below, thumb and finger. Nuë jutted on his fingers, her hips pumping, spreading her legs, trying to get closer to him. She suddenly came under his mouth, her pussy slick. Her hips moved against his mouth, rubbing. Her voice was needy, sending lust through him, his incora trying so hard not to voice it and failing. He felt her strain, her hips quivering, a long, delicious time, and then she pulsed wildly, releasing.

He pulled his fingers from her and Nuë was gone, Mihel bound again. Ezrel paused, looking around like he had forgotten what he was doing, and then he came up, fumbling with his pants and the marketwoman hit him, a punch to the side of the head.

Mihel was strong, but this didn't make him immune to being hit, and the woman hit hard. Invisible to her or not, she had figured where the sorcerer was, and she followed the punch by bringing her head up and cracking it into the sorcerer's nose.

That hurt. That really hurt, and if Mihel could have, he would have howled with laughter. The sorcerer straightened, stumbling back and falling on his ass, the woman jumping up and holding her shirt closed, running out of the courtyard yelling her indignation while the sorcerer scrambled to his feet, bent over. The need to laugh was painful for Mihel because the sorcerer wasn't laughing. The sorcerer was incensed and then they heard voices shouting, the woman yelling, and footsteps.

Ezrel fled. The sorcerer was unaware when his tongue came, tasting his upper lip.

#

Nuë rode into the gates of Heltas on her horse, leading another. She looked up. The gates were huge, the city she glimpsed beyond it even bigger. She'd never seen so many people, and all of them strangers.

The soldiers at the gates watched her pass, one stepping forward and stopping her. He smiled up at her. He spoke a string of nonsense sounds. Nuë shrugged and shook her head. The soldier turned and said something to another Heltasian soldier, who nodded, gesturing at her. Nuë's eyes were darting to their faces. She'd never been to Heltas. She'd never been to any city.

Nuë felt the weight of their gazes as she went through. She'd rather not ask Rasmin, on foot beside her and not visible, to fight the Heltasian army on her behalf.

"Where are we going to stay?" she said aloud to Rasmin. A man she passed gave her a glance that said she was pretty but probably crazy, talking to herself. Nuë resisted the urge to make a face at him.

"I know somewhere," Rasmin said, sounding happy.

He took her through the streets, Nuë looking all around herself. One time a man walked beside her horse, saying something to her, and then he cried out, staggering away and falling awkwardly, his butt rising. He scrambled up, embarrassed, glaring at her like she'd done it. She sighed, hearing Rasmin laughing, urging her horse on.

They finally arrived at the place Rasmin indicated, Mihel's brother calling out directions as she went on her horse, leading the other. He guided them into a courtyard that was pretty, serene, ringed in chain trees, dripping with their bright yellow blooms in long lines, the scent sweet and strong. A young woman was sitting there, her hand in a pool with bright yellow fish, dressed neatly in a yellow Heltasian dress the same color as the trees, as the fish, her shoulders bare, long straight black hair and black eyes.

She rose and said something to Nuë, but Nuë didn't know the language. The young woman disappeared into the house and returned with an older woman in a long, elegant dress. Nuë dismounted, rude to be on a horse while someone was speaking to her.

The older woman said something to Nuë, who shook her head. Someone led the horses away. Rasmin was around here somewhere, probably laughing at her. Nuë felt self-conscious, dirty and unkempt in comparison to the neat Heltasian women. Her braids were messy, her clothing dusty, weeks on the road.

The older woman approached her, looking her over. She gestured Nuë into the house. Nuë shook her head, looking around for Rasmin. The woman's next gesture said she insisted. Nuë followed this time, not wanting to offend. She hoped Rasmin was following her in.

Nuë had never been in a permanent clay brick dwelling. It was huge inside, places for sitting, places for eating, more places for sitting. More places for sitting. Couches for lying down. Were these people never upright? Everything was neat. They passed a carved stone in the likeness of a man with his sex jutting straight from himself. More art. Paintings of women without their clothes on. Bright rugs.

"Rasmin," Nuë said under her breath. No answer. She was going to stab him. She spoke louder. "Rasmin."

The older woman stopped, saying something to a younger woman who arrived in a doorway. The younger woman had very light brown hair and green eyes, pretty, wearing a short silky robe and that was all. Nuë was uneasy. This didn't seem right. The younger woman entered and gesturing to Nuë, who was trying not to stare at her.

The young woman led her into another room and stood in front of her, looking at her. She reached and tilted Nuë's chin, touching her hair. Nuë suddenly felt like a horse being traded. She pulled away lightly.

The woman dropped her hand and put it on her chest. "Octava," she said.

Nuë made the same gesture, giving her name. Octava gestured for her to come and Nuë hesitated, looking back. She would have to go through several large rooms to leave.

"Nuë," Octava said.

Nuë turned and looked at her. The woman gestured, friendly. Nuë followed, walking down a hall and through a door and into a large room. Nuë stared. It was a huge pool inside of the building with steam coming from the water. It was warm in here. The Heltasians who lived here seemed rich, their home huge and full of beautiful objects, and they had a pool for bathing inside their house. Nuë would never have imagined such a thing.

Walking to her, Octava gestured to the water and then to her clothing. The Heltasians wanted her to bathe. Maybe they were obsessed with cleanliness. They certainly looked clean. Maybe they were afraid she would dirty their fancy chairs, their fancy rugs and couches. If they had a pool in their house, maybe this was a part of their hospitality. Nuë set her knife aside with her clothing. Octava helped her to undress.

"Rasmin," Nuë said again. A part of her was hoping Rasmin had stayed in the hall, but another part of her wanted to know he was around somewhere. Nuë was surprised when Octava also removed her robe, naked under it. "Rasmin," Nuë said louder, alarmed.

Octava gesturing to Nuë's hair. Nuë sighed and pulled the braids free, feeling how dirty her hair was. Octava gestured into the water and Nuë stepped down the stairs, no choice, the water hot. Nuë had never been in hot water, wondering briefly if she was being cooked for dinner and then feeling as if a whole top layer of her skin had sloughed off of her. Octava waded to her and brought soap, putting it into her hand. Nuë turned around a little, smelling at it. Flowers.

Nuë rubbed it and quickly washed her face, her neck, continuing down. She rinsed, her hair getting wet, and turned her attention to that, running her hands repeatedly through the strands until it felt clean. That seemed good. She was done. Nuë began to wade out.

Octava met her, wading to her, bringing a jar. Nuë stopped, waiting. The woman approached her and upended oil into her palm from the jar. She reached for Nuë's hair, running the oil through it, the smell like flowers again. Nuë rinsed it, nodding her thanks, turning to get out, but the woman returned with another jar, a pungent smell like vinegar. Nuë stopped again, waiting. Octava worked it through Nuë's hair again, motioning.

Nuë rinsed, her hair feeling silky, coming up. Yes, she was done now. She'd never felt so clean in her life.

But Octava returned again and had oil on her hands, walking behind Nuë, moving her hair and rubbing it on her back and her shoulders, her hands getting lower, almost touching her butt. Nuë moved away and Octava came around in front of her and put her hands on Nuë's breasts, touching her nipples.

Nuë stepped back sharply and left the pool, evading her, going around the woman, staring at her. Getting out of the water, Nuë looked for her clothing, her boots. They were gone. Everything was gone. Her knife. She turned around, beginning to breathe fast.

The woman who had been in the courtyard, the older one, came through the door, clapping her hands. Nuë looking around for a reason, not seeing any. The older woman said a string of words. Octava came and gave Nuë a silky robe like she was wearing, short, barely coming to Nuë's knees. Nuë gestured to where her clothing had been, a question, but Octava ignored her. Nuë gestured again. The older woman said something, waving for Nuë to come with her.

Nuë reluctantly put the robe around herself and followed. She needed to get back to the courtyard and away from these people. She needed to find Rasmin.

She saw him ahead, her breath releasing. Rasmin looked as relieved to see her as she was to see him. The blue lines on his hands were missing, his eyes a dull brown. The older woman said something to him, her voice sharp, but he ignored her, coming to Nuë.

"Where did you go?" he said when he reached her, looking at her. "You took a bath?"

"Me? Where did you go?" Nuë said to him.

"You were on the horse when I took them into the stable and then you were gone. I came back into the courtyard and backtracked all the way down the street before I looked back and saw your light. I didn't realize you went inside."

"I don't speak their language. They insisted. I thought you were with me and then they brought me into a large room with a bath and they stole my clothing, my boots and my knife. What is this place?"

The older woman came close, gesturing at Nuë and shaking her head at Rasmin, coming and putting her hands between them, separating them. She said a long string of words to Rasmin, impatient, shaking her head at him again. She gestured at the courtyard.

Rasmin stared at the woman like she was crazy. "No, I won't wait my turn," he said. "She doesn't belong to you."

The woman shook her head again, looking severe. She said something more.

"He saw her where?" Rasmin said incredulously, staring at the woman again.

The older woman looked at Nuë, speaking sharply, pointing to the courtyard. Rasmin took Nuë's hand and the older woman cried out.

Nuë realized they had just disappeared, Rasmin bringing her into the spirit world. He walked Nuë out of the room and into the courtyard, a Heltesian man in fancy dress there, his eye pressed to a small hole in the wall before he stepped back. Then Nuë was following Rasmin down the streets of the city of Heltas.

When Rasmin finally found the building he wanted, a busy main hall, benches with people eating and drinking, he put her in a quiet corner, releasing her hand. "Don't move," he said.

"Rasmin--" she said, reaching after him and then dropped her hand, her heart pounding, standing very still. She watched Rasmin find the right time and approach the innkeeper.

Mihel had never let go of her hand in the spirit world. She couldn't get out by herself. Mihel said she could get lost here. She looked around, fighting panic. Rasmin was right there, a few steps away, but he seemed very far. She stepped toward him and was somewhere else entirely, in a room with a man sleeping, his light steady. She looked around, breathing fast, not daring to move, hearing voices through the open window.

Rasmin opened the door. "I told you not to move," he said, taking her hand and she was in the world.

He brought her quietly out of the room and down some stairs and then out a door and down the street again, people turning and staring. Nuë hair was still wet, the short and silky robe clinging to her. Rasmin brought her down another street and there was the building in which they had just been. He brought her through the same door, into the spirit world and up the stairs.