Chapter 6: The House of angNaveena
Someone was shrieking. Mira heard from it afar, a desperate, muffled sound that penetrated her dreams and pulled her out of a profound sleep. She lay curled in the back of the wagon, jostled and disoriented. Her head rested on a lap, and a hand gently smoothed her hair, over and over. "There's always a disaster when angNaveena goes away," said a voice close to her, and she realized she had been sleeping on the lap of angKov.
Mira sat up and rubbed her eyes. She saw angNaveena's red ponytail swinging against the seat in front of her, and felt her blood grow warm at the memory of his body poised over her own, calling her his beautiful whore, fucking her with his thick cock. Her cunt felt heavy and swollen; she wanted to climb into the front seat and mount her Master right then and there. . . . But that wasn't proper Captive behavior. A Captive had to wait.
The cart was wending its way up a small drive, through an orchard of wide-branched, silver trees. Up ahead, at the end of the drive, stood a coral-colored, castle-like structure. Its smooth stone-block walls and towers shone like fire in the setting sun. As they moved closer to it, the shrieking grew louder. Mira looked at angKov, questioningly.
"Ah, the pretty slut is awake and full of questions," he said, leaning down and kissing her forehead. "AngNaveena, my friend, I wonder what mischief your wife has been up to this time."
"I don't know," said angNaveena grimly, "But I don't like the sound of it."
They drew closer to the bright building. Now Mira could make out an open arch in the center of the front wall, revealing a jumble of silver, green, pink and purple. Suddenly, a small purple figure flew out of the archway, running straight toward the cart. She had long, shiny black hair that fell almost to her ankles, and wore a silky white smock that wrapped around her breasts and hips, leaving most of her radiant, violet skin uncovered. As she came closer, Mira realized that she was short for a Tiran, barely taller than an Earth woman. Her stubby tail beat the air frantically and she sobbed. When she finally reached the cart, she panted hard, while her lips kept trying to form words.
"InSorrel . . . Naveena . . . ."
"Eesha, get in the cart," angNaveena interrupted her, and she ran to the other side and climbed in next to him, still crying and gasping. AngNaveena pushed his stick straight forward and the wagon sped up; Mira held on to angKov as they rattled furiously down the drive.
"Eesha, is my wife hurting inSorrel?" To this question, Eesha let out a loud wail.
They raced forward, toward the castle, until it loomed over them. AngNaveena pushed the stick in a tight loop and the cart stopped abruptly. He and Eesha jumped to the ground. "AngKov, you are in charge of my new Captive while I take care of this disaster," he called, as he and Eesha ran through the archway.
"As always," sighed angKov. "Come, inMira." He lifted her out of the cart, setting her down gently. The archway opened in front of them invitingly, its curved sides framing a view of flowers and trees and plants of every color. AngKov took Mira's hand and they walked through, into a large, triangular courtyard.
Now that the noise of wheels on pebbles had stopped, Mira heard not just one voice crying, but several. She let her ears adjust and observed her new home, looking all around while her thumb absent-mindedly rubbed one of angKov's knuckles. There were three towers, seven stories high, with open, arched windows dancing around the circumference of each floor. Loose curtains hung in the windows, blowing gently in the warm breeze. Like the final flourish in an illuminated manuscript, delicate ramps spiraled around each of the towers, leveling off at each of the seven floors in front of dark, carved wooden doors. Three tall walls connected the three towers. Creeping up and around the walls and towers were thick, black vines, hung with gold flowers the size of serving bowls---except for the tower to Mira's left, where the vines abruptly stopped. Even in dwindling daylight, the courtyard itself was a careful jumble of color and texture: Mira saw masses of multi-colored plants; the ground felt velvety-soft, due to a thick layer of hand-sized, napped silver and orange leaves; and two high, blue-green trees cast long, leafy shadows over red stone benches, padded ground, flowers, towers, walls and people.
Mira took in the familiar, alien, strangely medieval beauty, but she soon focused on a scene on the other side of the courtyard. There, under one of the trees, stood a round table that appeared to be the centerpiece of angNaveena's domestic drama. A pale, naked Captive was bent over the table, her ass in the air, and next to her stood a Tiran woman with long, curly white hair and a pronounced curly tail to match. Even from far away, Mira could see that the Tiran woman stood very straight and wore elegant drapery---brocaded, richly colored, shimmering. The woman held a long stick, which she caressed with one hand as she spoke with angNaveena. Several equally well-dressed Tiran women sat in chairs around the table, sipping from large goblets, watching the scene. AngNaveena gestured emphatically to the curly-haired woman, and she smiled equably at him, her mouth barely moving. A few paces behind angNaveena stood a swath of naked Captives---One Earth girl with creamy brown skin, messy black hair and a tiny waist clung to another large-hipped, heavy breasted Captive, wailing brokenheartedly; beside them, a third, paler Captive, slight and birdlike, buried her face in Eesha's shoulder and sobbed while Eesha stroked her red braided hair. Eesha's violet skin and bright-white shift glowed softly in the approaching dusk.
Mira felt angKov squeeze her hand. "InMira, I will tell you a secret . . . My sweet wife detests Naveena. She will never forgive me if I arrive home without a full report of this little drama. So I'm afraid we will need to stand a little closer so that we can hear what is being said. Come, whore." They walked across the courtyard. Mira listened carefully, unable to separate words and language from the crying of the Captives, until angKov led her to a spot a few feet from angNaveena, and, finally, the dialogue emerged from the din. AngNaveena's low voice sparred gently with the pleasant reasoning of his wife.
"Naveena," he was saying, "inSorrel has always been a good girl. I find it hard to believe she did anything to deserve a beating."
"Yes," laughed Naveena, "Of course, our beloved inSorrel has always behaved in the past. But today she committed an offense which all here will admit earned her a proper beating."
"Well then, dearest wife," said angNaveena in a frighteningly calm tone, "Tell me. Tell me exactly what my inSorrel did."
"Ah, husband," she sighed. "The Surdan Ladies League arrived for afternoon bandy cordial, and as I led them to the table, it became clear that our little whore was . . . displaying herself on one of the nearby benches." She gestured toward a bench, a few feet away from the table.
"Displaying herself? Explain, wife."
"Yes, well . . . She sat with her legs wide open and was fingering her . . . her. . . ."
"Her pussy?"
