Fire in the Cave (5 page)

He stepped closer, looming over her, so that her head tilted back to
look at him, showing the curve of her throat. The circle was silent
as they watched. Black-dog seemed huge in the firelight, skin
shining red, the muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his stomach and
arms all showing clearly in the light and shadow. His chin was dark
with the day’s growth of beard. His eyes gave away nothing as
he stared down at her. Like he was looking at a mouse. An insect.
A stone.

Then he moved, faster than I could see. She was on her back, now,
her tied hands up above her head, and he was on top of her, the
weight of his body pressing her down, one hand on her wrists, one
hand trailing fingers down her throat. Her eyes were wide, staring
into his, hypnotized. Her lips were parted as she tried to breath
beneath his warm, strong weight. His hair hung down around her face.
His eyes were pools of night, locked on hers, as he closed his hand
around her throat and began to squeeze.

Her mouth opened wide. Her back tried to arch, but he held her down,
held her still, slowly increasing the pressure on her throat, his own
breath coming in slow, great heaves, almost growling. He looked up
at the warriors around him, glaring, snarling like a wolf defending
its meal; all stepped back, moved away. No one was close enough to
hear when her lips moved, when he turned his head to bring his ear
closer. She whispered something as her eyelids fluttered and her
body went limp.

Black-dog raised his head, a savage grin on his face.

“Mercy,” he growled. “She asked for mercy.”

The men cheered, whistled. I was silent, my eyes wide, my face
flushed. I was uncertain, but I could not look away as Black-dog
pressed down upon the girl once more. I saw his hand on her throat
relax, saw her eyes open and roll back as he pressed his lips against
hers. She gasped for air, and he fed it to her carefully, closing
her throat with his hand when she tried to pull away, rewarding her
with his own breath when she learned to suck greedily at his lips.
She was writhing beneath him, her shoulders shifting, her back
arching and hips pushing against him. I couldn’t tell, and I
doubt she could either, whether she was trying to escape or press
against him closer. But when her body moved, so did mine, shifting
and squirming where I stood. And when he blocked her breath, I held
mine.

He released her wrists and reached down. His fingers trailed down
her arm, her stomach, her thigh. Her eyes were open, looking up at
him, dazed from lack of air. I saw her mouth twitch up in a drunken
smile, then she slowly blinked, looked almost afraid… he
touched her below, and she gasped, back arching, eyes blank. His
hand began to move, firm and steady, two fingers stroking between her
legs. As her body relaxed into his motion, tension fading, rocking
with the pressing of his hand, she let out a helpless moan.
Clenching my teeth, I moaned with her.

The men were busy watching, laughing with each other, or licking
their teeth and hoping for a turn. None heard me, except for
Black-dog.

His eyes snapped toward me, shining in the firelight. He stared at
me as he held the dark-skinned, whimpering girl. I tried to freeze,
but he saw how my breath was coming fast, how my hips moved as I
pressed my thighs together.

“Highhawk,” he said, smiling like a knife, “come
share this pleasure with me.”

I swallowed hard. All were watching, but… I could not show
weakness. I should not turn down such a generous offer. And, more
than anything, I wanted it, wanted to use her like he was using her,
wanted to feel what she was feeling. She was rocking her hips
against his hand, now, her eyes gazing blindly up at the stars as he
forced pleasure into her. I stepped forward.

I knelt beside them in the circle of firelight, biting my lip, barely
hearing the eager murmur of the men around us. Black-dog grinned and
lifted the girl, easily turning her over. He set her on her knees,
bent forward, her head on my chest, her bound hands in my lap. I
wrapped an arm around her to steady her as she looked up at me,
bewildered, blinking as if trying to wake from a dream. Her dark
hair had fallen over one eye, and I gently brushed it aside. She
smiled at me, dreamy and confused, thankful for that little kindness.
My heart thumped. I bent close and kissed her lips.

Her mouth opened in surprise, and my tongue slipped inside. She was
sweet, sweet and fever-hot. I pulled her with me as I lay back, I
opened her vest so her soft breasts moved against mine, I pushed my
fingers into her hair to pull her closer as I kissed her. Sweet,
dazed girl lying soft and warm on top of me, rocking against me
gently as Black-dog toyed with her from behind. I was reaching down
to please myself, to comfort the aching heat that was building in me,
when she went rigid against me. Her whole body shuddered as
Black-dog pushed his shaft inside her. Her lips opened against mine,
her eyes squeezed shut, and she let out a long, whimpering moan.

He pulled her back, away from me, her head and hair trailing down my
body as she went. I half sat up to complain, but he pushed her
forward again, and I groaned with pleasure instead. He had her on
her knees, her rump raised in the air for his use, her head down
between my legs, pretty face pressing into my cunt. I gasped, hungry
for pleasure, no longer thinking. I pulled my skirt up, out of the
way, weaved my fingers into her hair, and guided her lips toward my
bud. She whimpered, uncertain, with her hands bound beneath her and
a dozen men watching her be mounted like a dog. But as Black-dog
slowly drew his shaft back out of her, her noises turned into needy
whines. Then he pushed in once more, began his steady rhythm,
growling with satisfaction as he used her.

Each thrust made her shiver, each thrust pushed her lips against me,
pressing on my mound, sliding over my bud. I was watching her eyes,
couldn’t look away. She stared up at me helplessly, delirious
with lack of breath, the motion of the shaft inside her building a
heat that was burning away her thoughts. Black-dog was baring his
teeth, hungry, his hands gripping her hips firmly as he rocked in and
out of her, his fingers pressing cruelly into her soft skin. I felt
a sweet shock as her tongue slipped out of her mouth, sliding against
my bud. Her gasps and whimpers faded, her eyes half-closed, and
Black-dog forced moans out of her. Low and sweet, her sounds hummed
inside me. I had to grit my teeth against the pleasure.

It only got stronger. I was on my back, legs wrapped around the poor
girl’s head, one hand in her hair, the other gripping the
ground beneath me as I rode closer and closer to my finish. As I
squeezed my eyes closed and opened them again, I saw the girl in
flashes… the curve of her hips, shaking as Black-dog slammed
into her again and again; the red hand-print on her rump where he’d
slapped her; the desperate, yearning look in her eyes when I relaxed
my grip and let her look up at me, my juice shining on her beautiful
lips. I pushed her back down. I needed to feel her more.

I had been riding so close to the edge it was painful, nearly
finishing and then pulling back, the girl’s dark-curled hair
tickling my thighs, when I realized the motion had stopped. Her
cheek was pressed against me, between my legs. She was gasping for
breath, her panting hot on my skin. A shiver ran through her from
below, then through me. Black-dog had pulled away, he was standing,
facing the men around us.

“Friends,” he said, a smile on his face, “brave
companions. Share this feast with me.”

The men cheered like howling wolves, pressing toward us on all sides.
The girl’s eyes went wide as rough hands seized her from
behind, reaching in to touch her skin, her rump, her thighs, her
breasts. I shook my head to clear it, opened my mouth to protest,
but then someone was pressing her head down against my mound and big
Bors was rocking her from behind, and all I could do was groan. I’d
been so close, my finish rushed up on me like a wave as he used her,
stealing my breath, leaving me limp and warm and shaking. I lay
there, no thoughts in my mind, as they took their turns with her. I
smiled as they pulled her upright, filled her open mouth with one
cock, then another. And then she wasn’t even touching the
ground as they surrounded her, lifting and filling her, hands on her
everywhere. I saw her tense and shake as they pushed her over the
edge, heard her muffled cry as she wailed against the lips of the man
forcing a kiss on her. Then again, with another. And again. She
drowned in them, and then they raised her up, her head and shoulders
rising above the crowd like a swimmer rising from a lake. She threw
her head back, dark hair flying in the night air, and silhouetted
against the moon she screamed.

Afterward, I went to check on her. They had left her lying on her
side by the fire. Her eyes were half-open, staring at nothing.
Wetness trailed from her where they had used her, dripping and
running down to the earth. Her beautiful lips were curled in a
helpless, empty smile.

*********

The witch-girl pulled closer to Highhawk in the darkness. The fire
had burned low, orange coals giving warmth, but no light.

“That is Black-dog,” Highhawk said. “So what will
you do?”

“Give myself to him,” the witch-girl whispered, “and
take himself from him. Tomorrow night.”

“
H
ow strong is this collar?” the witch-girl
asked. “How hard would it be to get out of? For a person, I
mean.”

Howl frowned. She was young, with freckles below her eyes and her
hair in a long brown braid. She wore a simple deerhide vest and
skirt, with none of the bracelets and charms that the witch-girl
carried. She had cords, though, leashes and collars hanging from her
braided leather belt. Howl trained the dogs. She ate with them, she
played with them, she slept with them in their big furry pile outside
the cave. Most of the dogs had a favorite hunter, a man they ran
with, but they all loved Howl.

A big, shaggy hound with a black coat and a white chest shoved his
muzzle under Howl’s hand. She scratched his ears as she
thought.

The sky was red with sunset. They were sitting by Howl’s fire,
on the hillside near the cave. As dogs padded around them, snuffling
and yawning, the witch-girl examined the straps, cords, and bindings
that Howl pulled out of her bag.

“The collar is strong,” Howl said, “but the knot is
weaker. The stronger the one who ties it, the stronger the knot.
Sometimes you want a weaker knot, though, so the dog gets loose
instead of pulling you along. You are going to collar a person, make
a slave? One of the River-folk?”

“No,” said the witch-girl. She pulled a cord over her
open hand, feeling the braided leather slide over her palm. Just a
little oil would do, she thought. A little oil would make it soft,
let it glide smoothly over skin. Though it would still hurt to be
struck with it, or choked… she realized she was holding her
breath. Embarrassing.

Howl leaned closer, voice low, eyes wide. “Then who?”

The witch-girl looked up at her, pale eyes shining in the last light
of sunset. She showed her teeth in a grin. “If you do not
know, you cannot be blamed.” She gathered up the collar, and
the long leather leash. “I need these. May I have them?”

“I owe you for helping with the two difficult litters last
spring, and the sickness this summer.” Howl smiled. “And
even if I didn’t, you are the witch-girl. If you need
something, it is to help us all, yes?”

The witch-girl stood, looking down the hillside to the women’s
huts, and the lake beyond. “Yes,” she said. “For
all the tribe.” There was a warmth in her stomach, though, a
fluttering, that made her feel like a liar. It would help the tribe,
yes, but she wanted to do it. Wanted to… punish him, she told
herself. That great strength, those burning eyes and dark hair…
the need in him, that he had used those women to satisfy… she
needed to control that. She wanted him bound. She wanted to look
down and see him kneeling before her, his pride turned to devotion,
his breath hot on her thighs...

“Is it Black-dog?”

The witch-girl snapped out of her reverie, eyes on Howl once more.
Keeping her face blank, she said, “Why do you ask that?”

Howl shook her head. “I think Granny Rattlebones named him
wrong. He’s got too much wolf in him. It happens, sometimes,
with the dogs. Some won’t take a collar, won’t take
training, won’t be part of a human tribe. They stay up into
the night, staring off into the forest. Sometimes I have to let one
loose, let them run off into the woods to be what they are. If I
didn’t… they’d kill or die, never break.”

The witch-girl narrowed her eyes. “Do you think Black-dog
should leave? Run into the woods?”

“No!” Howl was flustered, not meeting the witch-girl’s
gaze. “I just think… I think it might be best to let
him be what he is. Not try to control him or say no to him.”

The witch-girl hid a smile. Witches were night people, she could see
well in little light. She could see Howl was blushing. “So
you wouldn’t say no to Black-dog, then? Wouldn’t refuse
anything he demanded?”

Howl looked down at her knees. “I think that’s…
safer,” she said.

“What if he wanted to hurt the dogs?” the witch-girl
whispered.

Howl’s head snapped up. “He wouldn’t!” she
said.

“He hurts people,” the witch-girl whispered. “He
does wicked things.”

“He hurts people,” Howl replied, voice firm. “Not
the dogs. They love him.”

And which are you, the witch-girl wondered. Are you a person, Howl,
or a dog? Would he hurt you, use you, or pet your head? Would you
beg for him, with your tongue hanging out, eager to taste him, to
work hard to please him? Eager for him to stroke your hair and call
you a good girl? The witch-girl’s hand tightened around the
leather straps.