June 30, 2006
Fiction
Bryn Under Hill
“What night is this?” Bryn said. Her maid, in a dress of green gauze, laced Bryn into a black leather bustier that squeezed her soft belly tightly and let her ample breasts spill over the top.
“Saturday,” the maid said, tying off the laces. The corsetry was so tight Bryn could scarcely breathe, but she didn’t mind; later, at the revel, the shortness of breath would make her orgasms more intense. “It’s always Saturday here, Bryn.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Bryn said. The maid, a willowy girl with hair of gold and slim, boyish hips, helped Bryn perch on the edge of a chair and combed her short black hair, clipping a ruby butterfly pin to a lock over her forehead. The maid applied dark red lipstick to Bryn’s full lips, then let her blot on a tissue.
The maid said “Open,” and Bryn parted her lips. Slipping a long, delicate finger in Bryn’s mouth, the maid said “Suck,” and Bryn closed her eyes, giving herself over entirely to the sensuality of the moment, sucking slowly on the finger, running her tongue along it, tasting the maid’s sweet skin.
“Good girl,” the maid said, pulling her finger out with an audible “pop” — Bryn had learned to suck until told to stop during her time under the hill.
The maid applied mascara, and Bryn said “Is this the kind of make-up that runs down my face when I cry?”
“No. It’s waterproof. They want you to be perfect tonight, no matter how hard you’re used.”
“Will the king be there?” Bryn asked. Thoughts of the king made her feel safe, protected, and precious. The same way being with — what was his name? — her old boyfriend had made her feel, before. “Has the king asked for me?”
“You ask too many questions tonight,” the maid said, and went to the dresser, returning with a gag — a buckled leather strap with a mouthpiece shaped like the head of a cock. She slid the gag into Bryn’s mouth, then buckled the strap behind her head, so the cock pressed hard between her lips. Bryn felt fleetingly guilty for misbehaving, then closed her eyes and sucked meditatively on the leather, imagining it was the king’s real cock, that she was kneeling before his throne of lashed branches, hands crossed properly behind her back, head bobbing up and down for his pleasure. She sighed, thinking of the king’s come filling her mouth, the warmth that slid down her throat and suffused her with well-being. After swallowing the king’s come, the lights of the hall under the hill always seemed brighter to Bryn, and the dancers more beautiful.
She sucked as the maid helped her to her feet, put high-heeled black shoes on her feet, and locked them on with tiny silver padlocks at the ankle straps. The maid reached down and ran her finger along Bryn’s freshly-shaven cunt, then slid her fingertip between the outer lips, making Bryn suck even more vigorously as she grew increasingly aroused. “Bend,” the maid said, and Bryn put her hands on the vanity, leaning over, thrusting out her ass. The mad gave her butt a hard open-handed slap, and Bryn gasped — her ass was as round and sumptuous as her breasts, and jiggled for a moment after the slap. The maid took a tube from the vanity, squeezed a dollop of lube onto her finger, and worked it into Bryn’s ass, which opened under her touch. Bryn remembered how tight she’d been when she first arrived under the hill, but daily practice had given her better control. She shivered at the cold lube and longed for something longer and warmer than the maid’s finger to slip inside her there.
The maid gave her ass another slap and said “Stand up. Can you be quiet if I take out the gag? We have visitors from Aelfheim tonight, and they’ll want to use your mouth, but I can fit you with a ring gag to keep you open but quiet if you can’t behave. Will you be good?”
Bryn thought about it — it was important to be honest with the beautiful people who let her live under the hill — and nodded. The maid unbuckled the gag and put it aside, then took a silver chain with rubber-sheathed clamps at each end from a drawer. She pinched Bryn’s nipples until they grew hard, then clipped them with the nipple clamps, bringing delicious spikes of pain. The maid let the chain dangle loose for a moment, then tugged it, hard. Bryn whimpered, trying to be quiet, and her eyes watered.
“Good,” the maid said briskly, and fastened a wide leather collar around Bryn’s neck, clipping a silver leash to the ring in front. “Remember to keep your lips parted and your eyes down. Make yourself available to any guests at the revel who wish to make use of you, in any way they choose.” Bryn nodded, hoping she wouldn’t be used as a footstool this time, as she had at the last dance. “Be especially obedient to the visitors from Aelfheim,” the maid went on. “They’ve come a long way, and they’re the guests of honor tonight. The king didn’t have you last time they visited. He told them you were a perfect human specimen, plump and pert and eager to please, so don’t disappoint them. If you’re good, I’ll have Miranda go down on you later.”
Bryn smiled. Miranda was a petite redhead and had the most talented tongue under the hill. The maid gave Bryn a last critical look, then nodded, tugged her leash, and led her out of the dim bedchamber.
•
Bryn was overwhelmed, as always, by the majesty of the hall. She vaguely recalled the day — how long ago? — when she’d taken a trip with her boyfriend to explore the caves in the hills. She’d gotten lost, separated from him — Jeff! That was his name, Jeff — and had wandered alone in the darkness, her flashlight broken, dank water dripping all around. Then the beautiful people under the hill found her, and showed her there was more than wet tunnels and bare rock; there was a world of joy and the privilege of service under the hill.
The hall was lit by torchlight and tiny flying women who trailed sparkles of light behind them. A shining dance floor of polished stone filled most of the space, with musicians — their eyes glassy, their hands deft — already playing off to one side. A waterfall tumbled down the wall into a pool on the far side of the hall, and nymphs splashed one another, naked and laughing, skin tinged blue. The king’s throne stood empty on a dais at the opposite end of the hall, a massive chair of lashed branches with brass rings dangling on the armrests. Bryn briefly hoped she’d be chained there, to wait at the throne’s feet, but of course the maid had her kneel by a low post off to one side of the dance floor, and chained her there instead. For the first many nights of her service, Bryn had been leashed for the king, and had ended each night with the taste of him on her tongue. She longed to experience that again. Perhaps if she pleased the visitors from Aelfheim, the king would reward her with his attention.
Some guests were here already, women tall and willowy like the maid, dressed in diamond cloth, sea foam, swirling clouds, or swarms of fireflies. The men wore frock coats, high boots, sometimes bits of armor, and some had delicate antlers or rounded goat’s horns rising from their fair hair. Many of the other servers, like Bryn, were leashed as well, tethered to their posts — Miranda with her cunning tongue; Isabel with her dusky skin and dark eyes; Clay with his broad shoulders, a black harness crisscrossing his chest, his cock erect and bound in loops of leather.
For a while Bryn simply knelt, waiting. She had practice at this, and her muscles didn’t bother her yet. She was thirsty, but knew she wouldn’t be given a drink for a while. The king liked to give all the servers little silver dishes of water to lap at while kneeling on the floor, as a reward if they were good.
She watched, with eyes unjaded by familiarity, as the festivities intensified. A nude server girl was coated all over with slippery oil, and group of laughing men chased her around the hall as she did her best to wriggle out of their grasps. When they caught her, three men piled onto her at once, squabbling good-naturedly about who should plow which furrow first. The girl gasped and cried as they romped on her, and Bryn felt a flush of superior pride — when she’d been oiled and chased, she’d been perfectly silent, as instructed, when the five men who took her had their pleasure.
Another girl was chained at the ankles and wrists, standing against a pillar, while some of the beautiful women took turns critiquing her skin as they lashed her with switches — the consensus was that she didn’t mark as well as they might have wished.
One of the king’s bodyguards, a huge man with curling horns emerging from his forehead, bounced a petite ball-gagged server girl up and down on his cock while he casually chatted with a man seated beside him. From this distance, Bryn couldn’t tell if he was in her ass or her cunt, and couldn’t decide which she would envy more. She ached to be used.
Suddenly, the musicians played a fanfare, and the crowd parted. The king strode in, wearing a mask of snake scales, clothed only in brown leather breeches. Bryn wriggled a little on her knees, wishing she could reach down to finger herself, but when her maid whipped her lightly on the hip with a switch, Bryn went still. The king addressed the beautiful people in their own language, which Bryn did not understand, and introduced a group of men. “The visitors from Aelfheim,” her maid whispered, and Bryn licked her lips. They were shorter than the willowy beautiful people, only a few inches taller than Bryn. Muscular and compactly built, all the men from Aelfheim had mustaches and beards in various shades of green, and they grinned merrily, seeming less aloof than the beautiful people around them.
The musicians struck up a song, and the dancers began whirling again. The men from Aelfheim wound their way through the crowd, greeting people as they approached. The maid stepped forward, bowed slightly, and said “Gentlemen, I give you Bryn.”
The eldest of the men from Aelfheim — he had white flecks in his moss-green beard — eyed Bryn and said “There’s something fit to fuck here after all! You lot usually take your own types, slender as weeds with no more hips or tits than a fencepost. I’m pleased!”
“The king thought you would enjoy her,” the maid said demurely.
“And so I shall,” he said, unbuttoning his pants to reveal a cock that came fully erect with a single stroke of his hand. Even his pubic hair was green, Bryn noted, and then remembered to cast her eyes down to the floor. “Let’s turn her over and tie up her arms,” the eldest of the men from Aelfheim said. “I’ll have that ass.”
The maid curtsied and fetched rope. Still kneeling, Bryn put her arms behind her back, grasping her own wrists, which thrust her breasts out. The eldest whistled and tugged the chain dangling from Bryn’s nipples while the maid bound her wrists. Bryn kept her expression serene, though her heart was beating faster. The eldest had the kind of casual mastery that made her wet.
The maid helped turn Bryn over, and soon she was in a position like the yoga pose called downward-facing-dog — which she’d done, sometimes, before she lived under the hill. Only now her head was turned, her cheek against the cold floor, and her arms were tied behind her, ass thrust high.
The eldest smacked her ass, then called to the maid for a wooden paddle. He beat her bottom thoroughly, and tears rose to Bryn’s eyes. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. When he tossed the paddle aside, her ass felt warm, radiating heat.
“She may need more lube,” the maid began, but the eldest said “No worry,” spat on his hand, and stroked himself. He slid into Bryn’s tight ass, smooth as a hand into a glove, and he was big, bigger than the beautiful people, bigger even than the largest plug Bryn’s maid had used to train her. Bryn’s perception of the world shrank to encompass nothing but the mingled pleasure and pain of a man with a very large cock pounding her ass in a steady rhythm. Every few thrusts, he paused to pull himself nearly all the way out and slap her ass. After a while he seized her bound arms and tugged them like a set of reins, pulling her back toward him as he thrust forward. Bryn felt dizzy, her corsetry squeezing out gasps of breath, the hot cock filling her.
“You’re too quiet,” the eldest said, sounding amused. “I’m not one of your beautiful people with a fetish for silence — squeal for me when I fuck your ass!”
And so Bryn let loose, gasping, squealing, and moaning as he fucked her, telling him how big his cock was when he demanded it, shouting “Yes!” when he asked if she liked being facedown and ass-fucked by a stranger. Finally, after her sense of time had dissolved utterly, he increased his tempo, and she felt him swell and spasm inside her, hot come spurting deep into her ass, and she gave into her own orgasm, wave after wave of pleasure so intense that it left her light-headed.
The eldest pulled out. “Mayhap we need an enema,” he said to the maid. “My men might not savor sloppy seconds.”
“No hurry,” said another man from Aelfheim, who might have been the first’s younger brother. “I want a go at her mouth. I’d have her on her knees.”
The maid pulled Bryn up, settling her into a kneeling position, then brushed sweaty stray hairs from her face and back into place. The next man from Aelfheim, his cock not as large as the eldest’s but still enough to thrill her, stepped up. “Open wide,” he said, and slid between her lips. “Don’t be lazy now,” he chided. “Work for your reward.” Bryn licked his shaft, and flicked her tongue at the head of his cock. “I’ll have some of that,” said another, stepping forward; his pubic hair was as green as new grass. “And undo her arms so she can keep herself properly busy.”
Bryn kept licking, sucking, and rubbing her cheeks against the two cocks while the maid unbound her arms. Her hands and arms had fallen asleep, and they were numb and clumsy as she reached up to grasp the cocks. She suddenly remembered something funny her boyfriend Jeff had told her, that men sometimes laid across one arm until the limb fell asleep, then masturbated with the numb hand, so it felt like someone else’s touch. He’d called that technique “The Stranger.”
Pins and needles started in her arms, and her stroking came under better control. The eldest’s come ran out of her ass, and Bryn felt wonderfully dirty and used.
“Take turns on them, darling,” the grass-green man said, and she sucked one cock, then the other, back and forth, taking each as deep as she could. “And look up at us,” he said. She did, and the one she was sucking just then pulled out and slapped her across the face hard enough to make her head turn. She understood then that it would please these men to see her cry a bit, so she let herself, and the one who’d slapped her fucked her mouth vigorously for a while, almost choking her with each stroke, while she did her best to keep a steady rhythm on the other with her hand. Bryn’s consciousness slipped down — or up — a notch, into a space where she was utterly fulfilled by being treated so roughly by the king’s friends.
“Now suck both at once,” he said, and she opened wide to accept two cocks thrust into her mouth simultaneously, rubbing against each other and against her tongue. Her jaw began to ache, but she didn’t care. She was a good server. Perhaps the king would reward her with a touch, a slap, a fuck. The men from Aelfheim finished, groaning, and the come that spilled into her mouth tasted strange, in a way that made her think of long summer afternoons, though it did not fill her with contentment the way swallowing the king’s seed did.
Bryn said back, demure, licking her lips, and clasped her hands together at her waist. The floor was hard against her knees, and she hoped they’d change her position soon. The men from Aelfheim stood together, debating in low voices how to use her next, until one said “I’d like to feel those tits squeezed about me.”
Bryn puffed her chest out, just a bit. She distantly recalled that, above the hill, she’d worried about her weight, and envied the tall, effortlessly thin girls she saw on campus, but under the hill her big breasts and round ass were much-appreciated rarities. The maid gestured for Bryn to lay on her back, and she did, gratefully. The maid spread oil on the inner slopes of Bryn’s breasts and liberally in her cleavage, brushing the nipple clamps and giving Bryn occasional shocks of sharp sensation. One of the men from Aelfheim straddled her, laying his cock between her tits, and tugged the nipple chain hard. “Squeeze me,” he said, and she pressed her breasts together, enfolding him, loving his weight on her body. He rocked and thrust, grunting, tugging at her chain harder and harder as he fucked her tits, until one of the clamps popped free. She let herself cry out at the pain, suspecting the man would like that. He tugged the chain until pulling the other clamp off, then tossed them aside. He kept fucking her, and she bent up her head so she could stick out her tongue and let the head of his cock touch it on each stroke, a bit of initiative that earned her a growled. “That’s a good bitch” and a glow of pride. Then someone grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs straight up until her knees touched the back of the man fucking her tits. Another cock slid into her cunt, and the unseen stranger using her pussy made her feel entirely satisfied, her last unused hole filled, and she knew she was altogether beautiful and precious, a gift so fine the king gave her to his most honored guests.
The men finished at almost the same time, coming on her chest and in her cunt, then climbed off, leaving her mussed and sated.
“Give her a drink,” the eldest said, and the maid set a bowl of water by her head. The eldest took her leash and held it while Bryn struggled to all fours and bowed her head to lap at the water. Above her, the maid said “Are you done with her?” and the eldest said “Darling, the night is young, and the six of us generally like to have a go all together, one cock in each of her hands, one in her cunt, one in her ass, and two more taking turns at her mouth. We’ll have a round of drinks, you wipe her down and fix her makeup, and we’ll set her up again. Maybe a costume change is in order. Perhaps one of those cunning harnesses of leather straps, with lots of o-rings to —”
“Bryn!” shouted a voice that was both familiar and out of place. She turned her head and was utterly bewildered by what she saw. It was her old boyfriend Jeff, in torn jeans and a dirty coat, his hair sticking up wildly, his eyes wide. He shouldn’t be here. It was like seeing a fish fly through the sky. Like seeing the sun plucked and placed in a vase for decoration. It just didn’t make sense.
“A party crasher!” the eldest said. “I hope you’re a poet or a piper, boy, or you may have to earn your keep with your ass!” The other men from Aelfheim laughed. Jeff rushed toward Bryn, who began to stand, until the maid lashed her on the ass with her switch; Bryn remembered herself and went back down on her knees.
The king’s bodyguards seized Jeff by either arm, and the king rose and strode over. The musicians were silent, and Bryn blinked, bewildered. What was this? What was happening? Was this partly a dream? Which part?
“Let her go,” Jeff said, staring at the king as if they were equals. The king removed his mask and cocked his head. Bryn noticed that Jeff and the king were exactly the same height. Looking at them both at once made her eyes water.
“She came to our revels, and ate, and drank, and joined our dance,” the king said calmly. “She is ours, and you have no claim on her.”
“I know the rules now,” Jeff said. “You have to accept my challenge. You have to let me win her back somehow.”
“Rules,” the eldest snorted, but the others were silent.
“Here’s a wager, then,” the king said. “You have the length of the next song to convince Bryn to go with you. We will not interfere.” He gestured, and the guards released Jeff. The musicians struck up a song. Dancing began, and the chuckling men from Aelfheim followed the king away. The maid tsked, and left as well.
Jeff knelt by her. “Bryn, come on, hurry. I was able to get here, during the new moon, but time is funny in this place, and the door could close.”
“Go? Go where?” Bryn said. She looked past him, to where the king sat on his throne. Twin girls with honey-brown skin were chained to his throne, and one sucked on his balls while the other suckled the head of his cock. They gazed up at him with adoration, and he touched their heads tenderly, though he was looking at Bryn. She was unspeakably jealous. Why wouldn’t the king use her?
“Bryn,” Jeff said, snapping his fingers under her nose. “Listen, you’re bewitched or something, it’s like in the fairy stories, like Rip van Winkle, you got lost at a fairy revel but I found you. I can take you back. You have to remember.”
“I remember the first time I knelt for the king,” she said dreamily, gazing at him on his throne. “I was lost, confused, and he put himself in my mouth, and stroked my cheek, and when he came, I swallowed it all, and I wasn’t afraid anymore, and everything was beautiful. They gave me my own room, my own maid to tend me, and pretty things. They let me be useful.”
“Please, Bryn, please,” Jeff said, his voice helpless. “We had a life. You were in school, we were going to move to New York when you graduated, don’t you remember?”
Bryn didn’t answer, and he stood up. The king was still watching them, amused, and Bryn had an idea. The king didn’t like Jeff, that much was clear. Maybe she could use Jeff to make the king jealous. She reached up and unbuckled Jeff’s belt. He grabbed her hands. “Bryn!”
She looked up at him, all innocence. “Didn’t I used to kneel for you? I think it might help me remember.”
He hesitated, frowning, and she said. “Please? It might help. Don’t you want me? Aren’t I pretty?” He let her hands go, still frowning. She tugged open his pants and pulled his underwear down. His flaccid cock lolled out, and she was startled for a moment — under the hill, dicks were almost always hard, or else they got that way quickly. But she stroked him, and cupped his balls, and there was something pleasant and familiar about the smell of his sweat and his body. He grew hard in her hands, and she glanced at the king. He leaned forward in his throne, staring, his twin cocksuckers kneeling with pouty expressions, unused for now.
Encouraged by the king’s attention, Bryn took Jeff’s cock in her mouth — smaller than the king’s, but suddenly, shockingly familiar, something she’d tasted countless times before. He likes pushing it against the inside of my cheek, she remembered, and turned her head so his dick could press her that way, and it was familiar, and good. She caressed his balls, and he seized her shoulders, yes, that was right, he had no staying power when she went down on him, he said it was the hottest thing in the world, and his old familiar taste filled her, not quite pleasant because he ate too much red meat, but it was hers, he was hers, and she was his —
She didn’t even want to look at the king again, but when she did, he was gone, as was the whole hall. She knelt before Jeff in the grass on a hill under a dark sky. “I remember,” she said.
Jeff knelt and wrapped her in his coat, weeping and whispering, and she let him embrace her. She did remember her old life. But her time under the hill was not forgotten. And Bryn was afraid it had . . . changed her. She had developed certain tastes at the revels. Jeff had never even smacked her bottom playfully, had never shown any interest in leather or metal or rope. Would he be willing to watch other men fuck her mouth? To put a leash on her, paddle her, call her names, make her beg for permission to come, all the games the king and his beautiful people had taught her? She had been bewitched, but not everything she’d done under the hill had required coercion. Sex would not be all her life now, nor service, but if that world didn’t meet her halfway in this one, she would be tempted to return to the revel under the hill. What if she could never find it again?
“Let me take that collar off you,” Jeff said.
“No,” she said, touching the leather at her throat. “It’s okay. Leave it for now.”
He frowned. “Okay. Whatever you want, Bryn.”
“Exactly,” she replied. If Jeff didn’t want to learn the games she’d played under the hill, and she couldn’t find her way back to the land of the beautiful people, she would figure something out. There was always the internet, after all. She thought she might enjoy being the mistress of her own revels, in time.
• • •
recently relocated from the mountains of North Carolina to the central coast of California, where he enjoys sitting on cliffs and watching the ocean, though he has yet to see a surfer get eaten by a shark. He has a story upcoming in next year’s Best American Erotica.
