Chapter 11

"Well are you trying to steal my man, you little hussy?" Nesho's raised eyebrows and smiling lips took the sting out of her words.

"Ha! As if I could," Sosho retorted. "Claims he's in love with you and wants to live with you the rest of his life. I'm not sure there's much room in there for me."

"Well that's good to hear, all of it. But truth be told, you can't steal something that's already yours. And you're wrong you know: there is room for you, is, was and will be." Nesho waved her hand as if waving off something unimportant, "And I don't mean the sex although I do hope you allow this poor old woman a little fun before you take him from me. But really we are family; we're all we have left and we have to watch out for each other."

"I know we are and that makes me feel good," Sosho grinned at her mother. "Besides I haven't decided if I want him that way yet. Who knows? if I turn out to enjoy it as much as you do, he may be used up in just a week or two."

"I think you underestimate the stamina of our young bull. He came three times last night and I think he could have gone again this morning if we had had time."

"Three times!" Sosho gasped, "I thought you said two times!"

"No," Nesho smirked, "I said we made love two times, he came once before we even really got started. Like I said, don't underestimate him. He is a perfect physical specimen in his prime. I don't think he would have any problem servicing a whole stable of mares if he so desired."

"Do you think he would?"

Nesho shrugged, "I don't think so, but then I intend to keep him well satisfied right here. No sense in tempting fate."

The afternoon practice didn't go quite as smoothly as the morning had. It was clear from the day before that the two morning squads had the better-trained fighters, more willing to fight with this new technique. The Fourth squad just didn't want to fight as a unit. Squad Three was doing a fair job -- not good but fair -- but the ten men in Squad Four were simply impossible to work with. They were surly, lazy, vindictive and when shown a new technique would invariably do the opposite. Not only was it painful to try to teach them but Dent knew they couldn't be relied on if it came to battle.

He wasn't all that surprised. Most of the men in that unit could be seen hanging around with the likes of Seaman Garth. Like to like, he thought. He wasn't sure if they were truly hopeless but they were interfering with the training of the Third Squad and he would rather have one trained unit and the other untrained than two half-trained, so he used them as training dummies. They were the ones who were always the enemy either defending or attacking. For some reason they never questioned this differential treatment, just like they never seemed to realize it was their side that always lost these mock battles.

Every once in a while Dent would look up at the pilot bridge and see Captain Vel, the Bo'sun or Pilot Seth looking down at them. He hadn't really noticed it in the morning session, but then the two morning squads demanded his full attention. He hardly noticed the close scrutiny. Every day of his life at the academy had been spent under close and harsh examination. Every move he made was reviewed and analyzed, mistakes revealed and corrections made. It was to be expected in a profession where each battle was a final exam and failure was probable death. Still their eyes seemed to bore holes in the back of his neck.

After the session was finished he washed up and headed back down to their cabin hoping to see Nesho, or Sosho at least, but the cabin was empty. There was a fresh change of clothing lying on the bunk and he silently thanked them as he shrugged off the soiled and donned the clean. With nothing else to hold him there he decided to walk the deck waiting for the proper time to arrive at the wardroom.

As he passed through the berthing compartment he was greeted by a few hails, most seeming to come from members of the First and Second squads since they had just come off watch. Some were just general greetings and some were rather more ribald requests to keep the screaming women under control during the night. Reddening slightly, he just waved and smiled as he continued topside.

Once up on deck he wandered aft where he watched a group of sailors tending lines and making minor repairs to the ships woodwork. At five-six bells he was outside the open wardroom door knocking on the bulkhead. He could see all the other officers were already there although not all were yet seated. Captain Vel turned with a scowl and waved him in.

"No need for that nonsense," he said. "For now this is your mess for eve meal. We have many things we wish to discuss with you, Armsman, and now is the best time for us. Now get in here and sit down. We're about to serve."

The meal was reasonably pleasant but like the Captain had alluded to, there were many questions, most dealing with the training of the boarding parties. The Bo'sun couldn't understand why they were being split into pairs, or even squads for that matter. In the past they had attacked as a mob and generally overran the enemy. Good enough then, good enough now. Without becoming too argumentative -- he might as well argue with the wind -- Dent proposed a demonstration of their new techniques in three of four days.

"I think I can better show you rather that explain what I'm trying to do," he said. "It would be nice if we could get all the boarding parties together, though."

"Easily done," said Captain Vel. "It's been long enough since we had a real battle-stations drill. We'll do that and you can have all your boarders together. Now, what I want to know is how they're coming along?" From there he launched into a series of questions that demonstrated he knew much more about what was going on then Dent had expected, especially where it concerned the Fourth Squad.

"Captain, I don't know if I can train this particular group to fight the way they should." He looked over at the Bo'sun and nodded his way. "At least the way I think they should. They don't respect me, which I can understand and they don't respect what I am teaching them, which I don't understand. It should be obvious even to the blind by now that those using my techniques continuously defeat those fighting as individuals. It just doesn't make sense." He slumped in his seat frowning.

"May it be they just don't believe your little tricks will work in battle?" the Bo'sun said snidely.

"I'm certain you're correct," Dent sighed, "and partly they are correct. Practice isn't battle, but I have no doubt that if they can learn to fight together and not as individuals they will be much more effective. I'm just afraid it may take a battle to prove it and if it comes to that too many of them will pay for that ignorance with their lives."

"Ah well, it may come to that sooner than you expect," mused Vel. When Dent perked up and looked at him expectantly he continued, "Well it's no secret that Malshall has at least one of its naval vessels standing to somewhere outside of Harv'el. They're doing the same thing we're paid to do: disrupt shipping. If they see us with Pinya they may well try to take her back and that we can't allow."

"Malshallian navy in these waters? Wouldn't that be an act of war? One of their own vessels attacking Jeevelian shipping?"

"No more so then us attacking theirs," Vel shrugged. "Both sides pretend they aren't really doing it to hurt the other. Malshall says they're after pirates and Jeevel disavows any knowledge of what we do on the high seas. A thin fiction, but so long as both sides agree, it prevents open warfare."

Dent was skeptical but was very interested in the Malshallian ships. What size crew, how many fighters, trained solders or fighting seamen? Unfortunately little was known since those factors varied widely depending on the ship itself. Generally it seemed any Malshallian vessel would probably be of a size and manned very similarly to the Death Grip, or at least what the Death Grip would have had before the prize crew was put aboard the Pinya. So in any match up Death Grip would probably be out-manned by at least twenty-five percent. Not insurmountable, mused Dent, especially if one was on the defense instead of the attacker.

"I thought ye said ye would always be the attacker?" asked Seth. "Didn't ye say ye would have always send boarders to the other ship?"

"Well I've been taught to never say always," Dent replied. "Usually the best defense is a good offense, but that doesn't mean you don't let your enemy bash himself against good solid defendable walls every once in a while."

Some small talk about tactics and boarding strategy continued until the meeting started to break up. As he got up to leave, Captain Vel waved Dent over to him.

"I been hearing good things about them women of yours," he said. "They're making themselves useful. Pity you will probably have to sell one when we get to Harv'el. Be tough to decide, that's for sure. Both are lookers, but you'll probably get more for the younger."

"Why would I sell either one of them?" Dent asked, his stomach knotting up into painful stitches at the words.

"Well the port tax on a slave is one gold," Vel said. "A bit steep, but the Putram's been losing plenty to Malshall and smugglers. Just bring them in elsewhere with forged tattoos and he don't get his head tax. But the tattoo would cost you another silver-- two golds and two silvers. You got that kind of money?"

"We have some in the trunks in the Pinya," Dent answered knowing it was nowhere near two and two. "And I was thinking of using salidin instead of tattoos."

"Hmm, I can understand why you'd want to do that -- save their pretty faces -- although you get used to the marks quick enough. Still salidin cost at least another gold and you need one of the O'Tech priests to put them on. Might run you as much as five, six gold before it's all done.

"Funny thing is a nice little slave like your young one could fetch ten, maybe eleven gold on the market but with salidin, it could be half that. Well maybe more if you found the right buyer, but that may take some time. Bound slaves like that aren't easy to transfer; reduces their value to most. Now with the right buyer you could maybe get twenty or even thirty but that might take time you don't have."

It was a very subdued young warrior that returned back to his space that evening.

All the way from the wardroom to their cabin Dent's brain was spinning from one possible scenario to another; the only one that he didn't even think about was actually selling one of his family. He would die first, he decided. Actually that had been decided long ago but now it was getting close to reality.

Still in a daze he stumbled into their cabin -- there wasn't even a candle stub burning this evening -- banging into the locker.

"Who's there?" he heard coming from the direction of the bunks. He was pretty sure it was Nesho although the two of them had even started to sound alike lately.

"It's me," he whispered as he started to remove his clothes, folding them carefully and setting them on the locker by touch alone.

"Well, Me, you'd better leave before my husband gets home. He's a fine big warrior and doesn't appreciate other men warming his bed."

"Ha!" Dent chuckled. "If he isn't in there right now then he can't be very smart. Maybe I'll just crawl in there and warm myself up since he isn't." By this time he was in only small clothes feeling his way over to the bunks. He thought, but wasn't sure, he heard a giggle from somewhere above his head, about where Sosho should be.

"On your head be it then," the voice almost purred. "Be warned though once in here you may never be able to leave."

"I'll take that chance," he said lifting the blanket and slipping under it. Immediately he was confronted by a very warm, very naked woman whose hands seemed to be everywhere on him at once. His worry of the past moment was completely subdued by the fire ignited in his loins. Finally they settled for pushing down his small clothes until her foot could hook them and push them completely off.

Mouth found mouth in the dark and the pace of their lovemaking slowed somewhat while tongues intertwined and battled, each savoring the taste of the other. Breaking away, Dent resisted Nesho's attempts to bring their lips back together. He ignored her slight grunt of disappointment as he began to kiss and nibble his way down her throat, over her chest where he began to lick the magnificent globes of her breasts.

Her earlier disappointment quickly turned to small gasps of pleasure as he licked every inch of both mounds and then very lightly grasped one nipple with his teeth and started to gently pull. Her hands went to the back of his head, fingers weaving into his hair and she suddenly pulled him hard into her breast. Afraid he was going to bite her he opened his mouth, releasing the small nub allowing the entire nipple and surrounding areola to be forced into his mouth, precisely what she wanted. Accepting her desire he began to gently suckle as he had at her sister's breast years ago, this time for mutual pleasure rather than nourishment. Grinding her teeth together Nesho struggled to keep her moans of pleasure quiet while her lover sucked and nipped one nipple then the other. Feeling the blinding need to have him inside her she vainly tried to pull him up and on top, whimpering with her need for release. Dent had other ideas.

Releasing her nipple, he slowly worked his way down her flat belly, stopping momentarily at her navel, sticking his tongue into the small indenture while she thrashed and whimpered beneath him. Continuing downward his lips soon met the downy softness of her pubic hair as he licked and kissed his way to his ultimate destination.

Drawing her knees up and throwing her legs as wide apart as possible Nesho endured the most exquisite torture she had ever known. She literally shook with desire, lips pulled back in a grimace of almost painful need. When his tongue finally traced the soft folds of her outer lips she was dripping with the physical manifestation of her lust. As his tongue slowly parted those lips and delved into the moist passageway, she exploded with an orgasm that flooded her entire body with a burning pleasure so intense she was sure she would faint at any second. Even then he continued licking, lapping at her portal like a dog straining to retrieve every speck of food from his bowl. This constant assault produced a multitude of mini-orgasms like the aftershocks of a giant earthquake, nowhere near as intense but leaving her unable to move or even speak coherently.

For Dent it was as if he had stuck his tongue into a fountain of liquid sugar. He was sure he had found the mythical nectar of the gods. The heady musk scent combined with the exquisite taste of the juices streaming from her cunt produced a burning sensation that enveloped his entire body. At first he thought he could lay there and worship at her altar forever but he soon found that impossible. His cock was painfully hard and the pressure in his balls demanded he find some kind of relief. He wasn't very experienced at sex yet but instinct is a powerful master and just as any rutting dog or lust-maddened bull knows what is required so did he.

Nesho felt him move. First there was the absence of his wonderful tongue leaving her feeling empty but that small frustration was overwhelmed by the knowledge that her stallion would soon be possessing her in an even more satisfactory manner. He positioned himself between her legs and she trembled as she felt his thighs press against hers wishing it weren't so dark so she might look up into his eyes as he took her. Moving her hands down across his stomach she could feel every muscle until they met his cock as it jutted out and away from his body. Her breath quickened as she imagined what he looked like rising up above her, her magnificent stallion preparing to mount his mare. That she was his wasn't even a question in her mind.

Regardless of what that vile captain said or the equally vile but distant Putram Jeevel said or did, he owned her like no one else had or ever would. Not only was it her pleasure to accept him within, it was her duty, her honor. He was her master, her god and she worshiped at his altar, this living manifestation of his love and desire for her. Tugging at him eagerly, now demanding that he slake her terrible need, she pulled the bulbous head of his cock towards her spread and wetly glistening cunt. Following her unsaid command he allowed her to guide until the spongy head of his rod lay flush against her. Then he took control and she reluctantly released her hand as he began to move his hips forward. Slowly, inch by inch he sunk into her until his balls rested on her ass. There was no pain this time; she was very ready, too well prepared. His entrance was that of a knife finding it's fitted sheath, a hand in a glove, they fit together perfectly as they both remained motionless experiencing the exquisite feelings of the mating.

But instinct could be denied only so long. Finally he began to move, pulling out a short distance and plunging back in to his full depth. Out a little farther then back in. Again and again, each time the stroke was a little longer, the return a little deeper, until finally he was withdrawing to where just the head remained in her channel before thrusting deep within. Reaching up she grabbed him by the shoulders and drew him down to her, arms rounding behind his back hugging him as tightly as her strength allowed. Her universe narrowed to the thrusting cock servicing her, becoming her entire reason for being. She was alive for only one reason: to match his half of their pair, to receive his seed, to be the moon for his sun.