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Weyrwoman with Something to Hide
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Joined: Sept 2007
Posts: 159
Location: Under the bed. Litteraly.
Karma: 3 |  | Rider Initiation
« Thread Started on Dec 11, 2007, 1:31am » | |
A warning before you read: This is a graphic tale, one I am not proud of writing, but it will clarify some things. If you are offended by nudity of any kind, or of any kind of intimate setting, I suggest you read no further. This is not a happy story.
Kolara's Story - Initiation
The night was calm. The twin moons slowly ascended over the Rim, casting their silvery glow across the Bowl, lighting on sleeping dragons, covering them with a soft radiance. One such dragon, barely old enough to be considered a fighting dragon, was Keylenth. A deep breath in, a large sigh out. A wing twitched while she dreamed, the silver moons making her golden hide glow with something ethereal. Shifting her head to a more comfortable position, Keylenth fell deeper into sleep, sighing as she did so.
All this Kolara watched from the Bowl looking up. She watched her dragon, longing to be on the high ledge with her, to caress the golden hide, smooth with a fresh oiling. How she longed to be there, sleeping in the crook of Key’s arms, or leaning against her flank, protected from the elements by a golden wing. But that was not to be, for she had another assignment this night, the fourth this week. It was starting to affect her daytime performance, these nightly excursions.
But she did not speak against them. The last time she did that…Kol shuddered at the memory, banishing that beating to the back of her mind. It too had been while Key slept, unable to feel her rider’s pain and distress. Kol suspected there was some ulterior reason for these midnight chores, but she had no idea how painful they would be.
She had just entered the tunnels of the Lower Caverns, wanting to grab a glow basket before she went off and continued to search through molding Records again. What she was looking was beyond Kol. She had always been sent there as a Weyrling, searching for something. Why not continue the duty when they had more reason? Junior Weyrwomen always worked the Records, keeping tallies, copying, and the like. It made no sense, and Kol would have spoken against it, had that will not been beaten out of her within weeks after Impressing. The Fort Weyrleaders wanted no one questioning their leadership, and that included from the domestic leaders of the Weyr, the Junior Weyrwomen.
Not half a length into the Caverns, Kol jumped at the sound of something behind her. She had taken to jumping of late. It let her get away and spin to see whatever the threat was quickly. It worked then as well, but not as well as she’d like. With a strangled cry, she found herself pinned to the wall, a hand holding her at the base of her throat, threatening to cut off her air, but not quite, not yet. Pure unadulterated fear kept her from screaming, from calling for help. No one would come to her aid anyway. All she could do then, pinned by hands, arms, and a body taller than her own, all she could do then was quake under the iron hands and hips holding her roughly against the stone.
What had she done wrong this time, was the first thought that ran through her head. That was followed quickly by, who was this rider? What is happening, quickly followed that with barely a pause for breath. The sound and feel of this rider’s harsh breath against her skin sent shivers down Kol’s spine, but she was helpless in his grip. She could do nothing to defend herself. Desperately, she tried to wake her dragon, to have her call for help, but the queen was too mired in her sleep, the day having been a rough one on both rider and dragon.
And it was about to get rougher.
A startled gasp broke from Kol’s throat as the rider bent his neck to kiss the flesh of her own, his lips persistent and forceful, giving no quarter to the young queenrider. She searched mentally for her dragon once more, but a sharp pain on her neck brought her forcibly back to the present. Bleeding from the small bite, Kol stood stock still, frozen with fear. So this was it, the rumored Weyrling initiation. She’d heard stories, rumors, and she thought they had been just that, rumors. But they were true. They were all too true. With a startled sob, Kol cried out softly as she was taken from the wall and thrown to the floor. In an effort to defend herself, Kol slid back to a wall, thinking the solid stone would give her some sort of support, and this strange rider could only attack from one side. Her ploy would have worked too.
If the rider were weaker than she.
As it stood, this rider, this hulk of a man, slowly sidled over to her, towering above her as he stared down. In the flickering glow light from down the hall, she could see the profile of his face, the hard line of his jaw, the color of his knots: bronze. Kol tried to bury herself into the wall, pushing on the stone floor with her legs, trying to be anywhere but there.
It was then, looking up in horror and fear that she noticed the others in the dim glow light. All of them were men. All of them were riders. All of them rode bronze. As the first man towered over her, the others drew near, blocking any escape she would have had. But she couldn’t have taken it any way. Fear froze her veins, froze her muscles, froze her throat. She could not scream had she wanted to, had she had the breath to. Green eyes wide and shining, Kolara tried to push herself away, but the well placed body of another bronzerider blocked that exit. She tried the other way, a chuckle reaching her ears from the riders above her. She was trapped. She knew it. They knew it.
She was at their mercy.
With a grunt, Kol was dragged upwards by her shirt collar, the grip of the hand holding her choking her slightly. She clawed at the wall behind her, her feet no longer supporting her. One hand reached up to claw at the hand holding her neck, to try and pry it off. She was met with quiet laughter, cruel laughter as she failed. Spots danced before her eyes and her lungs burned with lack of air. She gasped, trying to breathe, her eyes rolling back. The last thing she heard before she passed out was, “Welcome to initiation, goldrider.”
~~~~~~~~~
Kolara awoke with a start. Her eyes darting open, she tried to lay as still as possible, but the quivering of her skin gave her away to those around her. That, and her sharp intake of breath, her thirst for air. She was conscious.
Trying to remain calm in her circumstances, she took a count of what was around her. She could hear the breathing of others, so she was not alone. She looked around her, trying to see in the half-darkness of the room, lit by one glow. It was a storeroom by the look of the shelves, the smell of herbs. She tried to remain as still as possible, but slow, deliberate footsteps caused her to freeze, her muscles to tighten into stiff cords.
A hand, delicate and light, lit upon one bare shoulder. She could not hide the flinch that hand drew from her. Yes, she was awake. The pressure increased, and with a cry of fear and startlement, Kol was forced to her back, to face the ceiling, staring at the silhouetted face of the bronzerider. He had her pinned, his hips on her stomach, hands holding her wrists above her head. It had happened so fast, Kol had not even had time to scream for help. She had been curled, protecting what part of her skin she could, and then she was on her back, trapped by the tall bronzerider.
His breathing was harsh, but not as harsh as Kol’s. Yes, she knew what was coming, knew that the rumors were true. And because of it, she feared what was coming. She wondered if it would hurt, this initiation. From the rumors, it would, would dearly. She noticed to her horror that the riders had stripped her bare, leaving her exposed to anything they tried. She heard the others, shuffling in the background, awaiting their turn at her, anxiously awaiting their turn with her flesh.
Kol tried to shift away, to push from under this rider pinning her with hip and hand. But it was of no use. She was firmly and inexorably trapped beneath this bronzerider. A slight breeze met her skin, but she doubted it was real. She knew her reaction for what it was, the shiver up her spine, across her skin, raising the hair on her neck. It was fear. Pure and simple fear. And she was right to be afraid.
Without a word, the bronzerider atop her shifted, moved back to straddle her thighs. He was in a weaker position, still holding her hands to the floor above her head, but Kol was not strong enough to break his grip. But he was strong enough to hold her with one hand, his other hovering in the air above her, moving slowly. Kol’s eyes followed this hand as it moved, hovering over her skin as it trailed downwards, wide, her chest heaving in its desperation for air. He touched her then, a light brush against her skin.
Sending fire through her veins.
Had she the breath, she would have cried out. Had she the strength, she would have bucked. Had she the will, she would have spat in his face. But she had none of these things. All she could do was shiver and turn her head away from his touch, the hand lingering against her cheek. It touched her again, on her neck, and for one panicked moment, Kol thought it would latch around her throat, driving her into unconsciousness once more. But it did not, and Kolara did not know which alternative would have been easier. She resisted against the touch as much as she could, but they had put her through a grueling, long, tiring day. She simply did not have the energy for defiance.
The hand touching her roved down the length of her torso and back up, stretching Kol’s fear to the limit, drawing out the torture of waiting. His pressure became firmer, insistent in the rider’s needs. She could feel him hardening as he sat atop her thighs. The hand, this time no longer traveling up and down, remained against the side of her chest, on her ribcage. Kol turned her head away, not wanting to see the hand defile her virgin flesh. She was not disappointed. As the free hand moved to cradle her neck, almost tenderly, the rider bent himself down to kiss the sensitive flesh of her chest.
Kolara gasped at the contact, so new, so different, so repulsive. She tried to break away, but his teeth changed her mind for her. Holding back tears, Kolara closed her eyes, trying to imagine herself someplace else, as if she too could transfer Between with a mere thought. But it was not to be. She was perfectly conscious when the rider raised his head once more, lips hovering a hair’s breadth from her skin, moving up to her neck.
It was then that he shifted. Both hands moved to grab her wrists. In the moment that their grip shifted, Kol tried to break her hands free. She managed to sit up against him as well, hoping to push him off. She was rewarded with a chuckle and a hard push back to the floor. She grunted as her head hit the stone, his hands reclaiming her wrists, bruising them with their force. He drew her arms to the side, holding them to the side easily. He let go of one, but Kol knew not to try and defend herself. It would only be worse for her if she did. The bronzerider smiled when she did not move upon the release of her arm. He chuckled darkly and slid the hand down her body once more, causing her back to arch and her eyes to roll back with the fear and electricity of the touch.
Kolara could not suppress a moan as the hand roved to her thigh, applying a slight pressure. It was worse when it moved slowly inward, drawing out her fear with every second. And then it was there, burying into her. Kol cried out loud, gasping for air, chest heaving as the hand explored her most sacred of places. Her eyes wide and unfocused, she stared through the stone above her, tears misting her vision. She could feel every minute movement he made, every tiny shift, every painful touch.
"Please," she managed to gasp, eyes finding his, light with fear and pain. "Pleas stop." Already her voice was hoarse and clenched, caused by the slow, steady movements of his hand in her. He chuckled at her reaction, retracting his hand mercifully. But her respite was not long, for as the hand withdrew and she tried to hold her legs together, another thing replaced it. She was powerless as the bronzerider’s knee slid between her thighs, prying them forcibly apart. Kol closed her eyes then with a tortured moan, desperately trying to flee to some corner of her mind so she did not have to feel this. The first feel of his flesh on hers drew her back to the living nightmare, a cry escaping her clenched throat, drawing laughter from the watching riders.
Then Keylenth woke. The extreme pain from the bronzerider coupled with her rider’s fear managed to break through at last. With a small bugle, the gold looked for her rider. When she could not be found, Keylenth called out mentally.
Kol’Mine! she cried, eyes whirling yellow and orange with worry, a mix of white for fear melding there as well. Kolar’Mine! Where are you? You are hurt!
Kol could not respond, not even mentally. The bronzerider pinning her had a hold of her body as well as her mind as he ravaged her.
Don’t worry! I’m coming! Key raised herself from her ledge, trying to pinpoint the location of her rider’s mind.
No! Kolara managed to call to her gold, if only weekly. She screamed again as the rider atop her bit deep within her. They’ll kill you! Kol grunted with pain, closing her eyes, trying to ignore what they were doing to her body.
What is happening, ‘Mine? Key asked, worry and fear tingeing her voice, dulling her hide. I feel strange… Kol knew instantly that her…experience with these bronzeriders was having an adverse effect on her queen. There was a reason Weyrlings were forbidden intimate acts. Seemed these riders didn’t care how this…rape would scar a young queen.
No! Keylenth! Kolara called hoarsely, even in her mind. Stay there! Ignore me! They’ll kill you if you come! Of that Kolara had no doubt. There was no mercy given in Fort. None.
But…Kolara…
Shut me out Key! She hated to say it, to demand her dragon ignore her pain, her torture, but it must be done. Kol would never let her dragon experience this kind of pain, these emotions, not before she was ready. Kolara felt as Keylenth withdrew her mind, set a barrier between them. It was at that precise moment that her body went limp in weariness. It was the same moment a hoarse cry was torn from her throat as she felt something break within her. It was at that exact moment when Kolara passed out, mercifully falling into the depths.
~~~~~~~~~~
Kolara’s night continued much like the first bronzerider though with different variations. Some were crueler, forcing her into acts of submission or awkward, painful positions. Some were almost gentle, as if this were a break from their weyrmate for them, someone new. But all were rough, clawing, biting, bruising her flesh. None headed her pleas for mercy, and each time she passed out, either from pain or lack of air, she was awoken by a slap or splash of water. And she would live through another rider, always distanced from her dragon, alone in her pain. She told herself it was better this way, that Keylenth should not have to know, that the gold would only suffer for it. Too bad it did nothing for the pain.
She was awoken again, a slap this time. She was curled upon herself, shivering as she regained consciousness, eyes wide with fear and glazed with pain. She did not want to know how many bruises she had, how they covered her body in black and blue and purple. Purple. What an appropriate color for the occasion. Too bad this was no mating Flight. It would have almost been better that way. Then the riders would have had some excuse for their brutality. As it stood, they simply leered at her, chuckling and slapping each other on the backs for a job well done. If their job had been to scar a virgin girl, steel from her every shred of innocence, then it was a job very well done. Kol tried to cover herself with what was at hand. It wasn’t much.
A rider’s knee focused in her bleary vision, kneeling beside her head.
“Welcome to the ranks, girl,” his voice said, though Kol could not recognize it in her exhausted and pain-filled daze. Kol tried to look up, to see his face, so she could know who her assailant was. But her vision would not cooperate. Her head felt too heavy, her eyes to watered. She tried to sit up, groaning inwardly with the effort. A light touch from the bronzerider was all that was needed to send Kol to her back again, panting with the effort. The knee left her vision, and for one horrified moment, she thought the pain would come again, that he would enter her once more. She closed her eyes, awaiting the touch of skin, the feel of hot breath passing over her body, sending chills up her spine.
But nothing came.
She heard the sound of a door open on squeaking hinges, of booted feet tramping through the halls, of laughter. Were they leaving? Were they actually leaving? Kol flinched when she felt something fall on her bare and shaking form. But when it did not move, did not attempt to penetrate her, she dared to look up.
A blanket. A woolen shirt.
They had some decency, then.
Kol laid back down, knowing she would never make it to her weyr in her state, and drew the blanket over herself, hugging it to her. She shivered into it, not even caring that blood, her blood, still marred parts of her skin. She used the shirt for her head, to lay it on something besides the cold floor. She shivered anyway, curled upon herself in defense and for warmth.
Footsteps froze her body, too tense to quaver with fear. She felt rather than heard the unknown presence kneel down behind her. She stared straight ahead, praying that he would leave her in peace, leave her to lick her wounds, to gather what remained of her sanity. But he would not. Instead, she felt arms slip under her, pick her from the cold stone. She cried out at first, tried to struggle. Whoever was holding her was stronger than she. Kol bet a new-born wherry was stronger than she at that moment.
“Shhh,” came a voice to her ear, a familiar voice though Kol could not place it. “You’ll be all right,” it said softly, shifting Kol to a more comfortable position. The voice was soothing, low and calm. Feminine, though too deep to be a woman’s. A greenrider then. The Weyrhealer. Kolara relaxed into A’san’s arms, fighting the exhausted tears that threatened to break through her eyes. The Healer carried her out of the Lower Caverns. He did not use the main tunnels to get to the Infirmary, did not even exit into the Bowl. Kol was hardly covered let alone dressed for public, even if it was still dark. Yet it was not other riders Kol worried about. It was bronzeriders. And her own dragon. If Keylenth spotted her then, there would be no hiding her torture from the queen; Kol was too weak to resist anything. And all her protection, her driving her dragon from her mind would be for naught.
Kol didn’t notice as A’san set her gently onto a bed covered in the white sheet and purple blanket typical to the Infirmary, did not notice as he used warm, moist cloths to clean the dirt, sweat, and blood from her skin, did not notice as he covered her bruises in numbweed and bandaged the cuts, scrapes, and friction burns from the skin to skin contact and the stone floor. She noticed nothing. For as A’san set her gently upon the bed, still bare of anything save the bruises covering her skin, she had already fallen into an exhausted sleep. She was too week to resist.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, Kol stole away from the Infirmary, feeling every bruise and welt across the length of her body. Shrouded in the blanket from the bed, she covered herself from the light so no one she passed would see her coloring skin. Just then, she drew the blanket over her dirtied hair, pulling it low over her face to hide the bruises there as well. Not that she came across anyone. She had not slept for long. The sun barely peaking over the Rim, she stole away to her weyr and packed what she could, what would not be noticed. Painfully, and carefully, she donned her riding gear out of sight of Keylenth so the queen would not ask painful questions. Kol had successfully blocked that part of her mind, hidden it behind a wall of will that not even her queen could break, a will she could not show to the outside world.
In utter silence the pair left, taking with them only a change of clothes, the riding and fighting harnesses, and Kol’s flight gear. The pair left, just as the sun peaked over the Weyr Rim, casting the Weyr Cliff in a golden glow, lighting first on bronze hides, then the hide of a lone gold, hovering above the Weyr.
And then she was gone, hoping to find a sanctuary for her rider in the heat of the Southern Continent.
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