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Untouched

Chapter 5

The minute the tailor left, Zeinara climbed down from the stool and gestured her Beauceron slave to help her dress. The slave was a short female, nervous and always scrambling, who had been given to Zeinara on her tenth birthday. While most princesses in Wychowl grew up with Beaucerons caring for them, Zeinara had been in the care of Mogethis and Nkwe, who absolutely refused to trust her to the dog slaves. Now that Zeinara was older, however, Mogethis had no desire to keep dressing her and brushing her mane, and it would have been entirely inappropriate for Nkwe to have done so. In response to this sudden dilemma, Etienne took Zeinara to the auction and purchased a small female Beauceron with a brown spot over one eye. Happy to have someone to play with, Zeinara gleefully named her new servant Axel, not realizing at the time that the tiny pup slave was actually female.

Everything about Axel was small, from her breasts to her short stature to her shortly cropped mane. Her black mane stood in spikes around her ears, cascading in her frightened brown eyes and rising sharp down the back of her neck. But Zeinara knew her mane was soft as a pup's fur when she kissed her and held her in the darkness.

After purchasing Axel, Zeinara spent the next ten years suffering her awkward way through puberty alongside her new slave, who was roughly the same age. They both came into their monthly together. They watched each other's small breasts slowly ripening. And even as princes at various functions were starting to notice Zeinara, male slaves were starting to notice Axel's steadily widening hips and budding breasts. All Beaucerons were naked and Axel was no exception. Zeinara felt sorry for her and couldn't imagine what it was like, coming into a bitch's body with males observing every change and new scent.

Then one night, as Zeinara and Axel lay in bed together, Axel described an incident that happened to her while Zeinara was at her instruction. She was tidying Zeinara's bedroom when three males came in and made love to her. Without a word and without pause. They took her virginity right there on the carpet. All of them were older, grim-faced, with eyes that burned with desire, while Axel had been nineteen at the time. She docilely submitted, and before long, found herself sandwiched between them as one lay under her, another took her from behind, and still another punched himself in her mouth. Suddenly understanding why female Beaucerons were so seldom allowed in the castle, Zeinara was absolutely horrified and asked who had done it, that she might have them flogged. Axel refused to say and assured the princess that while she hadn't enjoyed what had happened, she hadn't suffered either. She simply . . . . didn't care either way.

Needless to say, Zeinara was flabbergasted and didn't understand how Axel could be so nonchalant about her gang rape. The slave remained indifferent, so Zeinara did not pursue the matter. But ever after, she still wondered . . . did it mean Axel actually liked girls? The idea was comforting. Knowing that someone else felt the same meant Zeinara wasn't alone. Or nearly as strange as she thought she was.

Zeinara ran to the desk with her dress half-laced and slipping down her naked shoulders. Axel ran after her, begging her mistress to hold still so she could finish lacing. Zeinara ignored the slave and searched feverishly through the letters. She howled in frustration to find one was missing - the vulgar one. Crap.

Zeinara flopped hard in the chair behind the desk, her great cream-colored skirts rising like baking bread. She moaned wretchedly and slowly sank forward, dropping her forehead on the scattered papers. She could feel Axel yanking her laces tight and gritted her fangs when her stays clenched her sides.

"What's the matter?" Axel said in amazement. "Your father's expecting you for lunch soon. I've got to have you dressed. Do sit up --"

"Oh! Bother Daddy!" Zeinara cried, springing upright. She looked at Axel miserably as golden locks tumbled across her eyes. "Axel . . . he's found the letter!"

Axel gasped.

"I told you to put them away under the bed, but did you listen to me?!"

Axel's ears flattened and she bowed her head as she continued lacing. With the dress laced up, she smoothed Zeinara's loose golden locks back into her bun with nimble fingers, moving frantically and hastily to adjust her mane and dress to perfection. Her eyes, all the while, were large and almost panicked.

Zeinara knew Axel was terrified of Etienne - not because the king had ever been unkind to her, but because of the widely held belief that Etienne was a god and the Second Coming of King Antony. According to the stories, Etienne had battled other gods in the sky twenty years before, in Wychowl's very courtyard. The incident was widely known as the Battle of Wychowl. Those who had witnessed it still believed that Etienne was the return of King Antony, and the vixen goddess who ascended that day to S'pru was Queen Nadheertia come back to the world to shepherd her kin. It was believed that the moment the two were reunited, there would be peace in the world, and so long as they stayed apart, there would always be strife.

Zeinara was half-inclined to believe the stories, if only she could cross the bridge of light for herself. Growing up listening to the priests telling the tale in Wychowl's chapel, she had come to believe that just maybe Azrian, the fox goddess of the Second Sun, was in fact her mother. She knew from listening to Nkwe and Mogethis bicker that Taiga's name meant something like "sun child." Perhaps Taiga and Azrian were one and the same.

"Please, Mistress, don't scold," Axel begged as her quick fingers worked.

"Why not?" Zeinara demanded. "It's your fault! And now when Daddy sees me at lunch, he'll want to talk about the birds and the bees. And how same-sex love is bad. And how if I lick pussy -- "

"Mistress!" Axel gasped.

"-- I'll be burned at the stake! He doesn't know Mogethis has already had the talk with me. He doesn't know I'm well aware what idiots dogs are about same-sex love. He thinks I'm a stupid child who knows nothing about his precious world!" She waved her paw at the lavish chambers surrounding her, and Axel watched her sadly: Zeinara still didn't embrace Wychowl as her world.

"He'll warn me that dallying with another princess could ruin everything," Zeinara went on bitterly, "as if I didn't already know! I just don't care. I don't care about his stupid politics --"

"You should," Axel whispered. "Because everything you do has an effect on Varimore. Like a ripple in a pond."

"To hell with Varimore!" Zeinara said at once. "Aren't I allowed to be happy?"

"That's just it," Axel murmured as she worked. "You aren't."

Zeinara stared at her lap.

"I-I mean . . ." Axel stammered. "Mistress, I didn't mean . . ."

"It's alright, Axel," Zeinara sighed. With her mane finally immaculate and her dress finally laced, she rose from the desk and watched as Axel scrambled for her parasol. Her father would be taking lunch out in the garden with those nobles who had arrived early for the ball. And she would be expected to make an appearance, to entertain the young princes who had come to see what lovely thing had blossomed within the stone battlements of Wychowl, to laugh and smile and pretend that she was looking forward to sucking dick the rest of her life.

"Is there still a pinch of Daddy's wine under the bed, Axel?" Zeinara wondered wearily when Axel finally handed her the parasol. "I think I might need a drop."

Axel was scrambling to look when the doors slid open, admitting the scent of oakmoss and sandalwood that always preceded Mogethis. Zeinara dropped her eyes and Axel dropped to her knees as the vixen entered the room.

Axel was as afraid of Mogethis as she was of Etienne. After having grown up with stories of fox gods shaking the world until massive earthquakes tore the land, she was terrified of all foxes everywhere. Mogethis told her to get out and she did at once, scrambling like a fool on paws and knees into the hall. The doors closed quietly behind her, and then Zeinara found herself alone in the room with Mogethis.

Zeinara stood very still, clutching her parasol with her eyes down as Mogethis prowled slowly through the room like a panther. It wasn't that Zeinara was afraid of Mogethis. Mogethis simply had a way of making Zeinara fall still. The hot-blooded princess who normally couldn't be still if she was strapped down, always fell still when Mogethis cast her a glance that commanded it. Mogethis was mother and discipliner, authority and law, shadow and light, and all-consuming.

When living in the forest together, Mogethis had always enfolded Zeinara with the protective wings of her magical light, shielding her from bandits and bears alike. She was older than Nkwe and more powerful, clever and seemingly unkind in her rigid pragmatism. She taught Zeinara the lesson early: survival comes first and foremost. But Zeinara was well aware that Mogethis still prayed to her gods in secret, that she would have flung herself off a cliff if Yfel only commanded her. Her blue eyes could be cold and unfeeling one moment, warm and loving the next. They were always warm when they looked upon Nkwe. But sometimes they were solemn and thoughtful when they looked upon Zeinara, and though Mogethis had always called Zeinara "Thing" only in jest, Zeinara sometimes wondered if there wasn't true resentment behind the playful teasing.

Mogethis slid like a shadow behind Zeinara and playfully flicked a loose lock of her mane as she passed her. Zeinara watched as the vixen went to the desk and touched her slender fingers to the papers there. She was dressed in a long robe, shaggy and pale green, the hood lined in bear fur, pouches hanging off her belt. The belt was pulled so tight that her tiny waist was apparent, and the top of the robe puffed out, hiding the shape of her breasts as it sagged down. Her long sleeves were heavy and draped like wings when she lifted her arms. Her white mane was loose behind her shoulders and fell to her feet after so many years without cutting. She sat lightly on the desk, crossed one leg over the other, and regarded Zeinara from behind the long white tendrils of her mane. Her gaze was unreadable. And it made Zeinara uncomfortable.

"What? What is it!" Zeinara burst at last. "Daddy is expecting me in the garden for lunch. So if you've finished staring at me --"

"I know what your _daddy_is expecting, child," Mogethis said quietly. "Be still. This will only take a moment."

Zeinara scowled impatiently and looked away.

"Look at me, girl," Mogethis whispered.

Zeinara didn't want to. She knew why Mogethis wanted her to look at her. There were several defiant seconds when she refused to lift her eyes, then Mogethis barked at her to look and she obeyed. She could feel Mogethis prodding her thoughts, as if a hot light was shining in her eyes. She saw Mogethis slowly smile and scowled at her. Mogethis laughed as Zeinara marched past her and angrily flung her parasol into a chair.

"Stay out of my head!" Zeinara complained.

Mogethis slid down from the desk and came to her, still laughing.

Zeinara glared and clenched her fists at her sides.

"Now, child," laughed Mogethis, holding her arms out. She placed a paw on Zeinara's shoulder and rubbed. "There is no shame in being untouched. A twenty-year-old virgin. Oh my."

"Stop laughing!" Zeinara cried shrilly. It wasn't funny at all, waking in the night with the lips of her sex swollen, her body shaking, her breasts riding for air. Such feverish dreams she would have for the various females she had encountered, the princesses, the servants, but how could she approach them? They were afraid of her. She was the child of the Creator, sent by him to rule the world. She wasn't supposed to feel such things, and yet she did. Though she did many things to Axel, Axel refused to do things to her, far too frightened of angering Etienne, who she insisted had terrible magical powers. Until Princess Ethelyn and her magnificent letters, Zeinara hadn't dared to hope that someone would touch her. She was twenty and had never been fingered. And it was excruciating.

Mogethis kept laughing, but she rubbed Zeinara's shoulder again and told her to sit. Zeinara obeyed, folding her arms angrily as Mogethis sat in the chair beside her. Their chairs faced the hearth, which was cold and devoid of kindling.

Mogethis rubbed her slender finger along her chin, observing Zeinara with a smile that revealed her fangs. "Your corsets have shaped your breasts so nicely, I am surprised no male has attempted to feel them. Or perhaps they have attempted."

Zeinara looked at the vixen quickly and felt her face getting hot. Mogethis was referring to an incident that had happened at a garden party not long ago. Tired of the intrigue and gossip buzzing around her, Zeinara had wandered off to a secluded section of the garden and was alone, having sent Axel to find her a drink. A prince of Something-Or-Other attempted to feel her up behind the rose bushes and she gave him the back of her paw. Moments later, she emerged breathless and angry and with her mane mussed, despite her efforts to tame it, while the prince emerged with a red paw print across his face and his cravat hanging out. The whispering and gossiping only doubled.

After the calamity at the garden party, Etienne gave Zeinara a chaperon for every occasion, a big Beauceron slave named Anterox who had been very young and very handsome. It was a poor choice on Etienne's part, as Anterox seemed to want Zeinara as well. Though the Beauceron was very sweet and very kind and always kept his paws to himself, his desire was evident in his look, in his hungry gaze as he watched her breasts riding in her bodice. He would have done anything to her that she commanded - he would have bent her over in the bushes with delight had she asked, sat her on the piano and spread her legs, sat her on the massive penis that dangled quiet against his muscular thigh. And his look said it. Because of Anterox's open lust and eager gentility, even more rumors circled that the princess of Varimore was sleeping with her slaves. In response, Etienne sent Anterox back to the kitchen. But it did nothing to quell the rumors that her majesty was now "touched."

"I had to be certain you were untouched," Mogethis said, still studying Zeinara with her blue, blue eyes. "After all, we wouldn't want the dogs to stop thinking you were their pure and holy virgin saint, a child of the Creator." She waved a paw. "And whatever nonsense they howl in the chapel."

Zeinara snorted. If only they knew the truth. There was nothing pure nor holy about her, regardless of the fact that she was a virgin. "You still had no business in my head. That's private," she complained.

"Be grateful I did not employ other methods," returned Mogethis and lifted two fingers to indicate.

Zeinara blushed angrily, her golden cheeks turning rosy red.

Mogethis slowly smiled. "Perhaps I should just to be certain. Your father found one of your nasty little letters, but I knew of it long before he."

Zeinara's mouth dropped open. She looked away and blinked furiously. "M-Mogethis . . ."

"Oh yes," purred Mogethis, laughing a hissing laugh under her breath. "I keep a close watch on my Thing."

Zeinara looked at the empty hearth and silently swore to burn every single letter she had ever received from Princess Ethelyn. "So? You going to lecture me? Send me to bed without supper? I'm shaking in my knickers."

"I'll give you a fat lip if you don't button it, girl," Mogethis said darkly.

Zeinara jerked her chin and fell silent.

"You always did have your father's smart mouth. Even your mother knew when enough was enough."

Zeinara's ears pricked forward and she looked at Mogethis quickly. It was seldom that Mogethis spoke of Taiga. She stared at the vixen, waiting to hear more, but Mogethis continued studying her, ignoring her eager staring. Zeinara looked sullenly at the hearth.

"Look at you," Mogethis said, shaking her head in amusement. "Young and beautiful and afraid. I thought I knew everything there was to know about you. I did not realize you liked the pussy."

Zeinara felt a blush shoot right to her hairline. "Mogethis!"

Mogethis laughed softly. "As if you didn't just use the word only moments before, mi ga," she said in her rolling accent.

Zeinara thought it odd to hear Mogethis speaking the language of the dogs when she had always insisted on speaking her own language, even to the Beauceron slaves who could not understand her. If a slave hadn't a clue what she was saying, she would grab her walking stick and tap it on their head, repeating the words derisively and loudly. It was some time before everyone in the castle realized the walking sticking was actually a magical stave, and that she was using it not only to be rude, but also to make her language known. The Beaucerons always seemed to understand Mogethis after she hit them.

"It's impolite to eavesdrop," Zeinara said stiffly.

"Not when it is your child you eavesdrop upon," Mogethis said and frowned slightly. "I have concern for you. I should. It is right that a mother have concern, no?"

Zeinara blinked in surprise and glanced uncertainly at Mogethis from the corners of her eyes. It was also rare that Mogethis ever showed her affection, but when those moments came, she knew better than to make something of them. Mogethis did not like shows of emotion, hugs, or weeping. Sometimes Zeinara wondered what Mogethis _did_like.

As if emerging from Zeinara's thoughts, Mogethis laughed softly and said, "I like the pussy too."

Zeinara went very still with shock. "Why are you telling me that!"

Mogethis laughed at her and sat back in her chair. She shook her head. "I thought you felt alone, girl. Is that not why you risk everything your father has built to dally with mad little princesses?"

Zeinara's eyes narrowed indignantly. "Princess Ethelyn is not mad! She's brilliant! Such letters we've exchanged --"

"They were not written by her," Mogethis said flatly.

Zeinara halted. Mogethis was staring at her unflinchingly, something she only did when she needed to get her point across. Zeinara swallowed and looked unhappily at the hearth. So it had been a trick. That's all anything ever was at Wychowl - a political scheme!

"Who wrote them?" Zeinara said angrily to the hearth and clenched her fists. She thought immediately of Father Ederic, who had suspected her of liking females for years. The letters could have been his attempt to out her.

"Why?" said Mogethis at once, harshly, coldly. "So you can run out like a foolish child and get revenge? No. Let Mogethis take care of Thing. Thing should just worry about looking pretty for her guests."

Zeinara smiled at her lap. "Alright," she said docilely. Though she had to wonder what Mogethis intended to do to the schemer.

"Your father was never going to tell you the truth," Mogethis went on. "He thinks lies will protect you. He underestimates you. Knowing the truth, you will not make trouble for your father. You will not go flirting with the princess of Poston in the middle of the ball and doom the entire country."

"I wouldn't have done that anyway," Zeinara lied. But if she was honest, she had planned to ask Princess Ethelyn to dance. In front of everyone. It would have been a grand defiance, dancing with another female in the middle of her father's precious ball! And she would have laughed and tossed her mane and kissed her love right on the floor! But now she knew better. Princess Ethelyn had probably never even thought_of her that way. She tried not to sulk as the realization that she was still alone settled dismally over her. In exchanging those letters, she'd thought she'd finally found someone who wanted her -- not because she was the dog-fox child of a god or heir to the world - but simply because they wanted _her. She suddenly missed Robin. Robin and her lovely smell. Robin and her pretty eyes. It had been so long since last they'd seen each other, and Robin had always been the only one she could talk to. They had exchanged letters for years. But it just wasn't the same.

"Do not trouble yourself," Mogethis cautioned Zeinara.

Zeinara looked up from her sulking to find the vixen watching her, the blue eyes soft with sympathy. The sunlight streaming through the windows touched her slanted eyes and seemed to light them, like twin flames blazing eerily. She was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, her small foot poking from under the hem of her shaggy robes, her slender fingers curled near her lip. She pulled the robe back a little, bunching the fabric up in her fist to reveal an anklet of lavender feathers dangling around her dainty ankle. She didn't seem to notice Zeinara's staring. She had turned her eyes away and was looking thoughtfully at the desk and the scattered letters, her white mane tumbling long around her.

Mogethis was so breathtakingly beautiful. Sometimes Zeinara wondered what she had looked like when younger. Teen-Mogethis had probably been twice as pretty, higher and firmer, with less lines around the eyes and a temper twice as foul. Zeinara shuddered to think what Teen-Mogethis' temper was like. But at the back of her mind, she found an angry female . . . sort of arousing. She wished Axel had more of a spine. She wished Axel was like Mogethis and blinked in surprise with the realization. But she knew if Axel was anything like Mogethis, she would not be a willing slave.

"There will be pussy, child. Plenty of pussy," the vixen said calmly. "You must simply be patient. And discreet."

Zeinara closed her eyes. "Please stop using that word!"

Mogethis laughed softly. "If you like, I can arrange for a female to come to you tonight. I buy them from the brothel on occasion. I thought I would hate it, but dog pussy tastes swe --"

"Mogethis! Oh my god."

Mogethis looked at Zeinara in amusement, her fangs cutting the corners of her smile.

"I don't want it to be like that," Zeinara said, folding her arms and hunching her shoulders, as if against the vixen's words. "I want to meet a girl and I want it to happen naturally."

"Then you will be waiting for quite some time," Mogethis said with a dismissive wave of her paw.

Zeinara glanced at her curiously. "Do you really . . .?" She cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Like the pussy?" Mogethis finished for her. "Of course. I was given to the Seer of my tribe when I was but a child. They trained me to serve the priestesses, those who worshipped Yfel by giving over control of their bodies that she might possess them."

Zeinara listened raptly, her eyes wide. She had never heard these things before.

"Yfel likes the pussy too," Mogethis went on with a laugh. "She would possess the priestesses, make them touch each other, and such things I saw. Such things Nkwe saw. He was a boy and insisted on going wherever I went, so he lived there with me, tending to the Seer and her priestesses, cleaning their floors and serving their meals. When I was but sixteen, they anointed my head, stripped me naked, and tied me down on an altar."

Zeinara's eyes nearly popped. "Whatever for?"

Mogethis smiled at her. "To lick my pussy, child."

Zeinara felt herself blushing hard. "They t-tied you down for that!"

"Yes. Sometimes the orgasm is so intense, it is wise to tie the young one down."

Zeinara stared, unable to move.

"I enjoyed what they did thoroughly. I know what is it, the hunger you feel." The vixen's eyes softened and she touched the back of her fingers to Zeinara's cheek in sympathy. But she dragged her eyes away and stared at the cold hearth, a light in her gaze that was almost mesmerizing. "Yfel took control of the priestesses, and they licked me and sucked me and touched me . . . all night. They penetrated that place where a male penetrates, using their fingers and their fists, until blood ran hot from my sex. They poured goat's milk in my mouth to teach me not to scream, and should I spill the goat's milk and give in to that ecstasy, I would not become a vessel of Yfel."

"But you didn't spill the goat's milk," Zeinara predicted.

"No, child. I took Yfel's pleasure in stillness and in silence. And it rolled over my body . . . ." She shook her head with narrowed eyes, remembering. ". . . like waves."

"But what was the point?" Zeinara cried.

"Many are captured by rival tribes or else dog creatures who wish to rape and defile. To scream - whether in ecstasy or agony - is to give in to the enemy. Yfel's vessel mustn't scream unless in praise of She of Madness. Unless in the fury of battle. Unless to instill fear in the hearts of ones enemies." Mogethis stared thoughtfully at the hearth, and Zeinara watched her, wondering just how many battles she had faced. Sometimes she heard Mogethis and Nkwe talking of battles and raids and bloodshed, though they would never elaborate when she asked about it.

Zeinara looked at the parasol in her lap. "You think I could have done it?"

Mogethis snorted. "You? You can not be still or silent longer than it takes a frog to eat a fly."

Zeinara scowled. "I could! I can be still," she insisted, knowing it was a lie.

"Among my kin you would have been a warrior. Perhaps a hunter or a guardian of the burrow, not a priestess of Yfel. You are forgetting you have no magic, child. And a priestess must be adept with the energies."

"If we had joined that clan like you wanted to . . . you think they would have accepted me?" Zeinara's eyes clouded. She wasn't exactly a fox, after all. She was also part dog, part of the hated creature who had been raping, killing, and oppressing the foxes for centuries. She looked more like a dog than a fox. It was the only reason Varimore and the other kingdoms had accepted her: she passed. And she knew that if she had looked more like a fox, Mogethis and Nkwe could have joined a clan, would not have been forced to wander on their own, and would not have been forced to leave all they loved behind to bring her to Varimore. She knew.

Mogethis sighed heavily. "Do not become melancholy, mi ga. There is little use in dwelling on what could have been. You are here now. You are alive. Nothing else matters."

Zeinara looked up to see the softness in the vixen's eyes. But Mogethis looked away again.

"Perhaps you would have enjoyed being a priestess. They had me vow that no male would ever touch where they had touched. Only the other priestesses could make love to me as Yfel reached through, as Yfel used their fingers to caress. After that . . ." Something in the vixen's eyes saddened as she whispered, "I was a priestess of Yfel. I belonged to her." Her lips tightened with sudden anger, and looking at her, Zeinara got the feeling she had broken her vows - or some male had forced her to.

Zeinara looked at the pink slippers peeking from under her gown. "Was my mother a priestess of Maret?" she asked. Mogethis seemed sad and tired. And anytime she seemed sad and tired, she was inclined to give more information about Taiga. But Zeinara was disappointed when Mogethis waved a paw and scowled.

"Stop pestering_me, Thing. Go. Your father is waiting for you. Can't keep _daddy waiting." The vixen slid a small flask from her robes and took a swig.

Zeinara rose slowly from her chair and gathered her parasol. But she stopped again and haughtily regarded Mogethis, who was staring at the hearth listlessly. "The male who took your ear . . . he broke your vow, didn't he?" Zeinara barely ducked when the flask came hurtling at her face. "I'll ask Daddy! He'll tell me!" the princess shouted. Mogethis screamed for her to get out, and she did, running so fast that her skirts whisked behind her in a flurry of cream-colored fabric and ribbons.