Closed The Lady Doth Protest Too Much

[Berkley Whispers]

19 Spring 492a.v.


Hands pressed to skin. This is how every day should be spent. She was tireless in her pursuit to reveal the world to her young pupil. Berkley was face down between her thighs- lost in his task. The older woman was sprawled out across the thick blankets with a hand tangled into the young man’s hair which served as a means of steering but also balance. The boy had skills. Her coos and moans helped to signal the things that he did right and the things he did wrong were gently corrected with her controlling hand or a soft instruction. The woman’s free hand went from clenching the blanket or grabbing her own hair as the teasing tongue whipped her into a frenzy. Once and a while, Berkley would have to lift his sight too look at her body. The angle of staring up across a woman’s naked body was like staring across a beautiful horizon of unexplored land that begged to be conquered.

The lad’s devotion to his task was fervent but the beauty of his tutor was distracting in its own right. Her supple breasts and flat stomach heaved up and down in an irregular pattern that was controlled by the tiny machinations of curious fingers. Berkley was inexperienced and unfamiliar with the workings of the female body but the sweet and salty juices that she was submerging him in quickly became a taste that left the boy with an insatiable thirst.

“Oi! Ya beautiful basssssss- ugh!” She shouted and then bit her own hand as the lad ducked back down to where his baby soft cheeks where sandwiched between her muscular thighs. Her skin smelled like sweat and lust- an aroma that the street rat would grow to cherish. The hiss and grunt were a prelude to her hand squeezing his hair so tight that it hurt but the pressure she applied was down. It was almost as if the woman intended to suffocate him in her sex –a death most pleasing in the mind of the teenager. Strong and rather tall, Berkley was an adult by appearances but lacked any real experience beyond hustling the streets of the filthy town in a way that kept him off the radar of predators. One of the ways he was developing was the use of his friendly personality and charming smile. Women seemed to enjoy his flirtatious nature but this one saw through his mask of confidence.

Aunt to his friend, Eileen had seen the lad try to coax his way into homes for a place to hide or a quick score but his approach was always the same. Like all Sunberth residents, Eileen had a criminal past and a desire to see herself rise above the Slag Heap. She saw potential in the boy and took it upon herself to give him a more useful set of skills that she could easily manipulate for her own purposes. That’s not to say this was purely business. Her husband had been killed years ago so having a virile whipper snapper tend to her neglected urges was a double win for the widow. Her blood boiled and her muscles ached as the tingling sensations of a growing release drew nearer to its climax. Both hands found their way into his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp and keeping his soft lips and tireless tongue exactly where she wanted them.

Berkley drank from the woman like a dog who’d spent weeks in the desert and just found a spring of cool water. The water in this well was warm and slick but seemed to fuel the student’s desire to please his matron. The added strength behind her control and the ever increasing volume of her exclamations seemed to be pointing towards an end –the finish; which, according to Eileen, was the point. Berkley dove in using his mouth and his hands to keep himself from being unseated by the sporadic and powerful movements of her legs. She’d squeeze her thighs together then kick one leg out with a profane curse. One of his strong hands held the back of her leg where it met the curve of her round bottom, his thumb tugging at the skin to give his face more room. His other hand was strumming a piece of her body that took him a long time to find. Eileen explained that it was the key to making a woman happy.

In a squeal of triumph and relief, Eileen went into a series of convulsions that rippled from her core outwards through her entire body. Her legs wrapped around the head of the young man and locked at the ankles. He was stuck and not going anywhere until she was done so Berkley just rode the waves and continued to do as he had been told. He lapped at the rush of fluids but soon found he was being half-smothered and half-drown. The tingle of fear mixed in with his arousal and sent chills up and down his spine. After a chime of spasms and phrases that he’d never heard, Eileen released her student and then shoved him away from her. She curled her legs under her body then sat up on her side using a hand to prop up her head. The grin she wore made her look drunk and she stared at him through half-closed eyes. “Well done, sugar.” Her hand snaked out and tussled his messy hair then traced the glazed smattering of her fluids that lingered around his mouth and chin. “Give me a minute and I’ll show you how to use other parts of your body to make me smile.”

[Berkley Whispers]

The next phase of the young man’s training was far more rigorous than Berkley could have anticipated. Eileen had him use his body in ways he didn’t think possible. His thin form held her against him as he leaned against the wall and lifted her by her thick thighs up and down on a rush of sensations that he could only learn to describe years later. Her body was soft yet coursed with hard muscle that bound him yet inspired his strength. His legs shivered under the pressure while his shoulder ached from the exertion yet it was different from the ache of his loins that threatened to boil over at any moment. Moans mingled into the instructions that were whispered in rushed breaths while her strong arms -the arms of a woman who’s known hardship- snaked back and dug at his flesh and scalp.

While his eyes remained closed for much of his sweaty studies, Berk took time to soak in her figure. Full, as a woman should be, Eileen had curves like the arc of a partial moon or the bend of a wicked dagger; equally as beautiful and twice as deadly. Her skin had scars and imperfections but they added to her allure rather than detract from it. Freckles, small patches of rough skin where repetitive tasks have created flat callouses which made shadows dance in elicit rhythms to the pushing and pulling of their respective skins. Burning legs, his back was raw where the rough metal wall had rubbed him so many times that it was starting to bleed. His hips twitched and sent a jolt through his buried length and the more experienced woman instantly knew what was about to happen.

“Put me down, dollface.” Eileen whispered in his ear as she nibbled along the lobe which sent a shiver up the young man’s spine. “I wanna show you my appreciation for your…” the woman took a bite out of the skin on his collarbone. “Dedication to your education.”

Berk did as he was told. He flexed his arms and hoisted her up off of his body. The rush of cold on his slick muscle almost buckled his knees but it also sent a shock of longing that he had never felt in any prior instances. He felt betrayed, almost angry, at the sudden stillness. Eileen sensed this and gave the boy a coy smile then tossed her hair a bit to show that there was more play afoot. She put a dainty hand on his sternum and shoved him back against the wall of the shanty with a crash. Berk let out a grunt which was changed into a growl when the woman took him into her mouth. His eyes went wide and his body began to shake as she cleaned him of her lingering juices. It took only moments and the boiling emotions of lust and desire erupted from him like a geyser. Eileen, skilled in her art, never missed a beat and maintained a pace that literally drained the strength from the lad.

Berkley’s knees gave out and he slid down the wall onto his naked bum. Glassy eyes stared at the woman who now loomed above him even though she was on her knees. Her smile was caring and full of pride while her eyes held the fires of lust which burned as brightly as when these little sessions had first started. The novice of the pairing started to open his mouth but was silenced by a slender finger against his lips.

[Berkley Whispers]

“Aww, sugar. Don’t you say a thing.” Eileen laid back onto a soft rug that was well made but old and beckoned him to join her. “Come and lay with your lady and let me rub that hard body o’ yours.” Ever the nurturer, the woman’s words cast a spell on the youth who acknowledged and began to crawl forward in a state of thrall that is hard to describe.

Suddenly, the door of the shanty was kicked open by a heavy boot. In marched three men of various ages. Several of them had tattoos of these weird suns on their necks- Sun’s Birth. Berkley instantly went cold and turned to reach for his clothes where a dagger was sheathed in his belt. A young man, larger and slightly older than him lunged forth and put a knee to his face. The blow sent him backwards but also enabled him to roll further away from the other two men. When the challenger made a second approach, he found a quick jab from the young Mr. Whispers waiting for him. Berkley balled his fist and drove it into the other man’s chin but he was simply too small and too weak to make much difference. While a solid sound radiated from the connection, it did little to stop the onslaught of fists that sent him into a heap on the ground. After a chime that felt like four days passed, the beating stopped.

Berkley lifted his bleeding and bruised face to see Eileen, bound by one man and being taken by the other in a vicious sort of way. The man who bested him now held a dagger to his throat while the other hand held a fistful of the lad’s hair to ensure he watched. This was under the instruction of the man who had pinned the woman’s arms behind her back and held her head on the ground with his knee. Eileen screamed as they ripped her body with their own crude form of sex. The young man closed his eyes but was accosted by the hilt of the dagger against his skull.

“Watch, bitch! Watch or we’ll kill yer wet nurse!” The young man holding the dagger shouted. This brought more screams from Eileen as the men working her over started using parts of their weapons to cause her pain and stretch her body in ways that it wasn’t meant to perform. Salty tears mixed in with the blood that ran down Berkley’s face. He felt the sting of the knife’s edge as it sliced through his throat every time he swallowed a sob or forced the urge to act down into his belly. For gods knew how long, he was forced to watch this beloved woman endure such a horrible fate. Eileen was strong, stronger than most, but all people have a breaking point. As the men released their fluids upon her over and over again, they also carved her supple skin with their blades. The blood, tears and filth created a foul-smelling mud on the floor of the hut and Berkley began to feel sick -sick and ashamed.

[Berkley Whispers]

“I think she’s dead, eh.”

One of the men spat as he stood and adjusted his codpiece. He chuckled some and stretched his arms as if he’d just woken from a very relaxing nap. He elbowed his comrade in the side as he looked over at the mess of a young boy held at knife point by the youngest of the invading trio.

“Oy! Half pint!” The older man shouted. His voice was as gruff and uncaring as the pot metal which composed the slanted walls of the structure. “Dun’ look so u’set, yeah? She’s jess a whore.”

That did it. Berkley rumbled from deep in his chest and moved with such speed that his captor was unprepared for the move. The young man leapt straight up from his knees as the expense of a hard scrape from the flat of the knife’s edge on his chest. His bony shoulder caught the other gangster in the groin with such force that it lifted him from the ground and he dropped both the dagger and his hold on Berkley’s hair. The younger man fell with his attacker and flooded his body with fists and elbows while spit, tears and curses spewed from his mouth. Never had he been so angry or so hurt- not even when his father was killed. Berkley didn’t have to watch that. These wicked men had forced him to stare as they brutally beat and ravaged one of the only people he ever cared about - and one of the only people to ever care about him. Now, the young man on the ground who had curled up in defense was receiving the brunt of this explosion.

It was allowed to go on for a few chimes. The senior members of the gang watched for a moment and debated on whether or not to kill the whelp for attacking their youngest crewmate. It seemed to be understood between them both that the fire shown by the naked lad was enough to earn him his life but the insolence he showed was going to cost him. The oldest man walked up behind the duo of youngsters. He drew his dagger and twirled it against his palm a few times while he waited to be acknowledged. Berkley was so lost in his rage that he continued to swing his arms while his body loomed over the downed assailant.

“Ah, fer cryin’ out loud, boyo!” The old man finally chided. His blade came down with grace and ease from a practiced hand. The tip relaxed upon contact and allowed the longer cutting surface of the edge to glide through the fairly pristine skin of Berkley’s left shoulder. The metal was cold and greedy, though and it dug deep until it bit into the red muscle, the juice of life spilling down the grimy boy’s back. The surprise of it all dowsed the rage of the young man and he collapsed in a heap next to the one who was already curled up in the dirt. “Get up, Darvin, ya shyke!”

Darvin did not get up- not right away. He felt the pounding fists and elbows stop and looked out from his protective position to see his opponent bleeding on the ground. With a very decisive and mean-spirited punch, he snapped three fingers into the gash which caused Berkley to cry out as the young gangster tore at the wound and pried it open with his filthy grip. “Don’t you ever think you can best the Sun’s Birth, ya whore’s arse!” With a shake to emphasize his point, Darvin released Berkley then stood and dusted himself off. The three men took turns spitting on whichever body they wished then they exited the shanty without any explanation as to why they killed Eileen.

[Berkley Whispers]

A burning cold filled Berkley. He already had reason to hate the Sun’s Birth but it seemed they just couldn’t resist giving him more. This was far from his mind and his heart, however. The beautiful woman who had shown him so much was dead and disgraced in the dirt just a few feet from him. The young man sat for what felt like days on the dusty floor of the shack with his light eyes leaking the sour tears of loss until no more would come. When a man cries dust, he reaches a point when the sad truths of life start to make sense- then he accepts it.

There was no way to tell how much time passed. No one else came. No passerby checked to see why the screaming stopped. The young man just sat on his knees and stared at the pile of flesh that used to be someone special. The smell of Sunberth was someone one grew accustomed to but the rank odor of death and sex in the same space was an abomination which cast an even more dour mood upon the beaten lad. Berkley had nothing to grab to stop the spiral of his mind. It felt to him that his soul was being rung out like a filthy rag. The time blew like the dry winds of the Sunset Quarter and night arrived without action.

Finally, when his bones protested the continued lack of motion, the battered youth crawled across the dirty ground to Eileen and reached for her. He stopped before touching her cold skin, the chill that hung over her gave him pause. Swallowing the lump in his parched throat, Berkley laid his hand upon her shoulder and did his best to gently push her over. The body didn’t move. He blinked and tried again but only managed to rock her a bit. With a grunt, the young man flexed then straightened his arm and felt the tension ripple up through his thin muscles whose fatigue seemed to resonate the effort. Eileen tipped onto her side but remained in the curled and crouched position that she was in when she was murdered. Her face still bore the signs of her horrible torment and the fear was captured in her dead eyes. Berkley choked upon seeing this but he did not cry nor stop. He fully intended to treat the woman with some care and dignity. Afterall, she was one of the reasons that he had survived after his father had been killed. He felt it only right to see that she received some kind of burial.

Using the worn blanket that had served as their playmat, Berkley rolled her up in its threads and did his best to be gentle. Not too long ago, he was lifting this woman up and down for pleasure and now he could barely move her across the soil. This fact was simply amazing how the exact same body could feel so different. The young man stored this information for later use. He fully intended to kill the men responsible for this crime -some day. Knowing that a dead body is hard to move would be a tidbit worth remembering.