Hinterlands Book II: The Stables Read Online Free PDF Page A

braids in shiny beeswax to make them
gloss. Finally she placed sprigs of green leaves here and there, until Amelia
felt she must look like the pixies she had read about as a child.
    Once this was completed they immediately set upon her
with their hands, massaging her back shoulders and legs, kneading her freshly
scrubbed flesh.   The sensation was
deeply satisfying and Amelia was glad that she hadn’t resisted. They began to
apply heated oils, some poured into their hands, and others they drizzled
directly onto her body. The warm oils exuded lavender, rose, and thistle, intoxicating
and hypnotic with their scent. In addition to these, there were also cooler
oils, viscously rubbed into her neck and behind her ears, their essence
impossibly complex, thicker and tinged with honey. In these she could also smell
the same scents as the surrounding fields, fragrant heather, sweet clover, and
alba flowers bursting with morning dew, and even more subtly, hints of the deep
green peat, giving up its perfume as it does in the light of the afternoon sun.
How had these been created, such oils? They had captured the very breeze itself
as it rolled across the moors on a sunny day.  
    They rolled Amelia onto her back and continued their
attentions on her stomach, her throat, her breasts; making sure her skin was
saturated. They poured a small pool in her belly button, overfilling it and
letting it run down her sides in small rivulets. They rubbed the lavender oil
through the small patch of hair between her legs, causing her to gasp and arch
her back, yet they continued on with purpose, almost holy in their
ministrations, running their fingers gently over the mound, and through the
triangle of fine, delicate golden hairs that lay upon it.   She squeezed her thighs together to hide
the feeling of arousal that had overcome her, but this was to no avail. The determined
old women merely pulled her legs apart, plying and twisting the tender muscles
of her inner thighs. Curiously, they declined to massage her sex directly, but
simply strayed everywhere near it, likewise stroking and tugging her small
breasts with their skilled hands, avoiding the nipples yet making sure to rub
the oils deeply into the soft flesh.   Their actions were therapeutic and sensual, intent on bring pleasure,
yet not overtly sexual. This was most tortuous, raising Amelia’s pulse, and
setting her into a fever.   She was
impelled to focus directly on her body, bolts of delight discharging from
wherever they placed their hands. Her state of arousal had become almost
unbearable, a storm of desire she could not assuage.   The urge to stroke herself was almost painful,
and she felt her body quivering under each touch.   Finally, they ceased their massage, the
old women kissing her hands and feet delicately, and muttering in a language
she couldn’t understand. She was allowed to regain her feet. She felt libidinous
and lightheaded, and her body ached deep inside for an as yet unnamed pleasure.

 
    “And just how are my little creatures doing this
morning?” Ms. Farstone appeared exceptionally energetic and evil as she
sashayed back and forth across the cobblestones.  
    The group had gathered together in the courtyard after the
morning massage; all of the girls in Amelia’s stall, as well as 20 or 30 other
girls that she had never seen before. Apparently there were many servants here
in various stages of training. It was easy to tell the groups that had been
here longer, as they looked toned and natural, their skin tanned and glowing,
their muscles smooth and taught.   In
fact, Amelia thought they looked just like the goddesses that were carved in
marble standing next to the pool, each of them with their hair woven in
different, unique patterns, with entirely original flowers and plants
intertwined and fresh.   The girls
had whispered that it was the style of one’s trio of attendants that determined
the pattern.
    Apparently everyone’s attendants weren’t as