Harry on Hyborea

The Silvergrey Sea

Part Two: Serious Business

Harry on Hyborea

* * *

For the three remaining days of the voyage, I felt almost normal. Mæve visited at least once a day and gave as good as or better than she got.

I began to think she was becoming sweet on me. Affection had bloomed in my cynical breast for her, I realized.

Not that any of that mattered. I’d be leaving when the ship docked on Hyborea. She would be staying. It wasn’t likely we’d ever see each other again.

It certainly had been a pleasant trip, though. Being able to honestly say that about a trip through the Silvergrey Sea was a minor miracle. I’d always regard Mæve fondly for that alone.

That ‘morning’ found me on deck, showing just how much that bald ginger witch had changed me. The cigarette tasted good as I stood at the bow of the ship, squinting against the brightness. The light defined waves of that impossible sea shifted and changed in a way most hypnotizing. It was like watching the flickering of flame in a fireplace. I was soon deep in a wordless reverie.

An arm around my waist. “Mornin’, Harry.”

I looked down and didn’t see much because the light had all but blinded me, but I still manage to grasp the handle of an aluminum mug that turned out to be full of strong, black coffee. “I’m getting in the habit of thanking you, Mæve.”

“And I’m enjoying that, lover.” She gave be a hug. “We’ll be docking in about an hour at Hyborea.” She gave my ribs another squeeze and let go, heading toward the quarterdeck; her watch was due to begin.

Was that wistfulness I heard in her voice?

Nah, I decided. Just wishful thinking on my part, had to be.

No one seemed to object to my presence as the ship completed the Noir to Hyborea leg of the voyage, so I stayed where I was.

Ahead, the brilliance of the light bestrewn water faded as what looked like a fog rolled in. This was a bit of a surprise. I thought the docks would be like those at Noir and the very few other ports I’d seen: actually in the Silvergrey Sea. I expected to pass through that singular fog only after I disembarked.

Soon, the ship was enveloped in the mist. The silver sparkles in it became scarcer until they were gone.

Light, bright white light from above, began to filter through the dry clear air. More quickly than I expected, the fog vanished.

Ahead was a wide bay, lined with docks and piers at which a score of ships were docked, ranging from one-man craft to freighters. None had the look of the Bruno, though; there were no other Hermetists in port just now.

Hyborea’s sun was about a thumb width across and hard to spot, despite the lack of cloud. It was almost the same soft white as the sky.

The port city of Phrygia climbed the stone slopes beyond the docks. At four million inhabitants, it was the largest settlement on this world. Made mostly of the native stone, a bland sort of grey akin to granite, it was dusted with white, just now. I had arrived just in time for the local equivalent of mid-winter. Yippee.

I went below to retrieve my valise and check to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind. I was back on deck just as the boat was being tied off after warping into her slip. I debarked starboard side as the crew were offloading on the other.

Turning back to look at the Bruno, I saw Mæve watching me. She grinned widely and waved when she saw me turn. I waved back, feeling lighter of heart than I’d expected to. She blew me a kiss, and I embarrassed myself by making an exaggerated catching motion and putting the ‘kiss’ in my coat pocket. I could hear her laughter, accompanied by another wave. Several of the crew had noticed the exchange. I heard others chuckling as well.

Slightly red-faced but smiling one of my rare genuine smiles, I turned and headed into town.

* * *

Hyborea was a world that had not been initially settled by humanity in that dim long ago when the Sea had first washed the Terran shore. Its inhabitants were, by most measurable standards, human in form and biology as were all those touched by the Sea. Why this should be so being just another of the mysteries of an ocean that seemed to have an abyss full of them.

The most startling difference among the aborigines of Hyborea was between sexes. Native Hyboreans were a dimorphic species, the males looking like Drago, vaguely Asian with somewhat darker skin. The females would not have been out of place on Oerth’s fabled continent of Africa. Like the men, their hair was straight and black. Unlike them, their skin was dark, ranging from light chocolate to midnight.

Another difference was cultural. No one not of this world, except perhaps the Hermetists, knew much about their history, but the wars that raged in the centuries before Terran first contact were common knowledge. It had been quite literally a war of the sexes.

These conflicts ended with a treaty of sorts that gave the colder northern regions to the men and the warmer southern ones to the women. The male dominated north was called Kasaskini, the female ruled south, Kusini. The differences of form between men and women suggested that this separation had likely been in place for a lot longer than the few thousand years since détente.

Each group was permitted slaves of the other sex as spoils of that war. I knew as much as any outsider did about this arrangement. Slaves were freed and new ones taken at a festival that was held every eleven local years. This was the limit of the term of servitude. There were quotas for specific ages, levels of education, and purpose. So far as anyone knew, this custom had not been abused by either party to any extent in Hyborea’s recorded history.

Cynic that I was, I doubted that. If Drago’s story checked out, someone had been cheating somewhere.

The mating customs were weirder still. It involved males being captured and held as breeders for a set time after which they were returned along with any children that were weaned and male. Hyborea’s sexes were raised entirely apart.

Drago, it seemed, had been snatched and his kin had thought it was by the women, as he was of age. He had never been returned. Drago’s male kin would only have noticed something amiss when he failed to be return by the next festival time.

My first order of business was to verify that my client had been born here, which I was fairly sure of, and when, which was the puzzle. I’d also have to find out what if any action had been taken to locate him. Additionally, I would have to discover if the locals had ever learned Drago had been taken offworld and what had been done about that. Finally, I needed to look up his kin and find out how much they knew or suspected.

Well, none of that was the highest priority.

Finding myself lodging and settling in was going to take precedence. That’s code for booze and broads, in case you, Gentle Reader, haven’t been paying attention.

Figuring I’d splurge because Drago was paying, I decided to look up the hill for the better class of inn. Noting some truly impressive, official looking buildings in that direction, I began climbing narrow, sometimes stepped streets.

The locals all looked like cousins of Drago to my eyes. Differences in age were difficult to discern but were there. Once I’d assimilated the general look, a certain variety emerged from the homogeneity. The natives’ height and weight didn’t seem to vary that much. That meant that this society, while productive, was without a substantial leisure class. There would have been prominent differences in height if some got more food than others. Just so, there would have been some noticeably overweight people if this economy could support a sizable population of those with more money than work to do.

I kept expecting to see females. This lack caused perceptual dissonance that was painful in a way I couldn’t identify.

Eventually, I did see two.

They were together. Both had metal collars on that seemed molded to their necks and upper shoulders. The one who was clothed sported a gold collar, leading the other by a leash that looked to be braided threads of steel. Despite the chill, the naked one, who didn’t even have hair to warm her, walked head down a pace behind the other, seeming to suffer no discomfort at all.

Despite my jaundiced eye, they both looked beautiful.

I met the gaze of the fur-clad woman has I passed. Gold-flecks in eyes a brown so light it was almost white, met mine. Her reaction to my appraising stare was a twitch of her lips that might have been a smile but was as likely a smirk.

I had to resist the urge to watch them as they walked away.

Snugging my collar tighter to my chest, I reflected that I’d need to invest in some warmer clothing if I were to spend more than a day or two here.

A half hour of climbing only got me about a third of the way to the crest of the hill.

I paused, slightly winded—okay, wheezing—and contemplated the climb still before me.

‘Fuck it,’ I thought. ‘I’m thirsty.’

I was standing in a small square, just a widening of the street, really. Shops selling mostly seasonal necessities flanked the road. I did see what looked like an inn; it was the only building more than a storey high. I could hear a noise suspiciously like enjoyment coming from it.

It had what I took to be a stable of some black wood to one side.

As much to satisfy my curiosity about what kind of beast one rode on this world as to slake my thirst, I approached the building in question.

To my disappointment, they seemed little different from the horses I’d seen once in childhood. I didn’t remember them smelling quite so bad, though.

It was an inn.

Well, at least a place to get food and liquor. At three floors tall, there was a better than even chance it had rooms to let.

The common room was about a third full, mostly of locals, though I spotted a few offworlders. Two of the former were women, one of them working behind the bar. Neither garnered any special attention. I liked what this implied about Hyborean culture.

I took a seat and tried to catch the barmaid’s eye. The collar she wore looked quite delicate, almost formal rather than practical. She showed no particular deference toward the men she served, which started the snoop in me wondered about the particulars of Hyborean gender slavery. The men in turn were quite friendly with her, even trading jovial insults back and forth.

Odd.

She noticed me eventually and waved to the woman I had seen, this one the first in something resembling feminine garb, who swayed toward me, smiling. She wore a tunic of soft, red-dyed leather that ended well above mid-thigh and sandals laced to the knee. Her hair was past her shoulders, held from her brows by a many-coloured strip of silk.

She smelled of sweet spices.

“Welcome to Blue Balls. What can I do for you, patron?”

I didn’t bother hiding my smile.

She did him one better by laughing. “Yes, I know what it means.” Her smile was pretty; her eyes the same tan flecked gold of the other I had seen up close. She spoke in the same clear, clipped way that Drago did. Her voice was deeper than I’d expected and was rich with tonal echoes. I could have listened to it all day.

“I’m in need of a good meal and something to drink. Do you have beer?”

They did, indeed. A wide variety by the menu she handed me. I selected something thick, dark, and bitter and stir-fried vegetables with some sort of meat to ward off the lingering chill; I was too far from either of the common room’s fireplaces for my comfort.

“Will you be wanting a room?”

Aha, I thought. “Yes.”

“Just for the night?”

“My business may keep me here for a few days. Can I run a tab?”

“For certain. There is a deposit, of course.”

“Of course.” She gave me the rates, which were quite reasonable, considering I was a rube who had literally just stepped off the boat.

“Will you be needing company while you’re here?” Her smile removed any ambiguity from that question.

“Depends on the rate.”

It was also quite reasonable. I decided Drago could afford to pay for an all-night visit from one of the local lovelies, settling on a time just after I’d dined and showered.

* * *

The meal was excellent, the beer quite satisfying.

My room included an en suite bathroom, which I hadn’t expected, given the price.

The bare stone of the walls and floor were covered in layers of tapestries and thick carpets. The bed was made of furs and covered in thick blankets soft as down. A stone fireplace held a warming flame.

My ‘company’ arrived as I showered.

The first I knew of it was a puff of cold air as I was scrubbing my hair. My head twitched around at the flash of movement as another tall dark beauty slipped through a gap in the oiled skins of the shower curtains. I barely noticed the collar, this time. I returned to lathering my thinning mop as unseen hands, reached around me to soap belly and chest.

Tits slick with soap, pressed against me. A belly pressed against the upper reaches of my ass. She began rubbing herself back and forth along my back as her hands swirled around my chest and stomach. The sensation was delicious. I was painfully erect in seconds.

My companion didn’t neglect the erection, either. One hand began soaping the shaft of my cock while the other gently fondled my scrotum.

It was much more stimulating than I’d expected. To my surprise, I realized I was seconds away from coming. I moved a hand to stop her.

“It’s okay, lover. We’ve all night. Let it come.”

After a brief, internal struggle, I did just that.

It was stronger than any orgasm I’d had with Mæve. Despite a regular workout with the Hermetist, I managed to ejaculate a considerable amount of spooge which left the tip of my Old Fella at some speed. She kept up the rhythm right through it, stopping just before it would have become painful.

I was left spent and weak kneed, clutching the curtain rod for balance.

My companion took the opportunity to finish lathering and rinsing me. I was quite recovered by the end, even managing to give good service in return. My wandering hands, slick with lather, lovingly explored the woman’s body as I cleaned it. I had the pleasure of giving this time.

After soaping her slender trunk, I played with her backside before exploring her front and rear entrances. I knew my way around a woman’s privates and had her first moaning, then panting, and finally clutching my shoulder and waist as she shivered and cried out in orgasm, all in under ten minutes. The flush of her upper chest and the gush of vaginal fluid told me it hadn’t been a performance for my sake. She even kissed me at the end.

My erection had returned by the time I was done.

By the time we had dried off and headed to the bed, I was feeling quite sleepy; despite Mæve’s efforts, I hadn’t slept especially well on the Giordano Bruno.

My dick was willing, but the rest of me wanted sleep.

She laughed when I put it that way, telling me to let myself rest for a few hours and promising to rouse me well before her time was up, if I looked to be sleeping through ’til morning.

Not that she did nothing while I lay in bed.

There was the matter of the attention my erection’s encore obviously needed. I wondered if it was something about the collar that made her so arousing to me. The notion of a slave servicing me seemed to inflame my passion.

She was nearly my height, so when she began to fellate me while lying full length along my body, her pussy was close enough I could smell its perfume. It was heady and unlike anything in my recent memory. So dark was the skin of its folds it looked black in the light. It was plucked clean of hair. The lamp caught glints off the thick dew that still oozed from between slowly parting inner labia.

I was trying to find a simile for it when I felt the hot, moist ring of her mouth slide along the head of my penis and down the shaft, leaving my mind blank but for the sensation it produced. I felt the tight constriction of her throat as she slid my member right past her tonsils, her nose now pressed firmly against my balls.

I closed my eyes, hand gently rubbing her lower back and ass, and let her mouth work its magic. Though I couldn’t hear it, I felt her moaning as a vibration of her breasts pressed against my lower abdomen.

She slow stroked me, head to base with her mouth, pausing at the end of each cycle with the head of my dick lodged in her esophagus to swallow several times, effectively jerking me off with her throat. I remembered the whore Dævara from the Red Palazzo did the same thing and made a mental note to schedule another rendezvous with her. I could feel the tip of my evening slave’s tongue, cool and damp, against the join of my cock and lower stomach as held me in her oesophagus.

Her hands wandered downward, first cupping my balls, then leaving one to massage and pull on my scrotum while the other began playing with my anus. Her spit was trickling down both sides of my sack, and she used that to moisten a long finger that she then slowly pushed into my butthole, with all the skill of an assassin sliding a blade between two ribs.

As it was my second orgasm in an hour, it took longer. I didn’t mind, of course. She obviously didn’t, either.

Gentleman that I was, I couldn’t let her do all the work. Besides, the smell of her cunt was too enticing.

By chance, tongue’s first contact with the folds of her sex coincided with one of her few breaks for air. A gasp and again that delightful moan. She paused for a few seconds, just enjoying, before resuming her labours.

Between the tickling of my prostate, the expert work on my balls and the throat fucking, it still took me about twenty minutes to cum. I managed to give her another three in that time, something of which I was quite proud.

I surfed the crest of my orgasm for most of that time. When it finally curled and collapsed, it was with enough force to milk a roar from me and submerge me in sleep in seconds.

I woke sometime in the night to feel her curled up behind me, one arm draped around my waist, a leg over mine, breathing slowly. Contented, I let myself drift back to oblivion.

— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, September 2026

© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved