by Lily Harlem
Without replying she stood against the cross, stretching her limbs to match its shape.
“No, turn around,” he said. “Face me, not the wall.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Turning, she saw that he was right in front of her. With a look of concentration on his face, he attached first her arms and then her legs so she was spread out like a star before him.
Cool air washed over her pussy and her nipples tightened as she admired the thickness of his shoulder muscles and the broad span of his back as he stooped before her.
He ran his hands up her legs, ankles, knees, thighs and then set his thumbs on her pussy lips. He glanced up at her, his eyes heavy and pupils wide, then tipped forward and swiped his tongue over her clitoris.
“Oh!” She cried out and bucked forward, straining against the cross. That had been the last thing she’d expected.
“Shh…” he said, his breath washing over her exposed clitoris. “There is no need for you to cry out… not yet.”
“Oh, Sir, but…”
“But nothing. This is what I want to do to your body and you will allow me to do it.”
She was breathing hard, her breasts shifting as she stared down at him.
Once again he tipped forward, tongue out, and licked her clitoris. The sensation was like nothing she could ever have imagined. It was so intimate, so thrilling. She clenched her fists, curled her toes, and was glad of the support the cross gave her.
He did it again, but this time stroked over and over, before setting his mouth on top of her delicate bundle of nerves.
Again she cried out; the pleasure was extreme.
Her cry seemed to spur him on. He nuzzled closer and slipped two fingers into her pussy.
“Oh, Sir…” she managed squeezing her eyes shut. The erotic pleasure would soon be upon her. There’d be no medication to absorb, no reason for the almost-violent sensation she knew would rack her body.
But damn, it felt good.
He pumped in and out of her, his fingers mimicking what his cock usually did.
She struggled and bucked. Her mind cleared of everything except her master’s mouth on her and his fingers inside her. Bright lights flashed in her vision, the three discs of the suns seemingly burned onto her retinas.
“I’m going to… oh, it’s here.”
The pressure built, a volcano of need. She squealed and he upped the speed at which his tongue worked.
Suddenly it was there. She had no escape; he was dragging the erotic pleasure from her.
Briella’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as she was held suspended in bliss for a beautiful moment, then it all crashed down. She jerked violently, fighting the cross. Her limbs spasmed as her pussy clenched his fingers.
He suckled and rolled her clitoris on the end of his tongue, stretching the moment on and on. She’d never experienced anything like it. Such surrender of control. Her body barely her own, but equally never more part of her.
Eventually he slowed.
Her limbs sagged and her neck drooped.
The erotic pleasure had been exhausting that time, more than usual. It was also strange not to have a change in her breathing, apart from it being hard to catch from exertion.
He was kissing her belly, trailing his damp tongue over her skin. He still had his fingers lodged inside her, gently palpating her internal wall.
It felt so good.
She willed her heart to slow; it seemed as though it would beat right out of her chest, and her pulse was thunderous in her ears.
He nuzzled her navel, his sharp jawline scratching her skin.
“Sir,” she gasped, looking down at him.
“Slave, that was incredible.”
“I know…”
He looked up. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
She smiled. His face was flushed and damp.
“I intend to do that to you a lot.”
“Okay.” She giggled, it got louder and louder and eventually he stood and stared into her face.
“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what…” She was trying to hold in more laughter.
“You’re happy?”
“Yes, and content, satisfied. I never would have thought, strung to a cross in an alien world, but right now, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
He withdrew from her pussy and held his fingers up. They glistened with her moisture.
“And I wouldn’t have you anywhere else.” He put them in his mouth and sucked until his cheeks hollowed.
The gesture seemed so rude and primitive it made her pussy contract again, a final blast of erotic pleasure.
He pulled them out from his mouth slowly as if savoring her taste. “And now it’s time to decorate you.”
“Decorate me?”
“Yes, it’s traditional that slaves be painted.”
“With what, Sir?”
He stepped to one side and held up a paintbrush and small brass pot. “From the very first parade slaves have had designs marking their bodies instead of clothes.”
“So I’ll be naked, there, for everyone to see?” She didn’t like that thought. Being naked for her master was one thing, but for the whole kingdom?
“No, I do not wish for that. Your pussy and ass are for my eyes only.” He paused. “I’d prefer to cover your breasts too but that would attract attention.”
“Okay, Sir. Thank you.”
“You’re glad?”
“Yes, I don’t want everyone to see my private holes. When the enforcer lifted my skirt it made me feel…”
“What?”
“I don’t know, dirty perhaps, humiliated.”
“But you don’t feel like that with me?”
“Of course not. I want you to look at me, dare I say it admire me. I’m yours to do with as you wish, am I not?”
“Yes, but with that comes great responsibility. I want you to feel safe and not dirty or humiliated.” A grin twisted his mouth. “Unless you’ve been disobedient and then a spanking over my lap is good for you.”
She cast her eyes downward, afraid he’d see that she enjoyed her spankings.
“What?” He tipped her chin.
“Nothing, Sir.”
“Tell me,” he said sternly.
“I… I don’t know if I should, Sir, but I like it when you take your hand to my ass.”
“You do?”
She nodded.
“Good, because I enjoy it too.” He glanced at the cross. “Shame I can’t redden you now, but it’s just too early. You’ll have to be freshly spanked before the parade. It is expected.”
“But you said no one will see my ass, Sir?” She was confused.
“It may well be checked.” He stepped away. “But I must get on with this job.”
He dipped the end of the paintbrush into the pot then again stooped. He began to drag the tip over her thigh, creating swirling patterns.
It tickled a little and Briella rested her head back, enjoying the delicate sensation. It was as if the lightest Roun breeze was caressing her.
On and on he worked, first her left and then her right thigh.
He moved onto her belly, the design intricate and gliding. She tensed as he worked up to her breasts, swirling the paint around her nipples and to the hollow of her throat.
“I’m pleased with the result.” He set down the pot. “Look.”
Briella did as instructed. “Wow.” She’d had no idea her master was such a talented artist. On her abdomen small pictures depicted the mountains and trees, birds and suns. Around her nipples was a symmetrical pattern shaped like stars, and her thighs depicted a complex arrangement of dots that ran into each other like a web.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You’re an easy canvas to work on.” He took her nipples between his fingers and thumbs and rolled them. “One last thing.”
“Yes, Sir.” She watched her nipples tightening as a tug went from them to her pussy. Why did that happen? It felt amazing.
&
nbsp; “Very sweet, stay like that.” Gast stepped away and reached into the drawer.
Briella struggled to see what he was getting. When she saw she wasn’t surprised.
It was the nipple clamps.
“But, Sir…”
“There’s no debate. These are going on.” He licked his thumb and finger, then rolled her right nipple again.
The dampness only added to the stimulation and it beaded hard and tight.
He attached the clamp.
“Ah…” she cried out, struggled against the cross. Her instinct was to remove it and get rid of the pain that bit like a knife.
“Shh…” His mouth was against hers. “Breathe through it, you can, you did it the other day, slave. It’s okay.”
She panted and tried to still her frantic breaths; they were making her chest jiggle and adding to the discomfort.
“That’s it,” he soothed, “let it settle.”
It was settling; he was right. The pain was becoming less acute and turning into a dull throb.
Suddenly the other nipple was tugged and then the other clamp applied.
She cried out with tears in her eyes.
Gast captured her face in his hands. “Slave, stop this nonsense. You can handle the clamps.”
“Oh, but Sir, they hurt so bad.”
“All slaves must wear clamps to the parade. You will try your best to tolerate them without this fuss.”
She sniffed and swallowed, willing the fierce pain to subside. She’d gone from a half existence on Zoid to a hyper-existence here. It was hard to adjust.
He pressed his forehead to hers. Their breaths mingled. He smelled of her arousal, of the earthy paint, and of his own unique masculine scent.
Gradually the clamps became tolerable, and when they did he ran his thumb over her lips, stretching them to the left a little. “You will not cry out any more?”
“No, Sir.”
“Or try and remove them?”
“Of course not, Sir. They’re yours to remove.”
“That’s correct. Now I must unharness you. It’s time to drive to Ryl. The parade will start soon.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He studied her. “You’ll be okay until afterward for medication?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He nodded, then set about releasing her arms and legs. As she rested each arm down, he took it in his hands, rubbing and soothing the aches and assisting the blood flow.
She was grateful for his affection and care. He made her feel so revered, worshipped almost.
When he was apparently happy that her limbs were working normally, Gast went to the cupboard. He retrieved a skirt, not hers, but a different one in the palest orange, like the dust that coated the mountains. “Put this on,” he said, laying it on the bed.
Briella quickly slipped into it, glad that it covered her pussy and ass cheeks.
“And your boots,” he said, placing them before her. “I’ve fixed the heels, they’re quite secure.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
As she tugged them on, he went back to the cupboard. “I made this, for such an occasion.” He held up what appeared to be a several strings of wooden beads all attached top and bottom.
“It’s very lovely, Sir.”
“It will cover your back but not your breasts.” He stepped up to her.
She could see that at the base, like a belt, the beads were connected to a strap, and at the top they gathered together so it became a ‘v’ shape.
“Turn around.”
She did and he fastened the top of the beaded vest to her collar. It dragged and felt heavy, quite uncomfortable and she frowned and fiddled with the front, not liking the way it compressed her throat.
“That weight should go away,” he said, coming in front of her. “When this belt takes the weight.”
She nodded and watched as he circled it around her waist. She could see now that he’d painted her so that the pictures complemented the position of the belt and where the short skirt started and ended.
As soon as the belt was buckled, the beads sat comfortably and were supported. They were cool against her back and when she moved slightly they tickled and clinked quietly.
“It’s traditional to have beads at these parades. The sphere, as you know, is an idolized symbol on Roun, representing the three suns that keep us warm.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Some slaves will have beads in their hair, on their nipple clamps, or even in their ears,” he said. “But I wished for something different.” He huffed. “I’m not one for following the crowd.”
“I know that, Sir.”
“Yes, I guess you are beginning to get to know me.”
Briella thought she knew him pretty well. But he didn’t give her time to answer, because he took her hand and led her from the sleeping room.
Chapter Seventeen
The journey to Ryl was bumpy and Briella found herself sitting forward in Gast’s vehicle. She didn’t want to damage the beads or knock her elaborate hairdo.
The city loomed before them, rising into the lilac sky, and at the very center, the palace towered highest.
She enjoyed looking out of the large windows at this new city, seeing the Roun men going about their business; in and out of shops and eating places, chatting on street corners. A few had women on leads walking behind them, slaves who weren’t due at the parade today.
“Would you like to live here, Sir?” she asked. “And enjoy the shops and eating?”
“No, I like the quiet. The city is not for me.” He continued to stare straight ahead. “Unless I’m with people I care about, I’d rather be alone.”
“I understand.”
“I care about you,” he said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “I like having you in my home, in my life.”
“I’m glad, Sir. I like being with you, too. And I hope I do you proud today.”
“You will…” He paused. “Just not too proud.”
“What do you mean?”
He withdrew his hand. “It’s complicated.”
She wanted to ask more, but he parked the vehicle up and lifted the door. He climbed out and she was left in silence for a moment.
“Get out,” he said, opening her door. “And from now on, do not speak unless you are spoken to. I don’t wish to have people saying my slave has a mind of her own.”
“Yes, Sir. I understand.” She stepped out of the car into the heat of the city.
He leaned in and opened a small compartment, withdrew a black paddle. Turning to her, he said, “I must spank you, so that you’re red for the parade.”
“Yes, Sir.” She swallowed and glanced around. It wasn’t busy but there were people milling about. Masters and slaves, a few men she presumed were enforcers as they had on the same uniform as the ones who’d visited their dome.
“Turn around,” Gast said, “and hold onto the vehicle.”
She did as he’d asked, her knees a little weak and her pussy trembling. The clamps tightened and dragged as she tipped over to a ninety-degree angle.
He flipped up the back of her skirt.
Within her boots she curled her toes, a now familiar wave of humiliation washing over her at being exposed this way.
Gast stroked her buttocks, each one in turn. Then with a sudden, resounding thwack, he brought the paddle down hard on her left side.
“Argh,” she cried out. The sting was brutal, like a flame had been taken to her skin.
“Shhh, slave. I will not have men staring this way.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” She shifted her hips trying to escape the pain. Of course she couldn’t.
“And try to keep still.” He set his hand in the small of her back, over the beads. “This is the quickest way to bring you to the required redness. Take it. Take all of it so that you know I’m pleased with you.”
“Yes, Sir. I will, Sir. I promise.” She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing more was coming.
And it did. The paddle hit down
on her right buttock, then her left again.
He paused briefly to smooth away the burn, then resumed spanking her swift and hard.
She bit on her bottom lip to stop from screaming out. It took all of her willpower not to push away, run away. Standing to take the strokes was so hard, such a test of stamina.
A tear escaped her eye and she wished she could rub her clitoris, to give her something else to concentrate on. But she knew full well that would anger her master. He would not want anyone to see the erotic pleasure happening, not here, beneath the palace.
Finally the spanking came to an end. Again he rubbed over her buttocks, his callused hands adding further insult to her smarting skin.
She moaned and clenched her fists. A drop of sweat had formed between her breasts.
“That should be enough to keep them happy,” he said, flicking down her skirt.
“Yes, Sir.” She sniffed.
“Stand straight.”
Briella did as he’d asked. Her belly was tight; she was a little damp between her legs.
“Slave,” he said, gently wiping his thumb over her cheek and collecting the rogue tear. “Soon we will be home again, I promise.”
“Yes, Sir. I know, Sir.”
He nodded and pulled his eyebrows low.
She stared into his eyes, feeling lost in them, consumed by them.
“I’m sorry, I should have gotten you used to the paddle before this, but we simply didn’t have time.”
“It’s okay, Sir. I understand.”
“You’re so sweet.”
For a moment he looked as though he might kiss her, but then, as if remembering where he was and that enforcer eyes maybe upon him, he pulled back.
Briella beat down a tremble of disappointment; her master’s kisses were precious and she didn’t like being denied.
He put the paddle back in the vehicle, then reached for her lead. “Here,” he said. “Make sure you walk two paces behind me at all times.”
“Yes, Sir.” She knew that, it had been drummed into her at the training camp. They’d even practiced it by leading each other.
He clipped it to her collar, shut the vehicle, then turned.