Caralissa clenched her fists. ‘I yield my body to you, Senelek,’ she said proudly. ‘But my desire is something you will never have.’
‘Ah,’ he said, feeding himself between her lips in a manner most satisfying to himself. ‘But with the taking of your body shall come the possession of your heart, and even your very soul.’
There was no way to respond, the thick manhood of the priest having already pressed itself deep to the back of her throat. As if to enforce the men’s dominance over her, hands came down now from behind, one upon each of her naked shoulders. Not forcefully pressing, but resting, possessively, as though enjoying her vicariously.
Despite his claims the priest appeared to yield little to his passion. His motions were efficient, designed to conquer, to subdue and to control, not to engender his own lust. Caralissa absorbed him, her eyes closed as she imagined Varik in the man’s place, holding her, teaching her, taking her in the fullness of his lust. Varik alone, branding her, heart and soul, spoiling her for any other, ever again.
Senelek shuddered only slightly as he achieved his climax. Methodically, almost dispassionately, he released himself, as if discharging some ritual required by his gods. Caralissa served him well, her mouth forming a tender, resilient pouch. His eyes showed neither gratefulness nor passion as he pulled himself free, his now shrivelled organ hanging lifelessly in front of him.
‘You may take your turns,’ he said to the others. ‘Make her squirm well,’ he added, almost as an afterthought. ‘Leave copious evidence and send for me when you are done.’
Caralissa watched as he donned his robe and walked to the entrance. One of the men - the one she now knew as Garat - opened the tent flap for him, allowing him to leave. How strange, she thought: a cruel despot who did not even stay to see his victim plundered.
‘You heard the high priest,’ said Garat to the others. ‘Let us use this slut in the service of the gods.’
‘In the name of the gods,’ agreed Voorash, grasping her left arm.
‘Glory be to the gods of the Rashal,’ Birat added, taking her right arm.
Caralissa allowed herself to be raised to her feet. It was Garat who made the first move, pulling her into his arms, delivering a kiss, deep and soulful. A piteous moan escaped her throat, her resolve already crumbling. It was true then, what Senelek said - where her body went, so went her soul. The convulsions of a second orgasm passed through her, her untouched sex spasming as Garat’s tongue plundered her open mouth, reclaiming the channel already wrought by the high priest.
‘We shall put her on all fours,’ said Garat, the apparent leader of the group. ‘We shall have her two at a time. Remember, regardless of the orifice you stimulate yourself in, you are to ejaculate externally, on her body.’
‘May our semen be well seen and may it give glory to the gods of the Rashal,’ said Voorash.
‘Their names be everlasting,’ echoed Birat.
She did not know whether to laugh or cry; so absurd were their words, their wooden manners. And yet she needed them, more than she could ever say. Needed their maleness, their harsh ways and attentions.
Caralissa did not wait to be placed, but assumed herself the desired position at their feet. It was for the best, she told herself as the priests unsheathed themselves, forming a semicircle about her. With her degradation would come redemption for Varik, the needed impetus to return him to the ways of his people. And she in turn would be freed of him, freed of a potential life of slavery, as the foreign whore of a warlord, hated by all, held in contempt even by her own people.
It truly was for the best, she repeated, her body on all fours in a foreign camp awaiting her despoilment. It was for the good of all.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ crooned Garat, guiding himself into her mouth. ‘That you should save your breath for me?’
Yes, she nodded, sucking him deeply even as another, either Birat or Voorash mounted her from behind; it was true, she did remember.
‘Hurry,’ she heard a voice complain. ‘I want my turn, too.’
‘There’s plenty to go around,’ Garat said, grasping her hair. ‘You needn’t worry on that score. Isn’t that right, Orencian slut?’
A deep groan issued as her pinioned loins succumbed to another thrust, the greatest one yet. She was going to come again, come like the slut they were calling her. Eagerly she redoubled her ministrations to Garat, though whether to speed the process up to get it over with or else to sweeten it for her own pleasure, she knew not. Such understanding of her own behaviour was beyond her now, as was all form of reason.
‘Arrggh!’ groaned the man at her rear as he withdrew to spurt upon her back. ‘By the gods, I cannot wait!’
‘Please,’ she heard herself wail as Garat withdrew to spray upon her face. ‘Do not leave me like this!’
All at once a new organ was inside her, and she began to weep with joy and shame commingled.
Forgive me, her heart cried, silent and unexpectedly. Forgive me, my Lord Varik.
Caralissa heard the clash of steel just outside Varik’s tent. The warlord was practicing at swords, his bare chest pouring sweat as he parried blow after blow from a pair of blond adversaries, their faces wild with bloodlust. She did not dare look up at him, but kept her head down, her eyes on the ground as the two priests Garat and Birat held her firm. Senelek was talking with his brother, trying to get his attention to tell him of the treachery of the captured queen, the foreign whore now naked before them, her body thick and glistening with the semen of Senelek and his priests.
‘I will not deal with this now,’ she heard Varik say, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. ‘I tend to the affairs of men now, not those of females.’
‘I shall have her put in your tent,’ Senelek replied, bowing quite low before him. ‘Your Lordship.’
Senelek signalled to the two men, who dragged Caralissa inside Varik’s tent, placing her against one of the corner poles. The high priest handed them a long coil of rope, which they wound round and round her reddened flesh, securing her to the centre pole. The faces of Garat and Birat were flush as they worked, flush from their having of her. She imagined their cocks now beneath their holy robes, drained and limp between their legs from their numerous spurtings upon her supple flesh.
They did their work in silence, just as in Senelek’s tent. She’d been a dream of pleasure for them, willing and unresisting, her body leaping before their every touch, pouring forth its passions as though they were her devoted lovers, men to whom she owed her heart. In truth she was a slut, a woman of no shame, no honour.
Each of the priests had taken several turns, trying out all her orifices in a rotational style. Until today Caralissa didn’t know that a man could wish to use her narrower passage, but this too was most thoroughly explored. The priests were enthusiastic and most thorough. They seemed to lose little of their vitality with each passing climax, but managed successively to squeeze forth ever-larger amounts of thick white fluid. Though she suffered much they showed mercy at various points, allowing her to come upon their fingers, as their frequent withdrawals from her starved nether opening tended to leave her frustrated.
On and on it went, and like a whore she gasped, begging their rough attentions. In the end it was she who wore them down, till they were compelled to hold her fast, two of them keeping her still while the third sent for Senelek. It was the priest who finished her off, climbing atop her and bringing her thrice to orgasm as he delved her depths, his turgid pole reanimated, as always in the name of the Rashal gods. Expressionless, eyes closed in an attitude of prayer, he filled her with his fluid, being twice over the only one of the four to climax inside her. Rank has its privileges, she’d thought as he removed himself, not deigning even to look her in the face.
‘Guard the entrance,’ said Senelek to the two when they were finished with the rope. ‘I will wait upon my brother.’
‘Yes,
Lord Senelek,’ they said in unison, turning on their heels as if she were not there.
Senelek approached her, touching his finger to her cheek. ‘We will meet again,’ he promised, ‘your highness.’
Caralissa turned her head away from his sneering glare. Fighting back the tears, she tried to think of Varik. How splendid she imagined him looking as he sported with his fellow warriors, their huge swords clashing like lightning, sparkling in the sun as they impacted, one upon the other, over and over, a deafening barrage and yet not one drop of blood drawn.
She heard Senelek laugh and then he was gone. A shiver passed down her spine. By now she ought to be used to this, to being naked and bound, used to having her body abused and left to chill in the crisp daylight air. Upon the battering ram, for example, where she hung like a scarecrow, a figure to be ridiculed by her own people, by the despicable Telos and her own arrogant and sullen sister. And now there were these new ropes to braze her skin as she stood wrapped like a mummy. They could have gagged her too, but there seemed no point. Her own shame kept her silent now. No doubt her well-rested tongue would come in handy when Senelek spilt his lies, demanding her confirmation of them before his unwitting brother.
She was supposed to confirm whatever the high priest might say. No matter what, she was to concur, to agree with Senelek so as to override and destroy Varik’s natural inclination to protect her.
But what exactly was it that would happen to her along the way - once she succeeded in convincing Varik that she was guilty? Senelek had refused to say; his only promise being that by nightfall she would be free, never to be troubled by the Rashal lord again. Senelek was tricking her, she was fairly certain. And yet she did not care. Her life meant little. As for her people, she sensed their best hope lay in Varik, in his maintaining of power over Senelek. It was the leadership of Senelek she feared most, and this, she was certain, could best be avoided by her own despoilment and removal from the camp.
Caralissa’s aching body came to sudden attention, her weary heart soaring as she heard his voice. It was Varik, outside the tent, exchanging words as he so often did with his brother.
‘I wish to hear nothing further from you,’ Varik declared, cutting off the man’s initial explanations. ‘I desire none of your reports or explanations, with regard to this or anything else. I wish only to be left alone.’
Senelek could be heard to dismiss his men. He then began arguing the point for his own involvement, for a proper interrogation of the prisoner, but Varik cut him off now, his voice menacing. ‘I said I wish to be left alone,’ he repeated. ‘Even by you, my brother.’
‘Very well,’ Senelek replied, his voice sounding slightly brittle. ‘I shall await your pleasure.’
Her eyes beheld him as he entered his tent. Varik seemed careful to avoid looking at her as he scooped a towel from off one of the wooden chests and began to dab at the tiny pools of sweat on his chest. He was holding his sword and scabbard in hand, and he laid it down beside the axe. The man’s every motion seemed carefully circumscribed, designed to diffuse the possibility of emotional reaction. Donning a tunic, one of scarlet red that slipped easily over his head, he knelt briefly in the corner, in an attitude of prayer.
After a long time he rose and walked to a place directly in front of her. His face moulded into a most unreadable expression, his eyes lit with a small but discernible glow, he beheld her. Whether it was the prayer or the time with the swords she could not tell, but it was something real and palpable, surely, that possessed him.
How she longed to reach out to him, to understand his pain. He’d refused to hear his brother’s accusations. And yet it must be clear to him by her presence, her condition, that something terrible had occurred. Why was he not screaming? Why was he not demanding explanations, or barring that, seeking to comfort her?
‘I owe my life to my brother,’ Varik began, his eyes connecting with hers, drawing her to that common place, that place beyond pain, beyond explanation. ‘Without him we would not be a people. He has his darkness, deep within, but he serves the people. As you serve yours in your darkness, and I in mine. That is what matters. It is the people that have life above us, you and I and he. We are nothing without our people.’
Caralissa nodded, determined to hold within her, still and unspoken, the truth of the day’s events.
Varik noted her reaction. Running his hands through his hair he looked to the ground. ‘My brother would tell me lies,’ he said. ‘Lies that are truth in the eyes of our gods. In the final scheme, what is a lie and what is truth?’ he asked, beholding the ground.
Caralissa longed to hold him. Curse the ropes that kept her from his arms, which kept her from comforting him.
Varik clenched his fists. ‘The ways of the gods are strange. And yet we mortals cannot oppose them.’ He looked once again into her eyes, his own consumed with unearthly fire. ‘Senelek would tell me that you have betrayed me, and yet I can guess the truth. It was he who violated you - he and his men, was it not? Do not answer me, only listen. There is a deeper truth. Even Senelek is not responsible, but only me. It is I who did this to you. You must learn to hate me, Caralissa. I insist upon it.’
She shook her head violently. ‘I cannot do that,’ she said, finding her dormant tongue.
‘You shall,’ he countered. ‘I will leave you no choice. In a moment I will call Senelek in here and I shall ask him as high priest to mete out your sentence, for betraying my honour. He shall propose to have you flogged and publicly humiliated, in front of the entire army. I shall agree, and allow him personally to carry out the sentence. From that time on I shall not speak to you, will not heed your cries, nor will I even bid you goodbye afterwards when you are returned to your people. From that time on you will never see me again.’ He paused to stroke her cheek with the flat of his hand. ‘Thus will you come to hate me,’ he said, very softly.
‘No!’ she cried, straining against her bonds. ‘I shall never hate you, no matter what you do to me.’
Varik considered her, his lips at last curling into a smile, both sad and ironic. ‘And that,’ he told her, ‘shall be my punishment, Little Flame.’
Turning his head towards the entrance to the tent he called for his brother, whom they both knew was close at hand. ‘Senelek!’ he cried. ‘Come quickly, and bring the gods with you. It is time for them to feed once more on human misery!’
Chapter Five
Caralissa was secured to the platform, her arms stretched above her head, her breasts proud in the twilight air, her flat stomach vibrating ever so slightly with her soft breath. She was naked, her body glistening from the cleansing oils applied following her bath. There were also powders, perfumes and chanted prayers, this being a ritual event, her flogging before the assembled troops of the Rashal Empire.
Discipline was high in the ranks and there were no leering eyes this time, no slanted smiles, no licking of lips.
In their ranks they stood, eyes forward, in full battle uniform. Rows a hundred soldiers wide and twenty deep stretching across the plains. Mounted on horseback the cavalry enjoyed a better view, a full panorama of the queen, her arms taut, her calves stretched, standing on tiptoe, doing her best to equalise the pressure on her bound wrists. There was no concealing her predicament, the hardened nipples, swelled with fear and anticipation, the oily smell of her crotch, the seemingly unstoppable flow of her juices.
Only a slut, or worse, a slave, could be so aroused by the prospect of being beaten by a mortal enemy, a man who’d defiled her and then assaulted her character in the bargain.
Only a slut would moisten in front of ten thousand men as they prepared to watch her writhe beneath a whip. And not merely a single stick of leather, but a thick-handled braided device, with five thongs, long and devious.
Senelek’s boots could be heard behind her as he ascended the platform. He would do the whipping, as Varik predicted. All of this, in fact, was pr
ecisely as Varik said it would be. True to his promise he had abandoned her and done nothing to prevent her sentence. Caralissa raised her head towards the crowd. She did not wish the men to see her face, her emotions, but she needed to find him. Needed to scan their ranks, the need and loneliness written across her face as she searched in vain for their heartbroken ruler.
Where was Varik? Nowhere to be seen, and yet it was made clear by Senelek that he would watch, that in fact he must watch by Rashal law. The boots were coming closer, narrowing the distance. His every step seemed to take hours. Her heart, more bared than her flesh seemed flayed by every second, by the truth of time’s unfurling. Varik did not care. He could not, would not put any feelings for her above his duty. He would let her be whipped, and for a crime she did not commit, all for the good of his people. Her people, too.
She drew a sharp breath, tried to conceal her naked terror. Senelek was directly behind her. His shadow across her, his breath perilously close to her ear.
‘You are mine now,’ he told her. ‘Queen Caralissa. And not only for the next twenty minutes, but forever. For what I am going to do to you will brand you. I will mark you, and not only on your pretty skin, but in deeper places. Places a man like Varik, with all his ideals and sense of honour could never dream of touching. You see, my dear, I am like you. Civilised.’
Senelek nibbled her ear, subtly and for only the briefest of seconds. At the same time, insolently, almost casually, he let the many-stranded whip brush her hip.
‘Please,’ she breathed, her every thought of defiance dissolving before her eyes, ‘I beg mercy.’
Senelek grabbed her hair. He was standing in front of her now, forcing her to look him in the eye.
‘No,’ he smiled thinly, thrusting the handle of the whip quite unexpectedly between her legs. ‘You shall have no mercy.’
Caralissa jolted as though struck already. Helpless in her bonds she received the leather, her vagina filled completely. Gasping audibly she felt the spasms beginning to mount.
Caralissa's Conquest Page 10