by Darcy Sweet
“You tempt me,” he said with a bitter laugh, “How you tempt me.”
“Is that a bad thing,” I asked.
He laughed again. “I cannot take you until you know.”
“Know what?” I cared for nothing other than the incessant beat of my desire. I could not think while it burned so.
“You must have a clear mind. You must understand.”
“How can I think when I feel like this?” I cried, “I too want to know but all I feel is the beat of this.” I cupped my sex in a lewd action that shamed me as I did it.
“You have servants do you not? They must offer you release,” The Silver Master rasped.
“Not enough,” I whimpered, “It’s never enough.”
“You miss the bite.”
As he spoke I realized that I had moved my hand up to stroke the faint marks where Roth had last taken me. “Yes, I miss the bite.”
Missing was too small a word. Did the starving merely miss food? The drowning miss air? Burning heat and cold flashed across my skin. Anger and lust swirled within, clenching my womb.
Want. Want. Want.
Nadar’s eyes remained fixed on my neck. He laughed, a bitter sound. “I cannot give you the bite you seek. I have vows that I cannot break. Not even for the desire I have for you.”
I didn’t understand what he meant. What vows? All I knew, all I felt was centered in the all consuming need pulsing between my legs.
He gripped the arms of the chair. Long fingers curved around the ornate carved wood. He was holding himself still. Holding himself back, from me.
I stepped forward. He pulled back, pushing further into the chair.
“No,” he said, voice as thick as winter cold molasses.
I pulled at my gown, teasingly raising it to swirl around my calves.
“No,” he said once more, but did nothing to stop me.
His eyes fixed upon the slow rise of my skirts. When cool air hit my bared thighs I heard him groan in appreciation of my lack of drawers. “You do not have to take the neck,” I said angling the plump smooth vein of my inner thigh toward him.
“Talia,” my name issued forth like a hissed plea for mercy.
I came forward, a woman possessed. No longer Talia of Hawthorne Shire, no longer the Chosen, nothing other than the need that throbbed within. It would not be denied.
I spread my legs. Both hands gripping the folds of my skirt high at my hips. I came up on his chair. On my knees I straddled him. Over his tensed thighs. Rigid, he sat, his only movement the rasping rise and fall of his chest. Letting the soft folds of my skirt fall over us I slowly slid my hands up his body, over the hard tense plane of his stomach, up his chest. My thumbs brushed his nipples. He gasped but still did not move.
When my hands finally came to rest at his shoulders I leant in, draping my hair to one side I offered him the curve of my neck. Still he did not move. I shifted closer until the pulse at the base of my neck rested on his lips.
“Take,” I said. Not pleading, but issuing a husky command.
“No!” he rasped, his fangs grazing my skin as he spoke.
It was so fast. So rapid that I had not time to think. His hands came to my hips pushing back and lifting all at once. He spun me around, my back to his chest, my skirt rucked high. He brought his fingers to my nipple and one hand to rest at my bared sex, all within the space of an intake of breath.
Rough, he pulled me back until I pressed tight against his body. He shifted me as easily as if I were a child. My leg he forced to move until I straddled his right thigh. The hard ridge of his erection pushed into my buttock. I rolled my hips into it and heard his gasping response. The fingers at my chest gripped the edge of my corset, yanking it down until it sat under my breasts, forcing out the plump curves. My nipples poked through the thin chemise. His fingers came to brutally twist one and I moaned in satisfaction at the pain.
“Yes. Yes,” he murmured in my ear, “That’s what you need.” The sound vibrating in my ear. I was wet, shamefully wet. My sex slick and swollen, I rocked forward until it pressed into the ridge of his leg muscle.
His long fingers brushed the front of my sex. I rocked back to give him room to push inside but he did not. He pushed me forward and brought up his knee until my wet slit rode his thigh.
“Take it,” he said, “Take what you need.”
I did. I pushed into him, riding his thigh like a wanton. The soft brushed leather of his breeches slicked wet with my desire. I rocked my hips, forward and then in undulating circles. It built. Clenching heat, delicious surging pleasure claimed me with each rock of my hips. I pushed down, mounting him hard. The feeling swept over me. Cascading in shimmering waves of rolling heat. My skin burned, tight and hot as if I were roasting with pleasure. More, more I wanted, needed more. I whimpered. Rocking my hips against his leg. I cried. Desperate, needy, shameful sounds of wanting.
Not enough. Not enough.
“I know,” he murmured, “I know what you need.”
The feeling built. Built, higher, harder, clenching tight, my thighs rigid, ready for the coming release. I released my hold, falling into the pleasure, hoping that it would be more than I had had with Hatha. Hoping that the Silver Haired Master could finally give me the release I craved.
As the orgasm hit he cut me. At the beat of my pulse at the base of my neck his sharpened thumb nail popped through the skin and a hot trickle of blood trailed down my taut skin. The pain, the blood, it gave me my release and I shattered into another orgasm. I fell back against him, his nail pushing deeper, further into my skin. I wanted his mouth. I needed his mouth.
“Take it,” I whimpered breathlessly, “Take it please.”
“No,” he said, his voice shaking with dark need, “I can’t….I can’t…”
I twisted in his hold until I could reach a hand up to his hair. I pulled hard on the silver mane, bringing his head down to my neck and forcing his mouth to the stream of blood.
“Take, taste,” I commanded and I felt my arm glow hot with power where the symbols lay.
He did not suck, but his tongue came forth hot to lap at the trickle of blood. He groaned. The sound vibrated the room. The lamps on the walls flickered on and off again. The shelves rattled as he fed from the stream of blood.
I held him there, willing him to suck but he did not. He pulled back, shoving me forward as he did. I hit the floor, sprawled on my knees. He looked down at me, his mouth smeared with my blood, his eyes glowing black rimmed with silver.
“What have I done?” he whispered as he looked down at me with shock. He wiped his mouth with his hand and then looked down at the red stained skin.
“You did not bite,” I said to him hoping to appease the horror in his eyes.
“I must go,” he said.
“Please, wait, what should I read. What should I know? I have so many questions.”
He did not answer me. Instead he pulled at the lamp opener and left me there, on the floor, still on my knees.
After he had gone I waited for him to return. I sat on the floor hoping that he would come back to me. But he didn’t. I pulled myself up on shaky legs to sit in the chair that I had first found him in. On it lay a book. Black leather bound with a silver key embossed on the cover.
Find the key.
I should have been glad to find what I sought. But I did not. I felt bereft. Empty. I cried. Wept for what had happened. For what I did not understand. I looked down at the symbols on my arm. I wanted to scrub them clean. Wipe away what had happened but I did not. I had to still control my guards. I needed and resented the symbols upon my skin. I cleaned myself up as best I could smoothing my hair and righting my clothes. I snuck past the elderly man and back to my chambers with great ease. My guards were as I left them. With one simple command they let me enter and went back to their posts with no memory.
How I wished I could do the same. I scrubbed my arm until the skin looked red and raw. Erasing at least that. I threw the book under my bed. I heard it
slide along the floor and hit the wall with a thump. I was on my bed weeping when the door opened. Hatha looked down at me and shook her head. “Dry your eyes Mistress. He has returned.
Roth.
My heart both sang and sank with that one word.
Chapter 3
Hatha bathed me with special intent. This time with helpers. I sat in the copper tub surrounded by a cloud of black gowns. There were only four but it felt like so many more, their presence darkly omnipresent. With their starched winged caps and wide inky skirts they moved like a flock.
Of bats, not birds.
They washed me, my hair and my body. Working as a team they held my legs and shaved them of all hair, as they did my underarms. After I had been bathed, shaved, scrubbed and scented I was pulled from the bath to stand. Foolishly I had thought the process over and that I would be clothed, but of course there was more to come. Hatha approached me with a straight edged razor and an evil gleam in her pinched eyes. I flinched, attempted to step back but was held by three sets of hands.
“What are you doing?” I gasped as I watched the silver gleam of the blade edge.
“What the Master requires.”
“What does he require with that?” I asked pointing at the razor.
She spoke not to me but to the other women, “Spread her legs.”
Two went down to hold my legs, rough fingers biting into my thigh and calves. The other woman, a brutish beast at least twice the size of Hatha, came behind and wrapped her ham hock arms around my body, holding me in a vice like grip. My arms trapped I gave a futile attempt at freeing myself. The more I struggled the harder she gripped.
My heart raced, thumping hard against my chest. Though my soul screamed out to struggle, to escape, instead I submitted. I stood mute and still. I was trapped. I had no choice. Logic had to prevail.
Hatha went down on her knees. She threaded her fingers through the thatch of golden curls between my legs and pulled hard. I bit back a gasp, a flush of shame rolled across me as I felt my sex become wet at the painful tug.
She knew. Even without a gasp or moan to betray my want. Hatha knew. She tugged again and I heard her murmured chuckle.
She grasped the hair tight and ran the razor under her grip cutting off clumps of hair. Pulling on each lip she repeated the process until all that remained on my sex was a spiky fuzz. Then she reached into the tub and pulled out the soap. Lathering my mound, she dug her fingers into the pubic bone, rough circles at the root of my pleasure until I moaned. When what remained of my hair was soaped into a thick lather she started to scrape the sharp blade across my skin. The feeling of the metal edge shaving over my taut flesh was enough to make my knees fail.
“Hold her tighter,” came Hatha’s command and the beast that held me gripped tighter, her meaty fists wrapping around my wrists. I moaned at the brute force. I pressed back into it. To my shame the constriction was exciting. The binding added to the wanting. I struggled again just to feel the tight press of her hold. Hatha worked in slow devastating strokes over my mound and across the slippery lips of my sex. When she finished she wiped the exposed skin with a hot cloth. I was relieved until I heard Hatha’s barked order, “Turn her over.”
The brute twisted me around and forcibly bent me at the waist. The two at my legs spread me wider. One of them stood and placed her fingers wide on my buttocks.
“No,” I said, even as I knew I could not stop what was to come.
“Yes,” Hatha said and I did not have to see her face to know her glee. I heard the evil smirk in her tone. The hands at my arse spread me wide. The brute held me tight around my bent waist, holding almost all my weight. Hatha lathered between my arse, soft slippery fingers probing at my most private place. She worked the razor quickly, scraping the hair with intent. Water washed over the bare skin, but she was not done. After the lather was gone in its place came warm oil. First dripped down the darkened crevice and then massaged on the puckered opening that nestled between. Fingers slipped in circles and then dipped in the softened hole. I didn’t want to, but I rocked back into those fingers. Slick with warm oil they worked deep inside a place I did not know they could. Dark pleasure surged through me; my nipples beaded hard, my sex clenched as did my arsehole around those wicked fingers. I was close, so achingly close to release…when she stopped.
The brute helped me to stand. My legs shook with unspent release. I ached. The hands that came to rub across my body with glittering oil did not help with the wanting. Four sets rubbed, teased, tweaked and played bronze oil across the canvas of my skin.
After I was oiled Hatha dressed me. A sheer black chemise inlaid with silver thread. I waited for the dress to cover me, but it did not come, only a silver corset that was bound tight to plump out my breasts.
She did not bind my hair this time but instead worked it with scented oils and hot tongs until it curled with wild abandon. Fine curled silver ribbon was fixed into the curls, so sheer it seemed as if it could be my own hair. The silver made me think of him. The Silver Master. Lust, guilt, longing and fear threaded through my very soul at the thought of him.
How could I think of him when finally my Prince had returned?
Hatha came before me to paint my face. I closed my eyes as she swept deep black kohl across the lids. She worked for some time on my eyes and brows, with many different colors and brushes. My lips she left unpainted, just covered with a quick swipe of scented oil.
She had not touched me for a moment, but I could feel her breath close on my skin, so I opened my eyes to see what she was doing. She was staring intently at the small round mark at the base of my neck.
Where the Silver Master had pierced my skin.
She placed a finger at the mark and pressed hard until it hurt.
“Have you been cutting yourself Mistress Chosen?” she asked.
“Yes,” I lied, “I have missed his bite.”
Hatha looked deep in my eyes. I drew on every trick I had ever known to keep my face calm. She nodded as if accepting my answer.
“Do not do it again. You skin is his alone to mark.”
I felt a flash of anger at her words. I looked away so as not to show any emotion.
“Come now,” Hatha said, holding out her hand, “He will be waiting.”
Another surge of anger rushed hot at her words. He waited? What about how I had waited?
My anger kept up hot and hard as I stalked through the halls with my bat-like entourage. It built with each click of Hatha’s boot heel in front of mine. I did not even know where I was going. I was just a pet to be dragged around at his whim.
Hatha stopped at red lacquered doors. Impressively large, they were easily wide enough for us to enter four abreast. Four guards were stationed at the entrance. Two opened the doors and the others announced our entrance with a volley of sound from long trumpets.
I stepped inside, nudged from behind by Hatha’s hand at the small of my back. The room was a suite. Like my own but much larger, much grander. Five of my own generous room could’ve easily fit into the chamber. At a brief glance I saw four couples, one I knew straight off, the brother and sister that had been at my Choosing. The brother did not meet my eyes, instead raked a hot look across my body, settling at the juncture of my legs.
I fought the urge to cover myself. Instead, fueled with righteous anger, I pulled my shoulders back and my chin up. I heard a laugh. His laugh. I turned and all melted away. All anger, all the other people. Everything.
Roth. Roth. Roth. The name pounded through my veins.
He came forward. Arm outstretched. I swayed. Hands came to my waist. Hatha? They pushed at my hips, forcing me down, but I did not succumb. I would not meet him on my knees. I did not know why it mattered. But it did.
I would not meet him on my knees.
I took a step forward. Out of Hatha’s grasp. I stood tall. I did not hold out my hands to him, I did not take his offered hand.
He laughed again. The sound rippled through to my very bones. Made me
liquid, but still I refused to kneel.
“My Chosen,” he said and went down to his knees before me, “How I have missed you.”
His mouth nestled at my sex, his arms around my knees, hands on my buttocks. He kissed my newly shaved mound through the sheer fabric and I moaned. A keening sound of desperate need, it started at the base of my spine and rolled up my body to issue from my mouth almost in song.
“Yes,” he murmured. His tongue came forward to lick through the chemise. To taste. I pushed my mound into his mouth, struggling to spread my legs and mount his face.
He laughed again. His hands left my arse and slid down my ankles. He stroked up the sides of my legs, drawing the silver shot fabric up as he did. I closed my eyes and reveled at the rightness of his touch. The silky chemise dragged across newly shaved sensitive skin, cool air brushed my bare sex as it reached my hips, exposing me. His big hands held me tight at the hips, crumpling the chemise in his fingers.
I spread my legs wider for him. Hot and wet his tongue came, first to sweep along the shaved seam and then up to my clitoris. I sang out in pleasure as his lips pursed to suck at my center. I rocked into his mouth, my hand coming down to fist fingers in his dark hair. Fingers woven tight in his hair, I pushed him at my mound. He sucked me to my release and as I knew he would, the moment my clenching spurts came he bit down, piercing the skin with a growl. My blood and cum ran hot, gushing into his sucking mouth. I threw back my head, unable to contain the surge of pleasure that rocked through me at the feel of his bite. I cried out. Loud wails that seemed to bounce off the walls and echo through the room.