He jumped at my first touch. My panties muffled his protest. “Don’t you dare come,” I told him, as I drew the zipper down. “Not until I give you permission.”
His cock sprang up through the gap I made. Behind the gag he whimpered like a beaten dog. Saliva gathered in my mouth. Pussy juice trickled from my cleft.
Patience, Liz. Give him what he needs. Then you can take your pleasure.
Trying to ignore the pulse between my thighs, I rolled back onto my heels and stood upright, then pulled out my cellphone. “Now you’re ready, Krishna. Now that you’re—controlled—I’m going to capture this for posterity.” I pointed the camera lens at his bound form.
He grunted, shaking his head violently, tugging against the cables and the scarves. For a moment I worried that he’d topple the chair.
“Hush! Don’t worry. This will be our little secret—as long as you behave, that is. Don’t you want to see what you look like?”
He calmed. He rested in his bonds, motionless and silent. Only his eyes spoke.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, framing his cable-wrapped form on the LCD screen and snapping the shutter. “Beautiful and perverse and unbelievably hot.”
I stuffed the mobile back into my right pocket and pulled a condom from my left. I had waited long enough.
He trembled when I rolled the latex down his length. He moaned into his gag when I straddled his body, knees on the chair seat on either side of his hips, and lowered myself onto his jutting cock. I rocked back and forth, sinking him more deeply into my soaking cunt. I was filled with hot hard flesh—Krishna’s flesh, that I’d craved for so very long. He was mine.
The thought was as intoxicating as the sight of his restraints. Now I was the one who was moaning, pumping up and down, grinding my clit against his pubic bone as I rutted in his lap. He stayed mostly still, allowing me to use him however I liked. I plucked at the taut cables. I pinched the rosy nipples peeking out between them. He gasped and arched up, driving his cock into my wet, hungry depths. I wanted more, always more, his heat and hardness making me cruel as I impaled myself on him again and again. I clenched around him, reaching for the climax that shimmered just out of reach, and felt him surge in response.
He tensed and swelled inside me. He was coming. I looked up at his face and saw such bliss that my scolding died on my lips. Instead, I came myself, pleasure welling up and spilling over, unexpected and effortless. Pure delight, golden and viscous as honey, flooded my senses. His cock blasted me with liquid fire and I came again, rich and smooth and full.
I collapsed on his cable-wrapped chest, breathing his odor of sweat and sandalwood. His cock nestled in my dripping pussy, still half-hard. I pressed my lips to the brown hollow at the base of his throat. I wished, for a moment, that his arms were free so that he could embrace me.
All at once his computer emitted a loud beep.
We both jumped. I laughed and pulled the gag from his mouth. He sputtered a bit.
“The backup process,” he said. “It’s done.”
“Oh. Should I untie you?” Now I felt oddly shy.
“Not quite yet.” His eyes gleamed.
I felt it again, the thrill of knowing that it wasn’t just my pervy mind directing this scene. He wanted what I had to give. He could have stopped me, at the start or later. I’m strong, but no match for a guy a head taller and forty pounds heavier than I am. He could have escaped, even turned the tables on me.
But he didn’t. The thought made me dizzy with delight.
“Kiss me, Liz. Please.”
His full mouth beckoned. I didn’t see any reason to refuse him.
“Thank you,” he said when I finally peeled my lips away from his. The naked gratitude in his voice actually embarrassed me. I clambered off him and started to unwind the cables.
“It’s just—I’ve wanted you for so long, Krishna…” I bent to untie his ankles, not wanting him to see my blush.
“I wanted you, too. I just couldn’t imagine that you’d be interested in—well, that sort of thing.”
“I didn’t know that I was.” I concentrated on undoing the scarves.
Deliberately, I coiled the cables and pile them in their corner. Then I returned to sit on Krishna’s lap once more, his hardening cock pressing against my still-bare bottom.
“And it didn’t scare you or turn you off?” He looked uncertain again. His arms slipped around my waist. I leaned against his shoulder as I retrieved my phone and showed him the photo. “You know, the fact that I was so—deviant?”
The exquisitely obscene image—this work of art we created together—astonished us both. I smiled up into his worshiping eyes.
“I think that makes two of us.”
Ruler
“Get this thing off me!”
Jayarajchandran, King of Kings, Elect of the Gods, Supreme Ruler of the Heavens, Lord of Life, Father of the Two Rivers, gestured at the gem-encrusted headdress that weighted his brow. Two functionaries hastened to remove the heavy crown and bear it away. The ruler breathed a sigh of relief. Pain pounded in his temples. This morning’s audience had been worse than usual.
Two more servants hurried up to take his stiff ceremonial robes of embroidered and jeweled silk. He waved them away. “Leave me alone. I need to rest.” Courtiers, guards and attendants knelt to touch their foreheads to the palm mats before backing out the door.
“Wait,” he called to Neng, his longtime retainer. “Bring me an iced lime juice.” By the time Neng returned, the king had stripped to his light cotton undergarment and was stretched out on the platform bed.
“Put it on the pedestal there,” he commanded. “And then go wait outside.” The old servant silently obeyed, bowing low as he exited.
The ruler drank deeply. The cold, tart liquid was remarkably refreshing. There were certain compensations to his position, he mused. Not many men had the wealth and power to bring ice from the far mountains to this sultry land.
He examined the delicate porcelain vessel, watching the beads of condensation gather into rivulets and pool around the base. Tribute from vassal lords and gifts from distant nations had made his reign the richest and strongest in many centuries. The temples and pyramids that he had constructed would last long after his death, proclaiming the glory of the omnipotent Jayarajchandran to his descendants and the world.
But only the gods knew how much work it was to be the absolute ruler!
The onset of the hot season made his regular morning audience more grueling than ever. From first light until midday, he sat enthroned in the outer courtyard, reviewing petitions and granting boons. The fringed silk umbrellas did little to mitigate the punishing effects of the sun. Beneath his elaborate official costume, he was drenched with sweat.
One by one, the supplicants would crawl along the carpet to prostrate themselves before him. It was forbidden to look directly upon the face of the Lord of Life. Noblemen, common folk and foreign ambassadors, all were equally low in the presence of the Chosen of the Gods.
Their requests seemed so petty. A dispute over land boundaries. A suit for compensation after one man maimed another in a drunken brawl. A gift of foreign trinkets from some emissary hoping eagerly for a military alliance. Protocol required that Jayarajchandran the Great hear and adjudicate all appeals that were addressed to him, without regard to rank or importance.
The king closed his eyes wearily. This afternoon, he had to preside over a ceremony at the main temple, interceding with the deities to ensure a good harvest. At least he could wear lighter clothes; it wasn’t seemly to be ostentatious when soliciting the favor of the gods. He smiled wryly to himself, wondering if they were as tired of hearing prayers as he was.
The noontime sun filtering through the shutters made patterns on the inside of his eyelids. Frangipani and jasmine from the gardens outside scented the humid air. Inside his chambers, it was marginally cooler than outdoors. Jayarajchandran settled back on the kapok-stuffed mattress and tried to relax.
&nb
sp; “Your Most Glorious Majesty. Wake up.”
He was just drifting off when the voice reached him. He sat up in alarm, groping for the dagger hidden under his pillow and cursing himself for having dismissed his guards. He had foiled the most recent coup attempt only two months ago. Under the guise of showing himself as All-Merciful, he had been persuaded to exile his half-brother instead of executing him. That had probably been a mistake.
“Who’s there?”
Beside his bed knelt a young woman, her forehead pressed against the woven floor covering. He couldn’t see her face, but she was slender and well-formed. The arrangement of her plaits showed that she was still unmarried.
“How did you get in here?”
“Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty. Your guards follow Your Majesty’s person; they see no need to protect an empty room.” Jayarajchandran made a mental note to deal with this security hole. “This humble servant has been waiting for Your Majesty to return from the public audience for several hours.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“This lowly woman is Devarasai. She attends Your Majesty’s wife, Her Serene Highness Queen Ranasiree. My royal mistress has sent me to Your Majesty with a petition.”
“Why does my wife not approach me in the public audience? Indeed, it would be a good thing for my subjects to see that even the Queen abases herself before me.”
“Sire, this is a private matter, of some delicacy.”
“Yes, so what is her request? You may rise, Devarasai, and speak to me directly.”
The young lady raised her head, but remained on her knees. Now the king could see her flawless complexion and almond-shaped eyes. These she kept cast down, of course, but he glimpsed the sparkle of wit and sense under the dark fringe of her lashes.
Devarasai had a sharp chin that some might call stubborn, but this did not mar the overall harmony of her features. Her gossamer silk top and intricately patterned skirt made it clear that she was a lady-in-waiting, not a common servant. He slipped the dagger back into its place.
“Your Supreme Majesty, Her Royal Highness bids me to invite you to her bed. It has been many weeks since you joined her there.”
Jayarajchandran groaned. With all his worries and responsibilities, the last thing he needed was an importunate wife.
“Her Highness knows that Your Glorious Majesty has many weighty concerns. She has learned that you have not lain with any of your concubines, either. And she asked me to remind you that Your Majesty still has no heir. While this remains true, there will likely be more attempts to usurp your power.”
The king looked down at the lithe figure on the floor. It was true; he had not felt the goading of desire for a long time. This girl, though, had true beauty, and something else, too, some spark of spirit that glowed behind her subservient demeanor. Inside his loose cotton trousers, he felt his loins begin to stir. He wondered whether he could persuade the Queen to relinquish Devarasai’s services.
He loved his Queen, of course. He and Ranasiree had been children together, in the court of his uncle Jayaramkon the Magnificent. In their early years of marriage, he had been eager to fulfill his connubial duty, joining his lean, hungry body with her abundant and welcoming one. Their union had produced three daughters, but no sons, and in the Land of the Two Rivers, only males could wield supreme power and intercede with the gods.
However, in any case, he was the King, the Lord of all here in this country, and he would decide by himself whether or when to bed his wife — or any other woman, for that matter.
“Tell the Queen that it is not her place to criticize me.” He allowed his voice to show his annoyance. “She should know better than to disturb me in this way. I have many issues more important than her sexual frustration to deal with. And right now I am exhausted.”
The women was silent and respectful, but he saw a tightness about her mouth that suggested she was not satisfied with his reply.
He flopped back onto the bed, lying on his stomach. He did not want Devarasai to see his partially swollen penis. She might report it to Ranasiree, who would be distressed, or even insulted, that he would be aroused by a serving maid yet not by her.
The heavy tropical atmosphere in the room was suddenly oppressive. “Make yourself useful, Lady Devarasai,” he ordered, without looking up “Fan me.”
He heard her rise and go retrieve the long-handled bamboo fan from the corner. In a moment, he felt the blessed coolness of a breeze moving over his naked, sweat-damp torso.
“Ah,” he sighed. “That’s perfect. Continue.”
He floated between sleep and wakefulness, relaxed and comfortable for the first time that day. All at once, he noticed that the current of cool air had stilled.
“I told you to continue,” he began to complain. The next thing he knew, there was a whooshing sound and a fiery pain streaked across his buttocks.
“What! Ay…” Another stripe of fire burned into him, withering his voice. “Ow!” He cringed, expecting another blow, but nothing happened. “What are you doing?”
He turned to look at Devarasai. She was standing beside the bed, holding the fan just below the woven vane and wielding the handle two-handed, like a sword. Her graceful body shimmered with energy. Her dark eyes blazed. When he gazed at her, she did not look away. Her audacity angered and aroused him.
She swung the shaft of bamboo through the air until it whistled. “My honorable mistress bade me return with your promise to attend her. If you would not promise, she told me to punish you for your neglect of her, until you did.”
“How dare you…” he began, but then her weapon swished through the air and landed on the back of his thighs.
He might as well have been naked; the thin cotton shielding his flesh did nothing to diminish the effects of the blow. First there was the sharp agony of the bamboo making contact. He wondered if it had drawn blood. He felt as though the cane actually sliced through his skin. Then came intense heat, as though a thousand suns were bearing down along the line of contact.
Gradually, the heat spread, becoming a melting warmth that flowed along his tensed limbs, loosening and opening him. Blood surged into his penis, swelling it to its full length. Just as the pain was overbalanced by pleasure, she struck him again, twice, symmetrically on the two cheeks of his hindquarters. The anguish flared, acute and focused, then died away to stinging aftershocks.
His engorged organ rubbed against the mattress. The friction only added to his distress and confusion.
“Oh,” he moaned, “please …” He stopped himself mid-sentence. He would not plead with this serving wench. He would not admit that he was nearly undone with pain and lust.
She slashed at him again and again. The elastic bamboo danced over his buttocks and thighs, trailing fire in its wake. Jayarajchandran was panting. His bottom twitched and quivered with each stroke. He ground his pelvis against the bed, eager for release, no longer caring who witnessed his abasement. The torture went on, but now he hardly noticed the pain. There was only the burning in his loins, the tightness in his balls, the ecstatic, agonizing pressure building toward imminent explosion.
Suddenly, Devarasai stopped beating him. “Will you come, my Lord?” It took him a few moments to understand her true meaning. “Will you visit my Lady’s chamber tonight? Will you give me your promise?” She swept the bamboo through the air again, and laughed. “Because if I have punish you much more, I suspect that you will be too sore to do so.”
Jayarajchandran tried to sit up. The effort sent spears of pain into his nether regions. His erection made an impressive tent in the front of his pantaloons. “You demonness!” he cried, tearing them off. “See what you’ve done to me!”
Devarasai smiled and dropped her eyes demurely. “Your Majesty appears to be in fine form to please Her Serene Highness,” she murmured.
“No, it’s you I want, you little minx.” He grasped her arm, but she ducked away. Then she sank back down to her knees and bowed her head.
“My Lord,” she said softly, “You are Lord of Life, King of Kings. Our lives and our fates are in your hands. Of course if you want it, my maidenhood is yours. But I am also of noble blood, and if you take this one possession, you will leave me destitute.”
“Be wise and merciful. Vent your lust upon the Queen your wife, who desires you as greatly as you desire me. And may your royal seed quicken a son in her womb.”
The king gritted his teeth in frustration. She was right, of course. Until the kingdom had an heir, his lust was not his own but must be placed in the service of his people. An image of Ranasiree came to him, her rounded limbs and sweet smile. Perhaps after so many weeks of celibacy, making love to her would have some novelty again.
“Very well. Tell Her Royal Highness my wife that I will visit her this evening after the tenth hour.”
Relief flooded Devarasai’s lovely face. “I will, Your Majesty. Thank you, from the bottom of this unworthy one’s heart.” She made full obeisance, remaining with her forehead pressed against the floor until he bid her rise.
“You must swear on the bodies of the gods that you will tell no one what transpired between us.”
“I swear, Your Majesty,” she agreed, bowing repeatedly as she backed out of his chamber. “On the bodies of the gods. And you will come to the Queen tonight.”
“I will,” he said, unutterably weary. “I will.”
He didn’t keep his word, though. The afternoon ceremony dragged on past dusk. His evening meal upset his stomach. He told himself that he was too tired to satisfy his wife. Then he lay alone in his bed until dawn, sweaty, miserable and uncomfortable, twisting about, trying to find a position that didn’t irritate the wounds left by Devarasai’s beating. Trying not to think about it, and her.
When he returned from the morning audience the following day, he half expected Devarasai to be waiting in his chambers. There was no sign of her, however. The Queen has realized that she cannot control me, he thought smugly. Still, he had his doubts.
It was a rare free afternoon for him, no official duties, no demands on his time. Jayarajchandran decided to spend a few hours in his gardens. He brought a retinue of guards, instructing them to surround the pavilion by the pool, but to remain out of sight. Then he reclined among the cushions in the welcome shade, listening to the music of the fountain and leafing through a book of verse.
Just A Spanking: Tales of Dominance and Submission Page 3