ChoiceofMasters

by Joey W. Hill

  He wished a dire curse on all priestesses and wizards, but called on the discipline of a lifetime to stay where he was and say no more. Forgive me, my lady.

  Her eyes were glazed, and she was leaning forward awkwardly, without the balance of her arms, as if the throbbing between her legs were making it impossible for her to straighten. Thomas steadied her, closing his hands on her shoulders, and she pressed her forehead into his shoulder.

  The guardsman Zorac had called over was a burly fellow of mature years, with a stern but not unkind air about him. A captain of the guard, perhaps. He stood behind Lilith and looked down into Thomas’s dangerous expression.

  He shifted his glance to Zorac, and the wizard nodded. “It is fine, Cullen. The knight will not interfere, not if he values his lady.”

  Cullen did not look as if he feared a fight. “My lord Zorac knows the ways to mete out justice and mercy, sir,” the guardsman said, addressing Thomas. “His actions may seem harsh, but he has been just to me. I would not serve him otherwise.”

  Thomas did not speak, his expression reflecting his barely contained fury. Cullen shrugged, and his eyes went to the tempting bare arse offered before him. The combination of that and the wizard’s encouragement overcame his concerns with Thomas. He pulled aside his woolen hose and braies, and thrust his erect and impressively-sized cock into Lilith from behind.

  The jerk of her body against his hands was like a mortal blow to Thomas’s chest. In his travels, he had been forced to witness things he wished he had not seen, participate in things he wished he could have avoided. Even before Helene’s regimen, he had mastered the art of keeping his emotions chained down in order to learn from what he saw, and act to prevent even greater suffering when he could.

  This should be no different, except it was his lady being dishonored while he stood and allowed it for the sake of her ultimate freedom. It was a bitter taste in his mouth, like the blood that spilled onto his tongue, from his teeth grinding into the meat of his cheek.

  The man’s hand spread over Lilith’s bare back, her ridge of spine, and pushed her down further to make the entry smoother. Her forehead now pressed against Thomas’s chest.

  He held her as the man grunted and thrust. Her legs spread to accommodate him. She threw her head up, her teeth bared. She moaned, a long, lonely cry of passion that would stir the loins of any man.

  Please—” she gasped. “Please—”

  “No, my lady,” Zorac said, devoid of mercy. “Feel Cullen’s cock in your cunt, feel yourself hanging on that precipice, like a man on the gallows just a moment from the gates of Paradise. Know that the pleasure will just build and build, and there will be no release, just pleasure that becomes the greatest of agonies to bear.”

  “Hold,…my…me…” she managed, her eyes on Thomas, tearing.

  Thomas collared her throat with one hand to keep her balanced, and caught the fingers of her left hand, bound to her side, in his own. Her grip was spasmodic, but the intimate link made her eyes close. The tears spilled free, marking her cheeks, even as her cries became more guttural, a woman trembling on the edge of climax.

  She surged forward, her mouth devouring Thomas’s, her tongue wet and sweet in his mouth.

  “Sweet Blood of Christ, but she’s always so tight,” Cullen managed. His thighs slapped hard and loud against her arse, as if he rode the body of a galloping mare. He groaned, long and low, the sound of a man releasing his seed, his fingers clutching her hips in a bruising grip.

  Lilith wailed, not in pleasure but in frustration. He finished and pulled out of her, as matter of fact as a man finished relieving himself against a tree. She would have jerked around, but Thomas held her as the man withdrew.

  “No, no…” her other hand strained toward herself but of course could not reach. The man adjusted himself, did a half bow to Zorac, and resumed his place at the nearby table. Thomas noticed, despite his professed loyalty to the wizard, that Cullen did not meet anyone’s eyes.

  “No, no…” her lips and teeth sought Thomas’s face, neck and ears as she thrashed like an animal in a trap in his grasp. Her hair had come down, and with her teeth bared, she looked like a forest sprite on a rampage for a man’s blood and virility both.

  “She will calm down in a few moments,” Zorac assured Thomas. “She has gotten very good at controlling herself. I used to spread her out on the floor and manacle her to keep her from doing harm to herself. Her scent perfumed our meal and reminded my men of the delights of the night to come. Of course, they had to take her there, on the flagstones, because the spell gets worse with every man who takes her. She can become quite dangerous, more wild than any wounded animal I have ever seen.”

  Thomas rose to his feet, holding Lilith against his side.

  There was a scramble of activity, steel being pulled. The guardsmen were there, and Cullen stood at his lord’s shoulder, his sword out. Thomas wondered if Zorac had called to them in their minds, or if his expression alone had warned them he was a breath away from taking their lord’s head.

  “Would you strike me down, Sir Thomas,” Zorac said, his expression as dangerous as that of a falcon sighting a lone fox kit, “if you thought it would free her?”

  Thomas did not blink. Every muscle of his body was tight with restrained power screaming to be unleashed.

  “If I thought that was the answer to this,” he said in measured tones, “to save my lady from a wretched fate such as you have designed for her, yes, I would. You would not rise from that chair again, no matter what men or magic you have to command.”

  The guards shifted, muttering, but Thomas’s attention did not waver from the man before him. “But it is not the answer,” he said, after a charged silence. “The answer lies in her heart, and yours. I cannot influence yours. Hers I can win.”

  “You are foolish, sir,” Zorac scoffed at him. “I am not isolated here. I know the few knights who still pursue quests of honor whisper of her, and wonder if they should embrace the challenge of defeating an evil wizard such as myself to win one of the most beautiful women in our world, though she is only of basic noble birth. But in the end, they realize there is no real glory or wealth in it, just some fleeting notoriety and a well-used whore. So they think of it, but do not come.

  “You have come,” he cocked his golden head, “and with the endorsement of the mysterious Lady Helene. However, I wonder if, by morning, you will decide Lilith is a prize not worth winning and simply ride away. I have patience, and am willing to wait and see.”

  “Then, sir, I would prefer to take the lady to bed now,” Thomas said. “I demand the spell be removed from her wrists. It gives me no advantage with the ritual, and you know it.”

  “I know that, but the binding stays, Sir Thomas. Do not presume on my hospitality any further than you have. Your challenge intrigues me, that is all. At this moment, you, and your arrogance, endure on my sufferance.”

  The two men locked gazes for several more tense moments, and then Thomas inclined his head. “My lord.”

  It was as much permission as he would seek. He lifted Lilith in his arms. She was far too light, and it further infuriated him that Zorac had not nourished her as he should. He stepped around the table, his contemptuous gaze raking the guardsmen before he exited the room. Lilith’s damp cheek pressed against his heart.

  Chapter Three

  His chambers had been attended while he was gone. The servants had left a tub of water by the fire for morning washing, and some bread and cheese on a board for late evening appetites. The bed was made up with a heavy mound of covers.

  Lilith had begun struggling in his arms halfway up the stairs, attempting to rub herself against him, making little mewling cries. Thomas set her on her feet in the chamber, holding her away from him. She fought him, but he was much stronger, and simply waited until she raised angry, agonized eyes to his.

  “No,” he said softly. “You cannot do anything for yourself that way, lady. You know that. Be calm and strong, as you have tau
ght yourself to be. Be calm.”

  He kept his hands still, so as not to add to her agitation, though he ached to stroke her hair away from her face, touch those lips, give her the comfort and protection of his body.

  Her eyes squeezed shut as he held her. In a few moments, her writhing became a rhythmic rock against his grip, like a metronome settling to a slower pace. At length, she stopped moving and opened her eyes, gazing at him.

  “It feels like almost dying or almost being born,” she said, surprising him with her sudden coherence. “Not quite finished, trapped between world and dust, or womb and world. I am afraid one day I will be torn in two and yet still live.” Her attention roamed from his eyes, and she looked at his hair, his forehead, the slope of his shoulder. “I dreamed of you,” she said. “You disappeared in the mist.”

  “I will not do so again, milady,” Thomas said, his throat tight at her lost eyes and trembling, roused body. “Come lie down for me, on the bed.”

  She stared at him, as if she might refuse, but then she shrugged and turned, bringing a peculiar grace to the action, since she had to move slowly to balance herself without the use of her hands. The bend of her knee to take the mattress and the turn of her hips showed him the deep pink folds of her damp cunt, the sway of her breasts, the nipples tight from cool hallways and bespelled arousal.

  “Lie back and open your legs to me,” he said.

  She tossed her head, another tendril of red hair sliding free of its bindings. Her hair was more than half undone by the rough fucking she had received and her own struggles. As she turned on her hip, and began to lay back, he moved forward. He caught her head in the palms of both of his hands, arresting her body in mid-recline. She trembled, her torso parallel with the diagonal tilt of his own, less than a handspan between the meeting of their hips, stomachs, chests, and lips. Thomas cradled the back of her skull in one hand and freed her hair.

  Ribbons came loose, and he flicked pins away so fire spread over his fingers. He eased her back and his palms came forward, tumbling her thick mane over her shoulders and covering her breasts. She was freshly fallen snow before his gaze, with a swirl of fire at her center, like the color of her hair.

  “Open your legs, Lilith,” he repeated. “Show yourself to me.”

  “You are not my Master. I am not yours to command,” she said, but her voice was weak.

  “I am your Master. You know it, or you would not try to refuse me. You would be as you are to all the others, indifferent to them, while your body is desperately compliant. You are my lady.”

  His hands were on her thighs, and he eased them open. They shivered, like the lean bodies of two soft white rabbits, unmoving under human touch but remarkably feral in their shuddering response, so there was no doubt that he touched something wild and untamed. How often had he seen kings and lords keep ferocious animals in chains or cages in their halls? They wanted that exotic beauty within touching distance, they wanted the animal’s wildness. They put the animal in a cage, making him dependent on scraps. He went mad or listless, only a shadow of the wild creature he once was. The captor sucked away the animal’s wildness, and became the beast instead.

  His wild creature was spread for him now, her whole body shuddering in a way that made him want to cover her, surround her, feel her fragile thighs and breasts against him. He wanted to warm them with his heat and protection, fill her tight channel with his cock, lock them together as one being.

  There was a glitter at her nipples he had not noticed in the hall. He bent and looked closer. “What are these?” he asked. He grazed his fingers over the slim silver circlet around her full left nipple.

  She writhed at his touch, but managed an answer. “They make them more aroused, larger. It pleases my lord for me to wear them.”

  “Lilith,” Thomas sat on the edge of the bed. He bent, his breath hovering over one engorged nipple. “You will not call Zorac ‘my lord’ any longer. He is not your Master. I am.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she began to shake her head in denial. He laid his lips over the tip of the right nipple and pulled it and much of the breast around it into his mouth. Lilith arched off the bed, crying out, her fingers straightening at her sides, as if extending all the digits would make up for her helpless vulnerability to all he could do to her.

  His act had a very functional purpose, though suckling her sweet tits and feeling her moan beneath his touch swelled his cock to a painful thickness that made him lightheaded. His rage, lust and desire had all fueled the erection. He wanted to use it as a weapon, and he fully intended to do so.

  There was not much difference between him and Zorac in that regard. Helene was right. Thomas wanted to free Lilith from Zorac, but not make her free. She was his. However, he wanted to claim her rightfully.

  She would fight him, he knew, for he had to prove himself worthy of being her Master. Thomas’s lips curved into an unexpected smile on the fleshy curve of her breast. Goosebumps rose under his lips as the cool air mixed with the heated flow of his breath. It was as Arthur had been known to say. Might is not right; might should be used for right.

  This was right.

  He had both tiny circlets in his mouth, slick with his saliva, and he spat them out onto the floor. “You will not need such things to stay roused for me, my lady,” he said. “You will experience full pleasure tonight at my command, I promise you.”

  If he did the cursed ritual right. Fighting a border war was far easier than this.

  Thomas rose, moved down the bed and spread her legs wider. He attached them to the cuffs Zorac had left at the corner posts, apparently to contain Lilith for his guests’ pleasure. He did not wish to use them, but knew he must. They were tools and he must not give them any more significance than that. Thomas shut out the misery of their immediate surroundings, the ways Zorac had tortured her, his fury with the wizard. He had found her, they were together, he must make this work. It was that simple. The room was a room anywhere, with the comforts any man who had served in battle could appreciate.

  “My Lord Thomas,” she murmured, and the words nearly brought him to his knees.

  “My lady.”

  “I do not know if I can bear more pleasure. It is something about you that…opens me, inside. I am afraid I cannot bear it.”

  “It will be all right, Lilith. Do not fear.”

  He turned, a basin and a wet cloth now in his hand, and studied her in the flickering light. Her body twitched, little ripples of movement, a press of hips into the bed, a thrust of breasts upward, a restless toss of her head, all movements of a woman wanting a man upon her, inside her, movements she could not control. Artificial cravings Zorac had instilled in her.

  He came to her, and her gaze centered on the empty basin in his hand.

  “I want you to relieve yourself in this, my lady,” Thomas said, sliding his hand under her back and lifting her so she was upon it.

  Her cheeks stained with color. “My lord, I am noble born, and will not—”

  “Be still, and obey me, lady. There is no shame here. I will not have you suffer the smell of another man’s seed forced upon your lovely cunt. Relieve yourself and I will wash you. His eyes burned down into hers. “No man, other then me, will ever have you again.”

  She swallowed, her lips tight. She closed her eyes, averted her face, and a moment later he heard the trickle in the basin as she purged herself of Cullen’s issue.

  He set the basin aside and set to work on her with the cloth. Her thighs tensed at his gentle ministrations, and her back arched at the pleasure of his touch.

  “It is such a small thing,” he said, dropping to one knee. He was tall, so she could still see him. “You see?”

  She gasped, as he laid his thumb on that bud of sensitive flesh just above her warm and moist opening. It was the barest of touches, but it stayed there, a light, immobile pressure that transformed her small movements into hard spasms.

  “A tiny thing, smaller than my thumb pad, but it is so much of what you
are, Lilith. It has such power, for you, from you. It is the center, your power and your vulnerability at once. But it is not your heart. Only your heart can tell you what Master’s hand you will choose to welcome within.” He exerted a small pressure and she cried out, her fingers clutching the folds of blankets beneath her.

  “You must give me your heart with your sweet cunt,” he slid his thumb down, and teased the slippery folds as she writhed, her teeth clenched against his emotional and physical assault. “Call me Master and renounce Zorac’s hold on you.”

  “I am under his spell,” she managed. “I can do nothing.”

  “You can do everything, you simply must choose,” he said.

  He left her to think on that, disposed of the contents of the basin. He took the amulet he wore from his neck, left it by the fire, and then brought another basin, this one filled with clean warm water.

  Lilith looked up at him, her lips parted. He indulged himself, leaning down to cover that mouth with his own. She murmured against him, incoherent, urgent noises. He cupped his hand behind her neck, holding her firmly, feeling the stroke and dart of her tongue against his own, painting her with the wetness of his mouth, letting her get to know him as he was getting to know her. He pulled back. He could not smile at her protesting whimper, as he would have if she was truly free to make the choice to be bound to him. There was too much animal desperation in her face, a feral need that was beyond the pleasures of sexual teasing.

  Zorac had lied. He had not introduced her to a marriage of pleasure and pain, but the mutation of pleasure into pain, a pain she embraced because of her body’s unnaturally heightened response. It filled Thomas with hard anger anew. She could do harm to herself in this state, allow a man to fuck her with the dagger he used to cut his meat as readily as his cock. He wondered at the “pleasures” Zorac’s guests might have tested against the spell.

  Would she be able to survive what had been done to her, even if he broke the spell? Maybe, if she made the choice, and let Thomas be the Master who stood by her side to help her heal.