Dream Captive

by Reese Gabriel

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she replied throatily, her lips slack and pouting, ‘my lord.’

  ‘Do it well and you will be allowed to take me between your legs.’ Tesra sucked his nipples, indicating how badly she wanted that very thing. It was good to have the attentions of a female’s tongue, small and eager to please, the girl intent on satisfying him, working her hardest to earn the right to a fuck. She’d have to go on top, needless to say, on account of his current predicament. No matter, a strong man controlled his lovemaking regardless of the position of his female. Riding his cock the girl would be every bit his prisoner as if she were the one chained. And in the end she would come on command and clean his dick with her mouth.

  ‘Do I please you, master?’ She dabbed at the inside of his thigh.

  ‘Yes, and you had best stop chattering and attend to your work.’

  ‘Why,’ she giggled, ‘what will master do if I don’t?’

  ‘Master will feed his little Yellow Pelt to the sharks, as I should have done the day I found you.’ It was good to have this game as an escape. He was as unlikely to command a ship again as this cell was to crack open of its accord yielding a stairway to the moon.

  ‘Master was cunning to catch me that day in the pool. Was I the loveliest of my kind that you saw?’

  ‘No, wench, just the slowest.’

  She kissed the head of his prick. He groaned, nearly ready to expend himself already. Fists balled, he strained at the irons. Tesra seemed excited by this - so much male power constrained so completely.

  ‘Will master allow his slave to mount him?’ she wondered aloud.

  ‘If his slave will stop wagging her tongue, perhaps.’

  ‘Please, master?’ she begged prettily.

  ‘Permission granted.’ He feigned indifference.

  She took him in a single smooth motion, amazing him with all she’d learned. Apparently the slave girls had been busy with her education back in the hold. ‘Slow down, wench, or the sport will end before it begins.’

  ‘Am I more woman,’ she grinned down at him, pausing for air, ‘than master can handle?’

  ‘You will pay for that,’ he promised, with a good-natured growl.

  At once her demeanor grew serious. ‘Promise?’

  They both knew the implications of this. For him to ever have power over her again they would both need to be free - free of this dungeon and of the horrors of Talassia. ‘Promise,’ said Marcellus, well aware that he had never in his life broken his word.

  Persistrata, he prayed. You have brought me thus far. Please tell me you have a plan the rest of the way.

  Tesra began to cry. ‘I am sorry, my lord, it is all too much.’

  He invited her to lie upon him, her cheek on his chest. As long as there was breath in his body, as long as his heart beat in his chest, he would protect this female. ‘Trust in me, Tesra,’ he said. ‘Trust in the goddess.’

  ‘I do,’ she sniffled.

  ‘Then ride me, wench. I command you to take your pleasure. Now.’

  Wiping away her tears she resumed her place upon his throbbing cock. With long slow strokes she fed him in and out of her opening, the tension building.

  ‘Now,’ he hissed. ‘Let go now.’

  She threw back her head, grasped her own breasts and rocked herself to the most splendidly female climax he had ever seen.

  Waiting till the last possible second he released his own, riding with her over the crest of the waterfall, and even as he fell he wondered if he could ever have enough of this woman or if life without her could have any meaning.

  Chapter 10

  Talas City rose in gleaming gold from out of the sea, like an artificial mountain, or rather a collection of them, spires of many sizes and shapes topped with slender rods and flags and banners. The sun herself could scarce cast enough light to reflect the splendor of the whole of it, from the colored stones and gems in the harbor walls, the marble-coated battlements to the endless array of ships lining the harbor, representing every nation and people in the world.

  It was said that the capital city of the Talassian Empire was well over ten thousand years old, and that the First People themselves had laid the cornerstone of what was now the old wall. Noble Talas, seat of the greatest empire the world had ever known, home of its strongest people and of its emperor, the dragar, held to be sacred among all who bowed to the green and yellow of the imperial flag.

  Tesra had an excellent view of all this from the deck of the Talassian naval flag ship as it glided slowly into the mouth of the harbor. Patrol craft surrounded on every side, as if somehow the girl might escape and require vigorous pursuit. As it was she was quite entirely helpless, her hands manacled behind her back, her ankles shackled heavily. A guard stood at either side of her, attentive to her every breath. Neither would dare make sexual use of the captive at this juncture, though both seemed more than eager for a last go at her.

  Many times she’d been had on the sea journey here. She doubted this was supposed to occur, but she’d been advised it was best to go along and not to complain. Marcellus and the men were on a different ship and in her great aloneness she had for the most part welcomed the slobbering mouths, the thrusting pricks in the dark of the ship’s hold, long into the wave-tossed nights.

  The upper echelon officers took no never mind of the crew’s games with her and, surprisingly enough, did not seek her favors for themselves. Perhaps they had more to fear from their superiors. Either that or they regarded the woman as too low to be worth sinking their penises into.

  The ship docked quite smoothly, and at once a large landing ramp was slid down from the side of the naval vessel onto the dock where a contingent of high-ranking officers were waiting. Two admirals accompanied Tesra off the ship, turning her over to a pair of red-robed men with masks of black. The masks were expressionless and when each of the men took her by one of her upper arms she felt a chill that reminded her distinctly of death, as she had experienced it among the oldest members of the sisterhood.

  Flanking the mysterious escorts were two dozen soldiers in gold armor, one dozen on each side. Their body armor shone like dawn and they carried large and heavy swords. She could not see their faces below the visors of their equally gold helmets, but it was a good guess none of the men were cracking a smile.

  At first Tesra thought they were going to walk from the crowded, bustling harbor onto the street, but she saw now that there was a carriage and a pair of heavy wagons, the tops framed in wood overlaid with fine silk. She was helped into one of the latter, and her escorts rode with her, sitting opposite her on the benches along the outside walls. She had no idea who might be in the carriage.

  Tesra heard the cracking of whips - a sound that brought back memories of her own punishments. With a jolt the wagon started forward. Soldiers were shouting for the way to be cleared in the name of the dragar. A thousand strange smells and sounds assaulted Tesra’s senses through the barred doors and windows. She could hear unknown languages. Everything from quick, staccato chops to delicate singsong. And smell the odors of the marketplace, with its strange animals and foods. And all manner of people; interesting people with so many stories to tell. If only she had the time to investigate. If only she wasn’t a prisoner, naked, on her way to see a brutal monarch who, it was rumored, was so bloodthirsty that he had one of his own wives killed for interrupting his train of thought by passing beneath his window one morning humming a little tune.

  Compared to what she’d heard from the sailors on board the Talassian navy ship, the governor indeed seemed a saint in comparison to Emperor Teradon. And all she could possibly do to oppose him was to continue praying, hoping against all hope the long-absent goddess would deign to reappear, choosing this of all times to intervene in some miraculous and spectacular way.

  The wagons and carriage traveled for a good long way through
the streets of the sprawling city. There were more people here, she reasoned, than had ever even lived back home on the Isle of Dreams in its entire history. And in even one of these minds, by her detecting, there seemed to be more distortion, more potential for violence than the whole of the sisterhood could ever contrive had it a million years.

  Tesra did her best to shut her mind against all such thoughts. This was something she hadn’t bargained on - tuning in to the mental activity of such a locus of humanity; such a twisted mass of contradictory, distorted wishes, confessions and rationalizations. It was no wonder the gods put so little stock in the race of men, choosing to rule them from afar.

  The wagons stopped twice at what Tesra presumed to be checkpoints. The wheels bumped over cobblestone past the second one, then vibrated over stone and finally a clacking platform of wood. A drawbridge, perhaps?

  Behind her she heard the screech of metal, slowly grinding, and an ominous crunching sound loud as thunder. She imagined huge doors shutting her in. Tesra was let out into a courtyard of stone. The walls were thick and gray and above her she could see just a small thatch of blue sky between the monstrous ramparts. Inhaling, she sensed something ominous in the air - something hanging and oppressive.

  No words were spoken as the prisoner was transferred to a new set of guards, wearing purple robes and high black boots. It was these men who led her, or rather half dragged her, inside to a long corridor decorated by small marble columns and ornate suits of armor.

  Rudely, with no explanation, they shoved her inside one of a long series of rooms. The stout wooden door was slammed shut behind her and Tesra was sure she’d been left to rot here forever. If so, at least it was richly appointed, with red woven carpeting, ornate wall hangings and a large four-poster bed with crimson brocaded coverings. There were even fresh flowers sitting in a crystal vase on a nightstand. If this was Talassian slavery, she decided, she could get used to it.

  ‘I am Fiona,’ said the busty, longhaired matron, barefoot in her pink chemise. ‘I am here to prepare you.’

  Tesra beheld the lushly curved woman, fuller and more luxuriant than any human she’d ever seen. ‘You’re so...’

  ‘Fat? It’s all right to say it. I’m comfortable with myself.’

  ‘Actually I was going to say, you’re so full of life.’

  ‘Much better,’ the woman nodded, hiding her pleasure behind a comic-serious mask. ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘But you are beautiful.’ Why is it these off-islanders did not see in themselves how each was made in the image of the gods, just as they were - beautiful and miraculous?

  ‘We have work to do,’ Fiona sighed, beholding the bedraggled girl. ‘For starters, let’s see about these chains.’

  Tesra noted the gold belt at the woman’s waist, perfectly offset by the scandalously thin covering. Keys hung from it, presumably to many locks. ‘Can you open every door?’

  Fiona fiddled with the wrist cuffs. ‘You mean can I help you escape? No. I’m a prisoner here, like you. For life. But if you cooperate, over time it can become quite pleasant.’

  ‘I am here to see the dragar,’ said Tesra, as if to prove her case exceptional and therefore inapplicable to the woman’s rules.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Fiona, kneeling to undo the ankle shackles, ‘and that is very unusual for a newcomer. I gather you know him from somewhere?’

  ‘I have never laid eyes on him,’ she replied, though she wondered if in her dreams, perhaps, she already had.

  ‘You are a beauty,’ Fiona cupped her chin softly, ‘that’s for sure.’

  Tesra stood perfectly still, knowing better than to resist anyone with so many keys.

  ‘I have rights over you.’ Fiona read her question. ‘I can do what I like... so long as it leaves no scars.’

  Tesra contemplated the many possibilities. ‘Please,’ she managed thinly, feeling suddenly the fatigue of her long journey and all that had transpired before it, ‘do not hurt me.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Fiona cooed, reaching up to play with her straggling blonde curls. ‘Women are not like men; if I hurt you it’s only so I can comfort you afterwards all the better and have the joy of wiping away your tears.’

  ‘I... I do not understand.’

  Fiona caressed, ever so lightly, between the girl’s thighs. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said huskily, ‘I will teach you.’

  ‘I am in love,’ Tesra revealed, ‘with another prisoner who was brought here with me.’

  Where had that come from? She’d never even thought of it much less considered saying it out loud?

  ‘We all left people behind, sweetie. We have each other now.’

  Fiona led her to the adjoining bathroom where a tub of warm, sudsy water had already been drawn. It felt like heaven as she plunged in one tentative foot. She didn’t need to be told twice to immerse herself, putting her back to the porcelain wall so as to cover her body up to the neck. Closing her eyes she thought of the Pool of Reflection. The wonders of home, the touch of the mother seers, the great peace she’d known being held in their arms when she was little, in hysterics from some injury or other.

  ‘Just release yourself,’ encouraged Fiona, kneeling beside the tub. ‘Allow the pain, the tension to flow from you.’

  Tesra’s nipples quite naturally capped just below the bubbling surface. In the same way, of their own accord, her legs spread wide. Her juices were already flowing, happily mingling with the waters.

  ‘You may touch yourself,’ said Fiona, ‘so long as you understand this body is not your own.’

  ‘Not... my own,’ she breathed, eyes sliding shut, head leaning back in delicious surrender.

  ‘That’s right. You are the property of the dragar, and indirectly of me.’

  Tesra caressed her swollen lips. It felt wicked to be doing this in front of another woman. To think, all the times she had bathed with naked girls, lived with them and never once had it occurred to do this for their benefit.

  ‘What is he like?’ Tesra wanted to know.

  ‘Who? The dragar?’ Fiona slid her fingers down over Tesra’s breasts, sending arcs of fire up and down her spine. ‘He is... more than human.’ The woman chose her words carefully.

  ‘Does he, I mean has he...?’

  ‘Fucked me?’ Fiona supplied, tickled by the girl’s shyness. ‘Goodness, what a reserved little thing you are. What is your name?’

  Tesra thought for a moment. ‘Most recently,’ she whispered, her throat tightly constricted, swollen with conspiracy, ‘I was called Yellow Pelt.’

  ‘I wonder why,’ Fiona teased, finding her nether forest.

  Tesra lifted her hips, inviting. ‘Tell me,’ she wheedled, like she’d known Fiona all her life, ‘what is it like, to be with an emperor?’

  ‘Like being branded,’ said Fiona. ‘On your soul.’

  The sexually aroused blonde tried hard to imagine this. ‘The man I love is called Marcellus.’

  ‘Was he your first?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded eagerly. ‘Before him I did not know men even existed.’

  ‘Hmm, he showed you what a man is for, eh?’ she asked knowingly.

  ‘No, Fiona, I mean before him I did not know literally that men existed.’ Fiona’s laugh was a delicious trill, a melodious trickle down her throat like the wine of the pirate king. ‘I need to climax,’ said Tesra, amazed at how far she’d come sexually in so short a span of time.

  ‘Well, you can’t,’ she took Tesra’s wrists, ‘until I say so.’

  The velvet ropes hung from the ceiling. Fiona secured them at the precise height so that Tesra’s arms were drawn taut over her head, her buttocks still planted on the bottom of the bathtub.

  ‘The dragar likes breasts,’ explained Fiona, brushing Tesra’s engorged nipples in a manner most teasing and frustrating. �
��He suckled, you know, from the breasts of dryads, semi-divine wood nymphs.’

  ‘Will he suckle mine?’

  Fiona applied her long fingernails, tracing circles over the large, filmy mounds, now defenseless. ‘He will drink from them, Yellow Pelt. He will take his fill. Biting, chewing. He will hurt you, my little dear, and he will enjoy immensely making you cry.’

  ‘Is there no escape?’ moaned Tesra, throwing back her head.

  ‘You can beg,’ Fiona nibbled at the tiny buds, one after another, ‘and you can plead, but it will only make him angrier.’

  ‘I do not think I can bear it...’

  Fiona took Tesra’s cunt with two fingers. ‘You have no choice, do you, my yellow-haired slut?’

  ‘N-no.’

  ‘No, mistress.’

  ‘N-no, mistress.’

  ‘Do you want to come, slave girl?’

  ‘Very much, mistress.’

  ‘Then you must serve me. Give me pleasure, slave, and I will consider allowing yours.’

  Tesra pulled helplessly at the rope. She could neither cover her breasts nor rise. ‘Yes, mistress,’ she moaned, knowing the woman would hold her like this indefinitely, on the brink of pleasure and pain.

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘I will serve you, mistress.’

  ‘Beg for it then, beg to lick my pussy, beg to be the slave of a slave.’

  Tesra said the words for her mistress, replaying them again and again till Fiona was satisfied.

  ‘Do it, slut.’ Fiona stepped into the water, facing Tesra and soaking the bottom of her sheer dress in the process. Lifting the hem, straddling the girl’s face, she revealed a clean-shaven, completely available pair of sex lips.

  Tesra wanted it herself by now, just as bad as the other woman. Greedily, a suspended prisoner, she plunged her tongue into the uncharted territory, and Fiona’s pussy blossomed and gushed in response.

  ‘That’s it, sweet bitch,’ moaned the woman, massaging the captive’s head. ‘Talk to me.’

  Tesra rubbed her thighs together, jealous for the contact she needed so badly herself. If she were the slave of the slave, then who tended to her needs? Perhaps if she pleased her mistress enough the favor would be returned?