by Colette Gale
This was Jane’s opportunity. She rushed forward far enough to be seen, then fell into a deep curtsy in front of the throne as several guards lunged toward her, pikes and swords at the ready. She did not cower, nor did she rise from her curtsy. “Madame. Your grace. I beg sanctuary and assistance from you and your people,” she announced loudly enough to be heard from her near-prostrate pose.
There was silence for a moment, and at last, “Rise, then, woman, and explain yourself.”
Jane did as she was bid, and the guards fell away, ordered by some unseen command. After a brief glance at the woman on the throne, she kept her eyes slightly averted—neither too bold nor too subservient—and said, “Thank you, your grace, Madam Zenovia. I—”
“Gifts! Do you now see what I have brought you?” Holt cried out, struggling in the grip of the guards. “You cannot imprison me when I bring you such jewels! Such a treasure! How dare—”
His voice was choked off, and though the brutal sound of it made the hair at the back of Jane’s neck lift, she did not deign to turn and see just what had been done to Holt. Instead, she looked up again at Zenovia, only to find the woman’s attention fixed on her.
“Speak, then, woman.”
“Of course. I request safety and assistance from you, for that man seized me from the ship on which I was traveling and made me his prisoner. He brought me here against my will, and I beg of you to assist me in returning to my country of England…and to find my husband, who was thrown overboard during the attack. My husband is the Viscount Hampstead, a very wealthy man in England, and he will compensate you handsomely for any assistance you provide me.” Jane sank into a curtsy once more.
“Rise, then, Lady Hampstead.” Zenovia drummed her fingertips on the arm of her throne. Her dark eyes glittered with interest. “Your husband—he is very wealthy, you say? And a peer of England? Not like that silly, puny fop of a man who thought to bargain with me or tempt me with the likes of jewels and gems? Indeed.” She nodded regally. “I shall accept you as my guest for the time being, Lady Hampstead. You shall join me for dinner this evening, at which time we will discuss your predicament and determine the best way to proceed. Alena! See to it that my lady here is made comfortable until we dine.”
A gust of relief swept over Jane as she turned to follow the dark-eyed Alena from the chamber. She released her pent-up breath in a long, slow whoosh.
Everything will be all right. Zaren is alive. He is. And you are one step closer to finding him again.
— III—
Jane had the opportunity for a nap in the chamber that had been assigned to her, with Alena promising to return to help her freshen up before dinner. She found no fault with the chamber, and her optimism grew—for the room was clearly meant for a guest and not a prisoner. It was large, open, and airy, with windows shielded by translucent shades of paper (white, of course), and, amazingly enough, a small square tub with warm running water set in the floor of the room.
She was delighted when the promised “freshening up” turned out to be a full bath in the sunken tub. Alena and another maid assisted her, soaping her body and then plastering her face and neck with a mud-like substance. While Jane lay there, allowing the heavy, aromatic mud to dry (such a curious experience), the two women used impersonal hands to spread a very warm goo over her legs, under her arms, and, strangely, around the apex of her thighs. Jane peeked when something firm was pressed into the warm, sticky substance, and saw that it was a strip of fabric. She shrieked, bolting half off the table, when Alena yanked the fabric away, and then the other maid did the same…and they did this over and over until her body was denuded of hair in those areas.
At first, Jane attempted to protest and to push their hands off, but they ignored her and guided her back onto the table. She considered ordering them away, but in the end decided it was more prudent to cooperate with these customs of the Amazonians, since she was hoping for assistance and cooperation from them. Nevertheless, the stripping left her skin achy and pink and stinging. What little of the fiery red hair left between her legs was trimmed very short and neat. Alena massaged a soothing lotion—again, with impersonal hands that did not linger—into Jane’s abused skin, then washed the mud from her face with steaming cloths. Finally, Jane’s long, thick hair was plaited into an impossibly intricate mass of braids intertwined with flowers and gemstones.
Like Zenovia and the other women who were not acting as guards, Jane was garbed in a toga-like gown that fastened over one shoulder with a sapphire brooch and was gathered at the opposite side of her waist by another. One shoulder was bare, and the gown fell in neat pleats from shoulder to waist, and then waist to floor. To her surprise—for all the other clothing she’d seen was white, except for the high chief’s black toga—the gown provided for her was a brilliant sea green, embroidered with blue designs. The fabric was so light and airy she felt as if she were wearing nothing at all—and in fact, since no undergarments had been provided, her breasts were left to hang and jounce freely beneath the gathers of the toga. Her nipples thrust out like two hard points jutting through the otherwise smooth and neat folds of the fabric, and with her every movement, the material slid sensuously over them. The gown fell to the floor in an elegant cascade, and her newly smooth thighs brushed against each other as, barefooted, she followed Alena down a high, arched corridor.
“Madame,” said Alena when they came to a set of relatively unassuming double doors. Two expressionless guards, female, of course, stood at the outside and opened the doors in tandem to reveal a beautiful chamber that was more cozy and sedate than the ostentatious, high-ceilinged throne room.
“Lady Hampstead. Please, come in.” Zenovia stood at a desk, but she looked over as Jane appeared in the doorway. “That will be all, Alena.”
As the door closed behind, leaving the two of them alone—at least as far as Jane could tell; there might be some servants waiting in one of the silk-draped corners—Jane stepped into the chamber and looked around. A low, square table set for two also held a large decanter of red wine and several silver-domed dishes. Low, sofa-like benches lined two sides of the table, meeting at one corner in an ell. There was a large, curtained area in one part of the room, and Jane suspected a bed might be hidden therein, for the rest of the chamber seemed like a very large private sitting room.
A soft gurgle of water drew her attention, and Jane glanced over to see a rectangular pool set into the floor. It ran along the length of one wall, and was three times the size of the one in her guest chamber. Everything gleamed white and silver with occasional pale blue accents.
“What brings you from England?” asked Zenovia as she gestured for Jane to take a seat at the table.
Jane sat and accepted the glass of wine poured by the high chief. She couldn’t help but feel a combination of surprise, delight, and apprehension that this powerful and strict leader of Amazonia would choose to dine alone with her.
But perhaps she merely missed female companionship—someone to whom she wasn’t a ruler or mistress.
“My husband and I were on our way to Madagascar,” Jane explained. “We’ve been married only four months, but since we both spent quite a bit of time there previously, we decided to go for our honeymoon.”
“A fascinating choice for a honeymoon,” Zenovia replied with a genuine smile. She’d taken a seat as well, and instead of being positioned across the table from each other, they were seated at perpendicular sides…which gave their conversation a more intimate feel.
Jane noticed again how tall and solid and strong her hostess was. Although definitely very feminine, with proportionately sized breasts and sleek, defined hips, Zenovia possessed toned, muscular arms and broad shoulders. She had regular, attractive features, with a full, wide mouth and almond-shaped eyes. Her skin was smooth and fair, even lighter than Jane’s English peaches-and-cream coloring.
The high chieftain’s bare feet, though very wide and long, were adorned with silver rings on the toes and a single cuff around a
n ankle that gave them a particularly female appearance. Her blond hair was plaited into a single braid that fell down her back, and the silver band that she had worn around the front of her forehead was gone. As before, she wore black.
“Are you not hungry?” she asked, gesturing to the table. She removed the silver domes covering a variety of food—some unfamiliar to Jane, but it all looked and smelled delicious.
She said so, and, following her hostess’s lead, began to fill her plate and eat. As she did so, they continued to converse, with Zenovia leading the choice of topic.
She wanted to know all about what had happened on The Racing Gull—where they had been, what the name of Holt’s ship was (Chromium), and why Jane believed Zaren hadn’t perished when he was thrown over the ship.
“Because,” Jane said, reaching for her glass of wine—which had been refilled yet again, “he is the strongest, fiercest man I’ve ever known. I saw him surface in the water, and I know of what he is capable. Nothing would keep him from me. Nothing.”
Zenovia nodded, her eyes lingering on Jane. “I am not surprised you should attract such devotion from a man. With your coloring—that incredible, bright hair and your emerald eyes—you are like a beacon that draws the eye. And it isn’t only your appearance that demands appreciation.”
Jane paused with the glass halfway to her mouth, and felt her heart do a little trip. Zenovia was looking at her with such an expression of…consideration? Contemplation? Fascination?
“Do you play chess, Lady Hampstead? Or may I call you Jane?”
“Please…of course I am Jane to you. I’m very appreciative of your hospitality, and your willingness to help me.”
Zenovia gave an enigmatic smile and rang an unseen bell. And sure enough, they weren’t alone: two servants appeared immediately from a discreet corner and cleared away the food and serving wares, leaving only the wine and some water. Then one of them brought a large chess set—one of the most beautiful Jane had ever seen—and arranged it on the table between them.
Unable to resist, she reached for the queen to examine it. The piece was made from colorless glass shot with cracks and imperfections. It was beautiful. The other half of the set was made from translucent white glass.
“Now,” said Zenovia. “In a moment, we shall play. But first…”
Her eyes glittered as she moved toward Jane.
The next thing Jane knew, Zenovia had pushed her back into the cushions and covered her mouth with hers.
Jane was so stunned at the sudden, completely shocking onslaught that at first she didn’t react…but when Zenovia deepened the kiss with determination and greed, she tried to twist away and free her mouth.
But her hostess was too strong, and had positioned herself expertly, holding Jane firmly in place. The kiss went deeper, and Jane could no longer keep from responding. Zenovia’s lips were firm and warm, and she licked and kissed and sucked at Jane’s plump ones. Her tongue thrust boldly into her mouth, strong and sleek and demanding, tangling and taking from Jane as she panted beneath her, familiar pleasure vibrating through her belly and down. Jane found herself taking Zenovia’s bold, thick tongue, caressing it with her own, and then discovering the heat and wetness and lushness of Zenovia’s mouth as lust began to rise within her.
By now, Jane was caught beneath Zenovia, pressed well down into the soft cushions of the sofa on which she’d sat. The sharp plane of Zenovia’s hip dug into Jane’s belly, and one solid leg straddled her as the chieftain pulled away from the kiss. Then, her hands strong and quick, Zenovia caught hold of Jane’s wrists and moved them out of the way, positioning them firmly at her waist.
Her lips were full and glistening, her eyes dark and glittery. Unlike Jane, who was panting with surprise and shock, Zenovia was only slightly out of breath. But there was no mistaking the lust burning in her expression. “You taste as delicious as I’d hoped. But…” Her face tightened and her eyes narrowed in anticipation as she transferred both of Jane’s wrists to one hand. That left the other one free to slide down along Jane’s gown.
“What…” Jane said, still out of breath from a kiss that had left her more hot and aroused than she’d like. Her lips throbbed, and her nipples had sharpened into tight little spikes, jutting up through the sensuous silk of her gown. They shuddered and shivered as she tried to catch her breath and subdue the sudden, unexpected onslaught of lust that had overtaken her.
Zenovia was looking at them, her own breasts showing tight and aroused through the folds of her own gown…hovering near Jane in large, heavy teardrops, but not touching. Jane could not take her gaze from the sight of them, so close, quivering and tempting and lush.
The chieftain made no response to Jane’s attempt at speaking. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on her guest as the free hand slid beneath the folds of Jane’s toga and found the juncture of her thighs. Before Jane could press her legs together, those large, bold fingers found her: soft and full and wet.
“What…” Jane tried again, a little more stridently this time. “I don’t—”
Two fingers thrust inside her, deep and fast, and Jane arched in surprise. “Oh!” A rush of heat flushed over her, sudden and strong, and she looked at her hostess in shock, trying to pull out of the hot haze. “This…isn’t…what…”
But those fingers remained inside her, and they moved slowly and with expertise, sliding in and out, then spreading wide and curving up inside her to stroke a point of pleasure she hadn’t even realized was there…and then a third finger joined them and Jane couldn’t hold back a gasp as the rhythm became faster and more regular, faster…faster…She gasped, panted, moaned, tried to pull away, tried to keep her hips from moving and meeting those strokes, but she was trapped—both by her hostess and by the desires of her own body.
Zenovia watched her without blinking, almost impersonally, as she fucked Jane with her fingers, stroking, exploring, caressing…teasing and coaxing and then becoming demanding and rough. Lust overtook Jane, and her body became tight and hot, her quim dripping with juices that made soft, wet sounds that seemed to punctuate her arousal. Jane bit her lip, writhing and lost in the moment and unable—unwilling—to claw her way out of the dark well of desire.
She closed her eyes, unable to bear seeing the satisfaction in her seducer’s face as she gave herself over to the sensation she could no longer fight. Something pressed against Jane’s little pearl, the tiny throbbing center of her being, stroking it oh so gently as the fingers pumped faster and faster. She could no longer remain silent. Her moans and sighs filled her own ears as she shivered and shifted and pumped, meeting the deep, pressing thrusts with her hips, climbing to the heights of release.
When the climax came, it was sharp and hard and fast, shooting through her body like a whip crack that left her stunned and shaken and a little ashamed. The fingers withdrew; Zenovia moved away, and, still panting, collapsed into the sofa cushions. Jane at last opened her eyes.
Shaky, confused, and yet incredibly sated, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Zenovia had returned to her seat and was arranging the chess pieces as if…as if nothing had happened. As if that interlude had never occurred, and they were preparing to play a game of chess after dinner.
Still trembling, Jane looked down at herself and discovered that, though her breasts were tighter and more aroused than ever—completely outlined by the clinging toga—and her thighs slipped together at their apex, her netherlips wet and full and still throbbing with little licks of delight, she was still completely clothed.
It was as if nothing had happened.
“I…” She tried to speak, but didn’t know what to say.
Then Zenovia looked up at her, and Jane was nearly felled by the intense heat and lust in her eyes. “You are even more than I had hoped for.” She smiled with pure delight and lifted her glistening fingers to her nostrils, smelling deeply. “Delicious. Incredible. And so very so passionate. So easily aroused. And all without any artificial enhancements. I couldn’t
be more pleased, Lady Hampstead. Jane.”
Jane reached for a goblet of wine and gulped half of it. It was very light and watered down—very nearly just grape juice—and it was true. She’d felt no effects from the several glasses she’d already imbibed.
“And now, if you are as interesting and intelligent as you seem to be…why, that combined with your beauty and your passion…will make you the perfect woman.” Zenovia sipped her own wine, looking at Jane from over the rim. Her eyes were still filled with lust and heat, but other than that, she gave no other indication of her thoughts.
“I don’t understand,” Jane managed to say, collecting all of her thoughts. She started to stand. “I mean to say, I appreciate the compliment, but—”
Zenovia pulled her back down with a firm grip. “We shall play chess, Jane. And we will make a wager on the outcome of the game.”
Jane had no choice but to sit. “What sort of wager?”
Zenovia looked at her, wickedness flashing in her eyes. “I mean to keep you, Lady Hampstead. Jane.”
“Keep me?” She couldn’t control the fury in her voice. “What do you mean keep me? You cannot keep me. I am a free woman, an English citizen, a member of—”
“And your fire! By the gods, Jane, you continue to enthrall me. And this is only the beginning.” Zenovia swept a hand over the chess game. “We shall play and we will have a wager on the outcome of the game. If you win, I will release you…tomorrow. After we spend what will, I’m certain, be a most pleasurable night. And if I win…you shall become my most favored concubine.”
— IV—