Wild Kingdom

by Deanna Ashford

  The women in Percheron surrounded themselves with elaborate fripperies but Danara’s bedroom was spartan in its simplicity, apart from the brocade-draped bed. She was so very different from the beautiful, submissive females of his seraglio. Sarin was certain that buried deep inside her was the soul of a true woman, one he could tame. He tried to keep his mind focused on that one thought as he paused apprehensively at the end of her bed.

  ‘Do you know,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve never found the company of a man stimulating before.’ She ran her hands over the well-defined plains of his muscular chest, then paused to tease each small flat brown nipple in turn until they stiffened into tiny peaks. ‘All the other male slaves are weak and servile creatures. Only you Sarin, and Tarn before you, have had the strength and determination to resist enslavement. I find such resolve challenging. Would that I had you both here to serve me.’

  ‘You could have refused the Lady Kitara’s request to free Tarn, could you not?’ Sarin retorted. He constantly regretted his decision to follow Tarn and Rianna into Freygard when they had fled from Percheron. Danara had given Rianna refuge willingly enough, but had then proceeded to imprison Tarn in the slave quarters and force him to serve in the coupling chambers. It was only at the instigation of Rianna’s long-lost mother that they had both been allowed to leave. Kitara had gone with them to be reunited with Rianna’s father, Gerek – the Protector of Harn – while Sarin had been left behind as Danara’s slave.

  ‘Kitara is my kinswoman, and of noble blood. She had the right to demand Tarn’s release into her custody,’ Danara said, failing to hide the resentment she held towards her cousin. Sarin knew she had never forgiven Kitara for falling in love with a man. ‘It appears, Sarin, that I will have to be content with just you to serve me.’ She reached inside her gown and removed one of the decorative clamps she had attached to her nipples.

  In Freygard women rarely wore any jewellery apart from the highly prized decorative clamps which were gifted to them by a close relative when they reached the age of majority. The gold was still warm from the heat of Danara’s body as she imprisoned Sarin’s left nipple in its tiny teeth. Then she pulled at the clamp, stretching the sensitive flesh until the discomfort caused an answering tug in the pit of his groin. ‘So you will,’ he agreed, his desire increasing as it always did when she teased him, while he wondered when the true extent of her cruelty would surface again. Danara’s moods could change like the wind: hard and fierce one moment, soft and gentle the next.

  ‘You both irritate and amuse me, Sarin. You appear to want to resist at all costs, yet you also secretly enjoy the punishments you are forced to endure at my hands.’

  ‘I do not,’ he insisted.

  ‘You try to deceive yourself as well as me,’ she countered, running her hands over his chest, and underneath his dark hair, which had grown so long that it hung in tangled disarray around his shoulders, partially concealing the leather collar he constantly wore. This was his badge of servitude, which had been placed around his neck by Danara during the first few hours of his imprisonment.

  Danara took hold of the length of chain she kept permanently fixed to her bedpost and fastened it to the back of his collar, just as she always did when she intended to keep him in her chamber all night.

  ‘You may free your ankles,’ she said coldly, watching as he bent and struggled to unfasten the buckles of the hated hobble.

  It wasn’t easy to unfasten them with his hands chained together but he managed to free himself and kicked the hated object away in disgust. Danara frowned in annoyance when she saw the red and inflamed patch on each of Sarin’s ankles, where the skin had been rubbed raw by the ends of the wooden bar.

  Sarin glanced pointedly at the chain tethering him to her bed, then at his chained wrists. ‘Do I frighten you so much that you feel you have to keep me confined in your presence?’ he sneered.

  ‘The warriors of Freygard do not fear anyone,’ she said proudly. ‘But I would be a fool to even chance trusting you to behave as you should.’

  ‘I have no wish for you to ever feel you can trust me,’ he replied with a wry twist of his lips. ‘Once you do so, I will know that I am lost.’ He stared boldly back at Danara, and it was she who turned away first.

  Sarin enjoyed his brief moment of power as she walked over to a carved cupboard placed close to the side of her bed. ‘See this?’ she said, removing a dildo attached to a prettily tooled white leather harness. ‘Do you know what it is?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sarin nodded. ‘Only too well. Do you wear it when one of your warriors shares your bed, or do you prefer it to be used on you, Danara?’ he jibed with a trace of his former arrogance. ‘Does it feel good when it is thrust inside you? I assure you the hot hard flesh of a man is far better, far more satisfying.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ she countered. ‘And the way I take my pleasure with those of the sisterhood is none of your concern, slave!’

  She tossed the object on the bed. There was a protrusion on the inside as well, so that both she and her partner would be stimulated at the same time.

  ‘One of my women in Percheron gained pleasure from such an instrument. I sometimes allowed her to use it to punish my recalcitrant male slaves,’ Sarin said, fearing that Danara intended to use it on him. When he’d watched the slaves writhing beneath Niska’s thrusting hips, he had almost envied them, and wondered what it would feel like to have such an object powering deep inside his own anus, yet he had never tried it himself.

  ‘I should like to meet her,’ Danara said. ‘She sounds a woman close to my heart.’

  ‘Not close enough. Niska was one of my wives. She lived only to serve me.’

  ‘While you serve me, Sarin,’ Danara reminded him as she slowly removed her gown.

  Sarin’s blood grew hot with fearful anticipation. He had seen her naked often, but her beauty never failed to move him. Danara’s training as a warrior had given her the most perfect body. Her limbs were long and slender, her torso well toned, and her breasts full, firm and luscious. As Danara moved, her full breasts jiggled slightly and the tiny chains dangling from the remaining nipple clamp swayed enticingly, reminding Sarin of the teeth tightly clamped to his own nipple. Sarin swallowed hard as she sat down on the edge of the bed and opened her thighs. It had been the custom in Percheron for the women of his seraglio to be denuded, and the sight of Danara’s thick dark auburn pelt excited him. It reminded Sarin of how much of a barbarian she truly was – this bitch who drove him almost to the edge of insanity.

  ‘Kneel,’ Danara haughtily ordered, beckoning him forwards. ‘Pleasure me with your mouth.’

  The familiar yielding lust flooded through Sarin’s veins and he couldn’t deny that he wanted to do as she commanded. Sweat pooled in his armpits and between his thighs as he stepped forwards and fell to his knees between her open legs.

  Hungrily he pressed his face to her cunt, burrowing his nose in the auburn curls. Her musky odour was more inviting than a bowl of sweet-scented roses, more intoxicating than the finest of wines. He kissed her hungrily, sliding his tongue teasingly between the pink petals, running it along the moist valley of her sex.

  Sarin knew that goading and provoking him secretly turned her on. Why else would she be so wet and ready each time she allowed him to touch her? Today the moisture was even more copious than usual. As he ran his tongue along the soaking folds, he drank her dew, savouring its familiar musky taste. Danara gave a soft, unconscious groan as his mouth burrowed deeper, while his tongue circled the root of her clit. The flesh there was already tight and swollen. He pulled the firm berry between his lips and sucked on it hard.

  Danara pressed herself closer to Sarin’s face as he tentatively probed the entrance to her vagina, feeling the hot welcoming moistness. Forcing his muscles to stretch to their fullest extent he probed deeper, thrusting into her with sharp stabbing movements that made her moan aloud with pleasure.

  Sensing that she was close to coming, Sarin bunched three fingers toge
ther and plunged them into-her, mimicking the movement his cock longed to make. He mouthed her again, thrusting even harder with his bunched fingers, ignoring her sudden growl of fury and rubbing his thumb over her clit. Too overcome to resist, Danara surrendered to her steadily rising pleasure. Sarin thrust faster, deeper, until he felt her internal muscles tighten in rhythmic waves as her climax came.

  Filled with the most intense feeling of satisfaction, Sarin no longer cared how angry she would be as he pulled away from her and crouched in a foetal position, close to her feet, his hands reaching for his aching prick. He grabbed and pumped furiously, desperate to come before she recovered enough to begin punishing him again. Somewhere in the distance he heard Danara’s angry shout, but he was too caught up in his own lust to care as he vigorously masturbated his cock. His pleasure built swiftly and he wanked harder, barely aware of the sound of running feet, followed by the sharp sting of the lash on his back and buttocks.

  He was tantalising close to his climax, but before he could come, he was yanked to his feet, pulled so hard that the chain at his neck stretched taut and the collar dug into his throat, stifling his frustrated yell. The desperate pressure in his groin increased as he was flung face down on the bed, arms stretched above his head. His legs were pulled apart, held wide open by tightly tied ropes, while he writhed and struggled, trying to find purchase on the soft mattress to stimulate himself further and achieve the orgasm he so desperately craved.

  Consumed by fearful frustration, he found himself tightly confined, barely able to move a muscle. Then he felt a steady trickle of oil being directed down the slit of his buttocks. As it pooled warmly around his anus, Sarin gave an unconscious pleading whimper. He raised his head to look at Danara. She was strapping on a phallic appendage that looked almost twice the size of the one she’d shown him earlier. The black phallus was smooth, shiny and frighteningly huge. Abject terror pulsed throughout his veins, accompanied by a dark excitement that turned his limbs to water. The wild sensations swamped his senses and he tensed apprehensively as Danara mounted the bed and crouched over him.

  He was too scared to even shiver as he felt the cold hardness pressed against his tightly clenched sphincter muscles. Danara pushed hard, and with the help of the oil it began to enter him. Sarin had never been penetrated in such a crude manner. The sensation was strange, terrifying, and yet superbly pleasurable. He held his breath, feeling the cold hardness force his internal muscles to stretch and expand. The sharp, sweet pain of innocence turned to the dark viscous pleasure of submission as it thrust deeper, until it was buried to the hilt inside Sarin’s helpless flesh.

  Danara placed her hands on the small of his back to aid her stability as she began to move her hips, powering in and out of him with hard thrusting movements. The sensations were indescribably cruel but infinitely perfect, and Sarin lost himself in the steadily deepening pool of dark, aching bliss.

  He pushed his pelvis into the soft mattress, unable to escape the relentless thrusts that set each nerve ending alight. The forceful movements made the sensitive skin of his cock-shaft rub sensuously against the soft linen sheets, increasing his arousal even more. A sudden, violent orgasm ripped through his body from penis to anus, every muscle in his pelvis clenching spasmodically as wave after wave of it swept through his flesh. Sarin was so overcome, he was barely able to take a short, sobbing breath, let alone realise that tears were sliding from his eyes and running down his flushed cheeks.

  Leon lingered in the bailey, enjoying the last remnants of the weak afternoon sunshine. He loathed the air of neglect that permeated the castle, and the stale mustiness of its faded furnishings. It was good to be outside in the fresh winter air. He could understand Lady Rianna’s frustration at being forced to remain here after Prince Tarn had left that morning. It wasn’t a place Leon would choose to stay in for long, but he had no choice – he was under specific orders from his sovereign lord to remain here until it was safe to proceed. Leon had already sent most of his soldiers into the forest to flush out any bandits in the area. He had kept only three men-at-arms to help guard the castle walls, which were thick and high enough to protect them against anything but the most determined assault.

  ‘My lord,’ Leon heard someone call. He turned his head to see a young maidservant running toward him.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked as she halted breathlessly in front of him.

  She blushed, and bobbed a curtsey. ‘A message was brought here by one of the local peasants. ‘Tis from a lady lodged in the village.’ She held out a piece of folded parchment.

  The thick parchment crackled as Leon turned it over and examined the heavy seal, recognising it at once. He was half-afraid to believe that what he was seeing was true. ‘You may go,’ he said distractedly. The crest belonged to the Baroness Crissana, a beautiful noblewoman he’d met just over two months ago in Ruberoc, the capital city of Kabra.

  Regardless of the recent conflict, many travellers still chose to use the trade route that cut across Kabra, mainly because the land to the west was often near impassable and the land to the east was dangerous to travellers of any kind. The ruler of Freygard did not allow strangers across the borders of her land and most men refused to travel there, fearing that they might be captured by the wild warrior women and enslaved.

  Leon had been captivated by the wealthy baroness and she had appeared equally taken by his charms. The lady was recently widowed, and had been travelling north to visit her family when the fighting had become too heavy for her to continue in safety. She had take refuge for a short time in Ruberoc, and had been residing in the same inn as Leon, where they’d met, quite by chance. He’d done his best to entertain her, and soon they had become embroiled in a passionate affair. Leon had fallen deeply and foolishly in love. He was of noble blood, his father was an advisor to King Brion, and he had truly hoped their liaison might eventually lead to marriage. But she had told him quite determinedly that she had no plans to remain in Kabra, and as soon as it was safe enough she intended to continue her journey north.

  It was the first time Leon had ever fallen in love, and he still dreamed of her at night, hoping against hope that one day he’d see her again. Yet he’d never expected to come across her in the middle of the damnable forest. He opened the letter, scanning it quickly. The gods had been kind to him after all. The baroness was now less than a league away from here in the local village.

  He had to see her now, he thought, as he stuffed the letter inside his metal-studded leather doublet. He walked swiftly to the stables and waited impatiently until his horse was saddled. The bandits were far from his thoughts as he rode at a fast gallop along the narrow track through the forest, consumed by the need to see his ladylove again.

  The village was even more run-down than the castle, a small huddle of wattle-daubed houses in a large clearing. Leon was surprised that the baroness hadn’t called at the castle and asked for rooms for herself and her servants as it was the custom for landowners in Kabra to offer wealthy travellers lodgings for the night.

  The inhabitants of the local village were peasants who scraped a meagre living from the small patches of open land to the east of the settlement, and they looked even dirtier and scrawnier than the servants in the castle did.

  Leon noticed a small group of heavily armed men sitting on some rickety benches in front of a run-down tavern. A skinny young woman was serving them beakers of wine, but the rest of the villagers were giving them a wide berth, which wasn’t surprising as their clothing and armaments showed them to be mercenaries. Some wore the elaborate breastplates and thick, brightly coloured, striped breeches of the western plainsmen; their long frizzy red hair was held back by thin bands of metal across their brows. Others came from the Seminite Mountains. Their skin had a yellowish brown tinge, their eyes were dark, mere thinly lidded slits, and their hair was pulled back so tight in long pigtails that their skin seemed to stretch even more tautly across their high cheekbones. Their individual castes were denoted by the different
designs of their heavy gold armlets and the number of thick gold rings piercing their ears. There were others, fierce-looking men in strange unidentifiable costumes, and Leon had no idea from whence they came.

  The mercenaries ceased their laughing and joking to stare pointedly at Leon as he rode towards them. Leon could only suppose that the baroness had hired the men to protect her on her journey north, but he questioned the wisdom of such a decision. Before they’d parted, she had told Leon that she planned to travel north with a caravan of merchants who had obtained a promise of safe passage from the two warring factions in Kabra. Leon wondered what had caused her to change her mind. He didn’t trust mercenaries. From what he knew of them, they were likely to turn on those they were hired to protect if the price was right.

  One man, with dark skin, a scarred face and almond eyes, stood up, pulling a heavy purple silk cloak around his wide shoulders. He looked Leon squarely in the eye. ‘Captain Leon, I presume?’ he said in an oddly accented voice, with no trace of the deference Leon expected from a common soldier. ‘My mistress is expecting you.’

  Leon nodded. He let his reins fall across the neck of his mount and rested his right hand casually on the pommel of his sword as he slowly followed the man, guiding his horse with his knees. The brightly coloured tents of the mercenaries’ encampment were at the eastern edge of the village. More mercenaries, many more than Leon had expected to see, lounged around the tents and sat by the campfires. They were all just as well armed and as threatening as the others were. Some looked curiously at Leon as he rode past them; others ignored him and carried on their conversations or busied themselves sharpening their vast array of weapons.

  He noticed two who stood out from the rest of the fiercely disreputable group. Half a head taller than anyone else, and far more muscular, they had skin that looked almost jet-black. Leon had heard tales of these dark-skinned races, but he had never actually seen such a man in the flesh.