by Trent Evans
She knew she would survive it physically, but she wasn’t at all sure about psychologically.
She wanted to do this for him though, to go through the ordeal to prove to her Master that she was worthy of risking so much.
Even if it meant sacrificing her own body to do it.
Chapter 36
It was a moment of the deepest, most profound awe, and at the same time, a bone-deep, all-consuming dread. The shroud about her was heavy, making her sweat beneath its embrace, the cuffs binding her arms before her wet with her perspiration. She was grateful for the hood that rendered her virtually anonymous, for it allowed her at least the psychological illusion of hiding.
At the center of a long procession, she walked — or more accurately, shuffled — the hobble chain between her ankles so short it allowed her little more than tiny mincing steps. As much as she dared, she looked up and around through the protection of her shroud. The place was like a gigantic cave, only it had been hewn out of the rock in a way that resembled more a cathedral than anything else, though on a scale was mind-numbingly huge. It had to be ten times the size of even the largest cathedral she’d ever seen in England. The walls were a dark, obsidian-like rock, but there was more to them than that, for they pulsed with the faintest, reddish glow, the pattern resembling something almost... alive. The air was humid, warm, the scent upon it strong, though it was nothing she recognized.
All around the procession in endless lines were what must have been the Luthien. In their own way, they looked much like the Yaanfahri, but unlike them, the biggest difference being they had hair — lot of its — dark, long hair all around them. Most of the Luthien kept it in braids, or tied up tightly behind them. They were a slightly more slender species, and perhaps a tiny bit taller than the Yaanfahri. They were a duskier color too, and most of them had markings upon their body, in some cases, displaying quite elaborate designs that resembled — strongly — intricate tattoos seen back on Earth.
Then the procession stopped, and before her, in a wide arc was a massive circle of stone tables, elaborate, ornate chairs arrayed about them. Brilliant white light shined down from far overhead onto the center of the semi-circle, where an amazing tableau of symbols had been etched into the rock floor itself. She recognized one of the symbols, for it was the same stars and globe symbol that she saw on her Master’s uniform numerous times. She realized it must have been the symbol of the Yaanfahri nation. But mingling with it, intertwined with it — as if the two symbols sought to meld into one — were the swooping, stark, dramatic lines of another symbol, presumably that of the Luthien. She marveled at the work it must have taken to engrave such an elaborately constructed tableau into the rock. It was awe inspiring indeed.
The Luthien at either side of them stepped away, allowing the Yaanfahri procession, led by her Master, Consul Matazzian, and the Consul’s bodyguards to proceed.
Standing at the base of that great arc of tables was another Luthien figure, though this one was quite different. There was a striking, magnetic air about this being. Clad in a dress that coursed with racing emerald light, the fabric hugging a dramatic hourglass figure, this Luthien was unlike anything she’d seen since Rose had last been on Earth.
She was shocked to see it was... a female.
Glancing up at her Master, she could see he was as surprised as she was.
“Come,” the Consul murmured, and they strode forward, the Consul clasping forearms with the woman. She had dark, almond-shaped eyes, a most attractive dusky olive skin tone, and dazzling black hair, so heavy and luxurious it reached almost to the floor. Her dress, while still tasteful, revealed a massive expanse of the upper swells of her breasts. She was beautiful indeed.
But in this female’s eyes, Rose saw something that made her blood freeze. There was a flintiness there, a strength perhaps more formidable than any possessed by either Consul Matazzian, or even her own Master. She knew this was a female never to be trifled with, and she could tell instinctively by the way all of the others deferred to her that the Luthien thought the same.
“Elder Zhandra,” the Consul said, giving the Luthien dignitary a slight bow.
“Consul Matazzian,” she said, her voice carrying a silky, deceptively sweet tone. But Rose was a woman, and she knew what that voice meant. This person — Elder Zhandra she’d been called — was the one fully in control here.
The female drew closer, her brilliant, luminous eyes lighting upon her Master. “This must be your protégé. Major, welcome.”
She extended her arm, and Kosha, reluctantly, haltingly embraced it with his own. Rose could tell her Master didn’t like so much as the touch of a Luthien, and yet, here he was, performing his own tiny sacrifice before handing over his slave for the most important sacrifice of all.
The magnetic woman’s gaze fell upon Rose then, and she quavered under the power of those eyes. There was beauty, and danger, in their depths, and a jaw-dropping fascination welled within her as she looked upon this strange, alluring, and yes, terrifying female.
“And this is your tribute,” the woman said, a slight tilt to her head, a curve to her crimson lips. “Let us see her. Let us all see her.”
Kosha drew the shroud from Rose and she dropped her gaze, unable to bear the chorus of oohs and aahs from the onlookers, her bound nakedness revealed to all.
Elder Zhandra’s eyes flashed once. “So lovely,” she said with a murmur of her lips. She stepped close and her dazzling scent enveloped Rose, and as she looked up at her — for the female, though shorter in stature than the males still towered above Rose — she felt like little more than a frightened child. But shockingly, Zhandra took Rose’s bound hands, raised them up for her, and opened her palm. There, she deposited a tiny obsidian vial.
She leaned in close to Rose, her breath warm upon her ear as she spoke the words, “Essence of Yrrosi. It will dull the pain, but enhance the pleasure.”
Rose had never once thought of the possibility of pleasure, the terrifying vision of that hologram still playing in her mind. And then the female’s lips pressed a kiss to her temple, a touch of affection, and even a little bit of playful lust. It had Rose’s head spinning.
Zhandra stepped back, nodding at Rose. “Drink.”
And with trembling fingers, she unscrewed the bitter liquid, tipping it back into her mouth. She swallowed it down, already trembling, the taste unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
Within moments, her breasts felt as if they were swelling, her nipples twin beacons of throbbing steel. She could feel the letdown occur almost instantly, and she peered down to find blue-white drops beading upon her nipples. Another wave of shocked gasps coursed through the audience, and Elder Zhandra smiled.
“Full of surprises, you Yaanfahri,” she said, glancing at Consul Matazzian.
The beads of milk at Rose’s nipples broke and ran down the lower slopes of her breasts, leaving glistening trails in their wake. Panicked, Rose looked around her and what she saw on the faces of these strange creatures was shock and delight, several of them murmuring to each other, obviously pleased by the humiliating display.
Her clit was a hard, pulsing nexus of wantonness between her legs. She could feel it swelling more by the second. Her entire sex was on fire, her vagina and her anus clenching and spasming deliciously. She could feel the heat of her blush spreading up her face from her chest, a phenomenon that drew more pleased sounds from the watchers all around.
Her Master had told her the Luthien had nothing like a red-headed human in their civilization, her coloration marking Rose as a true exotic in every sense of the word. And she knew then — or at least suspected — why they had required she, in particular, attend.
They, like her Master, saw her as utterly unique.
Though she’d never thought of herself in this way, at that moment, she felt it. And it gave her strength, bolstering the fortitude she needed to meet those stunning, shimmering eyes of Elder Zhandra and give her a tiny nod as she murmured the words.
<
br /> “I’m ready.”
* * *
As they took their seats at the tables, his Rose was bound to an ornate carved stone post, chains drawing her hands high above her until she stood only on the tips of her toes. Two robed Luthien, the fabric as dark as midnight, shook out the deadly strands of the multi-thonged implements clenched in their fists.
Then the whipping began.
They scourged her entire body, and before long, she was crying out, twisting one way, then the other to protect her bottom, then twisting back again after the whips had left a storm of red wheals across her breasts and her belly and the fronts of her thighs. He couldn’t deny the eroticism of it – his cock hard the entire time – but still, it killed something inside of him to watch her be punished so. Though he knew the Essence of Yrrosi would greatly diminish the pain, pain she still nonetheless was experiencing.
Finally the whips stilled and she sobbed, her head hanging down between her arms, her hair a wild mess about her face. A storm of wheals crisscrossed her entire body, several of them showing a slight ruby oozing at places along her back and buttocks, the scourging particularly intense, severe across the round globes of her bottom. As she hung there, prostrate, exhausted, crying, the overseers threw twin buckets of water over her back. She gasped, shivering instantly such that the chains appending from the ceiling down to her cuffs began to clink together.
At the conclusion of the whipping, she was more miserable than he’d ever seen her, and yet, still, he was perhaps more aroused than he’d ever been. She shivered, naked, kneeling on the stone as they released her from the chains. Applause roared through the watching audience.
But it wasn’t over.
The massive tables surrounding the huge symbol carved into the floor formed a great arc around the top of the circle. Into the apex of that arc was where he found himself flanked on his right by the Consul; at his left, by the stirring presence of Elder Zhandra. He watched, in dread,as they prepared his Rose.
Two robed overseers had taken her in hand at a subtle nod from the Elder. They fitted her with a harness that squeezed her body brutally tight, her breasts still dribbling milk, bulging obscenely in the strictures. Her sex was caught in the merciless squeeze of two straps running down her crotch. Then the harness began to shimmer, fantastic patterns of light shooting up and down each strap, each binding, until they appeared to be made entirely of light themselves.
The overseers knelt before her, additional merciless straps drawing her legs up and to the side, until she appeared to crouch in a wide-legged stance, suspended in mid-air.
Rose threw her head back, gasping, tears welling, then spilling down her face, her breathing labored, his slave seeming almost delirious now. She cried out once, then again, her mouth a surprised O. With the overseers blocking the view, Kosha couldn’t make out what was being done, but he’d viewed the Consul’s holo enough to have the barbaric ritual seared into his memory.
Her brilliant bindings rendered her into an almost ethereal figure as she was then hoisted high above the symbols of the two empires engraved in the stone flooring. Then the overseers stepped back, manning the chains that suspended Rose in the dizzying heights above them.
Kosha raged inside at the erotic cruelty of it, the crowd gasping in awe as they beheld the twin, shimmering torcs piercing both of Rose’s labia now, bright drops of blood welling at the fresh punctures.
Below her was that symbolic coming together of their two peoples, the dripping of her cunt juices, the liquid tribute of her swollen breasts, drops of her precious blood, and the salty offering of her tears all anointing that symbol, a fitting symbolic sacrament wetting those emblems, the lewd benediction to a new alliance.
As she was lifted higher and higher, the reddish Luthien sun shone upon her form directly through the windows at the apex of the massive structure, bathing Rose in the illumination, as if signifying a new dawn in Yaanfahr-Luthien relations.
It was at that moment that Elder Zhandra stood, lifting a filigreed goblet. Consul Matazzian followed, as did all the gathered luminaries of the ceremony.
But Kosha remained sitting, both seething and inexplicably aroused, his eyes fixed upon his surrendered slave, Rose, high above them all, suffering alone.
The Elder’s voice was clear and strong. “Lo, though many cycles our people have warred. Lo, though we’ve suffered much misery and misunderstanding — and even hatred. Let this ceremony mark the ending of those days. And the beginning of hope. Let this Ceremony of Binding mark the joining of our two civilizations, our two peoples, and our hearts. Let it be so.”
Then she drank from her goblet, as did all the rest. But Kosha could take it no longer. He burst from his seat, pointing at the two oversees who held the chains that lifted Rose toward the heavens. “Get her down. Now!”
A shocked gasp rolled through the audience, a hushed silence falling upon the gathering. He turned, fixing a baleful glare upon the Consul. His superior’s eyes narrowed, his teeth gritted and he took a step toward Kosha, but amazingly, Elder Zhandra touched his forearm.
“No, Consul, let it be.”
She nodded toward the overseers, and they quickly lowered Rose back to the stone floor.
“Get her out of that,” Kosha snarled, standing over them as the overseers obeyed, stripping Rose of the shimmering harness. He took her in his arms again, and the relief he felt at the cleaving of her body to his was soul deep. She was back. In his arms.
His Rose, his everything.
And he would never let her go again.
She sobbed anew as she hugged herself to his chest, and then he picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and he could feel the stickiness of the bleeding weals lacing her back, the oozing stripes across her buttocks wetting the fabric of his uniform.
He strode from the circle.
Kosha was confronted by the Consul and Elder Zhandra, the Consul’s eyes flashing as he glanced at his counterpart. “Please accept my apologies, Elder, for such… for such a violation. He will be punished, I assure you.”
Kosha cradled Rose closer in his arms. “I should never have let a custom, a ceremony, interfere with protecting my Rose. I can promise you, it won’t happen again. She’s mine. Nothing will change that. Not a treaty. Not my career. Not my life. Her sacrifice has been made. And I’m taking her home.”
Then Kosha walked past the two of them. He could hear the words behind him as he made for the exit, the Consul murmuring in his characteristic gravelly tone, “An unpardonable affront, Elder. I will deal with him as soon as—”
Zhandra’s silky, knowing voice cut him short though. “Nonsense, Consul. He’s an example of the very best your people have to offer. He’s not insubordinate. He’s in love.”
Chapter 37
Her Master took her home, and it was a familiar, now comfortable place for her. She’d never felt more grateful. He treated her as gently as he ever had, bathing her, rubbing her in fragrant oil, massaging all the pain from her stretched and abused muscles. He’d withdrawn the shimmering torcs from her flesh, caressing her pussy possessively as he rubbed in the healing cream, the salve staunching the bleeding, if not the twisted, darkly erotic reminiscence of her ordeal.
By the time he was done with her, she felt boneless, drowning in her lassitude, her consciousness now floating upon a cloud of delight, and gratitude, and deep, deep arousal.
Then he laid her upon the bed — the same bed where he’d taken everything from her, including her innocence. But rather than make her crouch and submissively present her bottom for his animal lusts, this time, he laid atop her. As his eyes met hers, as he murmured to her, he took her slowly, sliding inside, his movements gentle, even loving, the soft warm covers of his bed surrounding her as her Master staked his claim upon her body all over again.
As was his way, he said nothing as he took her, but his eyes never left hers. In those depths, she saw such warmth, such caring – and yes, love. She didn’t dare hope, but she saw it nonetheless.
After his climax though, he wasn’t done, for he forced her to several more of her own orgasms until she was begging him, sweat soaked, her body a trembling, quivering mass of flesh, and lust, and exhaustion.
Then finally, panting, he laid atop her again, stroking her breasts, tasting her sweat upon his fingers, kissing her cheeks, the hollow of her neck until she moaned. And his lips — oh God — he kissed her for so long, so gentle, yet savage. He searched her face, and then kissed her again, his fingers tracing the pattern of her freckles, playing with the locks of her hair that had fallen across her face.
Finally, he gave her a soft reverent kiss on the lips, and she returned it, the kiss becoming passionate, wanton, lustful. Eventually, he pulled away, his eyes sparkling.
“I’d have given it all up for you, Little Rose.”
“And I’d have given my life for you, Master.”
Pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss to her forehead, he whispered in her ear, “Foolish human girl.”
She looked deep into his eyes as she said the words, “Make of me what you will, but I beg you, Master, please never leave me. Keep me, break me, remake me. I want all of it. As long as I’m with you.”
She kissed him on his lips again, her breath upon his cheek. “With the one I love.”
He smiled then, a warmth and fondness in those brilliant eyes. It made her feel so good. His fingers stroked the line of her lips as he said it, “My heart knew the truth the moment I set eyes on that girl, lost, soaking in the rain.” He took her face in his hand, then pressed a kiss to her chin, to her freckled nose. “But this night, right now, my soul knows its truth — that I love that girl, that I will love her from the first moment to the last, and she will be mine forever.”