‘Me?’ she shrieked indignantly. ‘But it is you who grabbed me and—’
‘And what, Allura?’ he interrupted. ‘Can you prove to your uncle how I forced myself upon you? Or would you rather tell him the truth, how you put yourself upon me, appealing to my natural male desires?’
‘Is this true, Allura?’ her uncle quizzed, and her pulse raced. She knew well the laws and customs of her people. Without clear and overwhelming proof of abuse the woman was wrong, guilty no matter what the circumstances. Hadn’t she condemned Saraveeta in this very manner having no evidence whatsoever?
It was not a fair system, but it was straightforward. So long as the woman kept her distance she had all the power, but once she allowed the breaching of that barrier, though the touch be slight, everything shifted to the male. Her freedom, her very life was in his hands. ‘Uncle, you must give me a chance, alone, to explain,’ she pleaded, seeking to hide her increasing desperation. ‘There is more here than meets the eye.’
‘What could there be to explain?’ Montreico argued. ‘The law is clear. Fortragian, do you not side with me?’
The elderly grand duke frowned heavily. ‘The law is the law, Allura,’ he decreed. ‘I cannot override it, even for you.’
‘She is spoiled meat,’ the baron pointed out, quite unnecessarily, ‘and she has but one chance at redemption; a legitimate union with the offended party.’
Allura’s heart seized in her chest. The man couldn’t possibly propose marriage, not after all that had taken place between them. ‘Uncle,’ she desperately babbled, ‘I will never wed this man, do you hear me?’
‘Allura, the choice is no longer yours. And need I remind you that should the baron refuse you I shall be forced to sentence you to slavery as a harlot?’
‘Me, a slave?’ she gasped. ‘But I am crown princess!’
‘If slavery be too good for you there is always the option of death,’ reminded the baron. ‘And I would be happy to loan my hangman to your uncle for the occasion.’
‘I hate you!’ she screamed, turning on him with fists flying, but the baron made no effort to stop her pounding his chest, an action that only made her look all the weaker and hysterical.
‘I shall have to consider the matter, Fortragian,’ he said flatly. ‘In the morning I shall give you my decision as to whether I’ll have her or not.’
Allura stopped her useless attack, and burying her head in her hands she reverted to the use of tears. In the past it had helped her win her own way, but not now.
‘I am afraid I have grown quite fatigued, your excellency,’ Montreico said. ‘Until tomorrow, then?’
‘Very good, baron.’ The duke returned his crisp bow, then turning to his niece he said curtly, ‘Pull yourself together, girl. You got yourself into this mess. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.’
He left her alone to contemplate her options. He was right; she must pull herself together. What was she going to do? Drawing a deep breath she gazed into the night. She could wait until the baron was asleep and slit his throat; she could hardly imagine anyone missing such a man. But what if she should fail in her attempt? Montreico was obviously a cunning and treacherous man, of the sort not likely to be overtaken even in his sleep.
No, if she was to defeat him she must use her wits. She must beat the man at his own game. To begin with, she could be assured he would want her hand in marriage, which must have been his plan all along, to marry into the royal house, to gain leverage over the crown princess. And therein would lay his undoing. The man’s greed would fell him. She would make his life a living hell, removing from him every joy until he either begged her to release him from his vows, or to plunge a dagger into his heart to end his misery. In less than a year’s time, she predicted, she would be rid of him and sitting on the throne all by herself. Yes, it was the perfect solution. An immediate marriage would make her uncle happy and she would be one step closer to a life free of men all together.
The only small hitch was her confounded libido. She must in no way succumb to her desires. She must never again give in to his kiss or melt at his touch, and she must never, ever, under any circumstances give herself to the brute physically.
It would be a sexless marriage, and if she had to masturbate a hundred times a day or even give her favors over to some male servant like Willemo to keep her lust at bay, she’d do it; anything to keep her freedom, not to mention her chance of revenge.
In the meantime she had in mind a little game – something to ease the worries on her mind. To this end she would need a few of her special devices as well as the helpless body of Veeta the slave.
‘We are going to play princess and robber tonight,’ Allura told the girl a short while later, in the privacy of her bedchambers. ‘Aren’t you glad I got you out of the mean old dungeon so we can?’
‘Yes, mistress,’ said the shivering girl, freshly scrubbed and deloused after her ordeal. ‘Thank you, mistress.’
Allura so enjoyed the expressions on the slave’s face. Subtle as they had become, and as many times as they’d played the same games, Allura could still count on provoking reactions; a little sparkle in the eyes indicating fear, a slight furrowing of the brow, and of course the inevitable quaver in the voice. This was a fun game for Allura because she got to play a different role. Naturally she was the predatory robber, while Veeta would be the sleeping princess interrupted by the randy intruder. Allura was quite proud of herself for inventing a device to simulate a male member, which she could attach to herself by means of a harness. Made of smooth metal, the shaft was a silver replica of the cock of her father’s favorite horse, making it an especially humiliating thing for the highborn Saraveeta, who was in effect being fucked by a horse-cock.
‘What does it feel like?’ Allura would always ask, and then teasing she would add, ‘We should try the real thing, now that we have you stretched so well.’
The silver horse penis was attached to a wide belt, with connecting straps that fitted between the princess’ legs, and as an added treat for her she could install various devices that would insure her own continuous arousal while she was fucking the slave girl.
Veeta had been stretched well, indeed, and she could take a substantial amount of the huge cock, in both channels as well as in her mouth.
‘You are sucking a horse cock, Veeta,’ Allura would make sure to remind her as she performed on the silver shaft. ‘For the millionth time, aren’t you sorry for ever thinking you were more lovely and desirable than me?’
Allura readied herself now for their game. In her guise as robber she would sneak into the bedchamber, the cock firmly in place and assault the defenseless princess. For the occasion Allura would dress her childhood friend in a splendidly sheer and regal nightgown, and even do her hair and make-up. This would make Veeta cry, because it reminded her of all she’d lost.
Allura thought it funny to set up these little contrasts. Certainly Veeta was tortured by them, for it was ever so much crueler to wear finery time and again, only to be stripped and forced to eat on all fours from a bowl.
For the night’s game she was spending lots of time with Veeta’s hair, making the girl sit in her golden chair while she employed the dreaded silver brush.
‘The Baron Montreico fancies to marry me,’ she told her slave girl, as though it was some free offer she was considering. ‘Do you think him a good catch?’
Veeta wore a red negligee, low-cut, barely covering her nipples. The hem rode so far up as she sat that Allura could see her pink lips at the apex of her slightly parted legs. ‘I… I don’t know about such things.’ She looked anxiously at her mistress, knowing a wrong answer could land her an extra beating.
‘Is he handsome? Does he make you wet?’
The thighs of the girl clamped together abruptly. ‘Please, don’t make me answer, mistress.’
‘What? Is this modesty coming from a slave
?’ Allura aimed the brush at her stomach. ‘Shall I have your belly sliced open to learn your secrets?’
It was an old expression, symbolizing the brutal nature of slave ownership, but Allura liked it for its literal connotations. If she wished she could disembowel her old friend. For that matter, she could also have her impregnated as a breeder; a fat breeding pig to make more stupid slaves like her.
‘No, mistress, forgive me!’ She recoiled.
‘Talk,’ Allura demanded, seizing a silk-covered nipple and twisting it savagely, the slave whimpering and squirming.
‘The baron is handsome, yes,’ she gasped, ‘and he makes me wet, mistress.’
Allura scowled, releasing her. She’d suspected as much. Her worthless slave had a crush. It was no surprise; what other sort of female would want a man of his low caliber? ‘How fitting,’ she brushed it off. ‘You are both pigs, after all.’
Nothing more was said, but Allura continued to ruminate on the matter. Why had she felt a slight tremor in her tummy at the idea of another female liking or wanting Montreico? Why wasn’t it fun to play her humiliation games with Veeta, using this particular man as the butt of the joke? ‘Get into bed,’ she snapped. ‘It’s time to start the fun.’
Veeta bowed her head. ‘Yes, mistress.’ The girl knew her part well. Perhaps she even enjoyed some of it. After all, when now did the former Saraveeta get a chance to lie alone and unmolested in a real bed, even for a few minutes? She claimed the huge penis hurt, but Allura thought she was exaggerating. Veeta was spoiled, that was all. Living in the castle was such a soft life for her; she had no idea what other slaves endured.
Allura enjoyed watching her find her place on the bed, crawling so sweetly over the opulent coverings. What a fine little bride she would have been. In many ways she’d even have made a better princess, with her natural grace and ability to charm one and all by her mere presence. Even with Allura’s blonde beauty and the servants always creating a fuss about her, there were times when Saraveeta would steal the light from her entirely.
‘Toss and turn, Veeta,’ directed Allura, trying to make things as realistic as possible. ‘You are dreaming of your lover; show me how that looks. He is coming and even in your sleep you are waiting.’
Veeta’s eyes closed. She was on her left side, and with the delicate fingers of one hand she drew a line up her naked thigh. Her lips were moist, and she let out a small moan. This was no fabrication, Allura realized. The girl really was imagining a dream lover. Did she think herself still worthy of noble men, handsome dukes and princes to fawn over her? Was she thinking of Montreico, even?
‘On your back,’ Allura commanded her personal plaything. ‘Open your legs and caress your breasts.’ The girl obliged, as manipulative as Allura had forced her to become. ‘Behold the princess,’ whispered Allura, playing the part of unseen narrator beside the bed. ‘Imagining sweet bliss. Not knowing the horror approaching.’
The window was open, and a light breeze wafted into the chamber. Allura gazed upon the girl’s body bathed in moonlight, transformed into something almost ethereal. ‘Touch yourself, Veeta. Play with your clit.’ The slave’s pussy was glistening, and silvery liquid anointed her fingertips as she touched that magical bud. ‘Yes, that’s it, think about your handsome prince, he is coming to rescue you, to carry you away on wings of love, his cock inside you as you fly, his lips kissing your breasts, giving you orgasm after orgasm…’
Allura stopped her just shy of fulfillment. ‘Enough. Now you are asleep.’
The girl bit her lip. It took all her will power to deny herself, and laying her hands over her face she pretended to be unconscious.
‘Sleep now, my princess.’ Allura’s voice drifted to nothing, her own sex on fire. She was wearing gloves, boots, and a dagger at her side. She had velvet breeches, the perpetually hard cock strapped into place. Thus would Veeta meet her brigand, again.
First a gloved hand clamped down over the lightly breathing mouth. The slave princess froze and opened her eyes, with genuine disquiet reflected in them.
‘Not a word, bitch.’ Allura brandished the knife, her body astride Veeta’s. ‘You’ll do what I say and you’ll live. Nod if you understand.’ Veeta did so. There was nothing fake about the blade, anymore than there was about the reality of Allura’s intention to dominate and terrorize. ‘Good girl, now lick my knife.’
Allura’s insides simmered as the tiny tongue extended to the flat of the blade, dabbing, seeking to appease, seeking to survive.
‘You like cock, girlie?’ she growled in a deep voice.
‘I-I’m a virgin, sir,’ said the de facto princess.
‘Not for long, eh?’
Veeta grit her teeth as Allura took her breast rudely, twisting the nipple much harder than before.
‘That hurts, sir!’ the slave wailed, but the point of the knife pressed into the girl’s concave tummy, and Allura’s heart quickened as she raised the stakes.
‘I enjoy hurting disrespectful girls like you. Didn’t you guess that yet?’
Veeta shook her head, wide-eyed as a kitten, fresh and innocent. One more thing for Allura to hate: the girl’s ability to renew herself through playacting.
Using the knife she cut away the girl’s silk negligee. ‘Prepare to be fucked.’
‘I submit,’ Veeta panted.
‘Beg to be fucked,’ Allura urged, her voice tense with arousal.
‘Fuck me, sir,’ Veeta sighed. ‘Use me as your whore.’
‘Too easy,’ Allura hissed. ‘Resist me.’
The poor slave pushed with her hands at Allura’s arms, being careful not to do it too hard, lest she really dislodge and anger her mistress.
‘I am too strong for you, girl. All men are too strong. Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes, mistress… I mean, sir.’
‘Open your legs,’ the blonde princess ordered, Veeta did so, as wide as she could manage, and Allura pushed the huge phallus home, smooth metal penetrating easily the ripe, ready girl, who took more of it than she ever had before.
‘Who are you thinking about?’ Allura demanded. ‘Why are you so aroused all of a sudden?’
‘Please…’ Veeta gasped. ‘Please, just let me serve you. Use me as you will.’
‘You’re not getting off that easily, bitch.’ Allura pushed down, the adrenalin surging her to an unprecedented level of penetration.
‘Mercy,’ Veeta gasped.
‘Then tell the truth,’ Allura coaxed. ‘You are so wet because of him, the baron. You are wishing it was his cock invading you.’
‘Yes… yes… I crave him, I confess,’ Veeta sobbed.
Allura’s satisfaction was all too grim. ‘Turn over,’ she ordered. ‘Face down, ass in the air, spread yourself wide.’
The girl did not dare delay a single second, and obediently rolled onto her front. ‘I am yours,’ she sobbed, no longer sure in what guise to address the princess. ‘I submit to you.’
‘Liar!’ Allura smacked her ass, the force of the blow thrusting the slave forward with a guttural moan. It was a cruel and unexpected strike, but such was the lot of a chattel property, a toy for the enjoyment of the free. ‘You pay me lip service. It’s that despicable man you want to own you. You want to belong to Montreico.’ The princess could not think clearly; was she looking into the soul of the slave or was this about her own secret desires, hidden behind the character Veeta was playing?
‘I want to obey, mistress,’ Veeta wailed. ‘I want to be good. Please, let me be good. Let me be what you want me to be.’
Allura realized at once the futility of her actions. Veeta was indeed the perfect slave now, broken to her will and terrified more of disobedience than of losing her identity. She had no truth of her own, only Allura’s. If Allura told her she wanted the baron, than she would. Likewise any other master Allura picked for her.
‘Ther
e, there,’ the princess patted the head of her sobbing pet, ‘come and make your mistress happy. Come and suck your horse dick like a good girl.’
Veeta obeyed again, licking, kissing, then took it deep to the back of her throat, and when she looked up at her mistress, Allura paused from her thoughts to praise her. ‘What a good little cock sucker,’ she encouraged. ‘A certain little slut is going to earn a treat at this rate.’
Veeta garbled her thanks as well as her relief. With great passion would she continue to suck and afterward she would beg and sit up panting to take the tiny piece of candy that was the reward for the sexual performance of a slave.
Allura imagined Baron Montreico in the same position; naked and begging to eat from her palm, and the image made her smile. She would conquer the man, just like she’d conquered Veeta, breaking her will and changing her from a proud girl to a cringing slave. Never mind that Montreico was male, twice her strength and hugely more dangerous than Saraveeta. The difference was naught.
Or so she hoped.
Chapter Four
Princess Allura Alesandra de Triante Volucien stood before the royal court in the finest of her blue velvet gowns. She considered it her best color, drawing out most fully her deep, misty eyes. Her hair was arranged to its greatest advantage, in sensual swirls set with diamonds and sapphires. About her waist she wore a chain of silver and a tiny dagger of state, the jeweled one belonging to her grandmother, Queen Aloethia the Pious.
The neckline plunged just enough to reveal her deep cleavage, also drawing attention to the sapphire and diamond necklace, the gems of which had once ransomed an enemy king in the days of her great great grandfather, King Milasos the Wise.
‘Do I look presentable?’ she’d asked Veeta on her way out of her chamber, the naked slave still exhausted from the night’s sexual excesses, and the slave wearily assured her mistress that no woman had ever looked lovelier in the history of the kingdom. Allura accused her of lying to ingratiate herself, and promised her punishment later.
Possessing Allura Page 5