What?!
What a stupid time for her libido to reappear! The wine was surely drugged. Tarken must be immune…Tarken…The name rolled through her mind as if it was always meant to be there.
She bit down even harder.
* * * *
“Hells bedamned, women!” Tarken gasped out. He’d been taken completely by surprise. Her teeth were on his throat and her body was wrapped around him like a frenzied wild feline intent on mauling its prey.
Tarken turned rapidly in an attempt to shake her off. And then he stumbled backwards, slamming hard against the chamber’s wall. It shook with the impact. He grabbed at Cushla’s hair, attempting to pull her mouth from his neck, and felt her chomp down harder. His shirt ripped.
She slipped slightly, and that gave Tarken the fortuity to close his hand around one of her arms. He wretched it behind her back, knowing he would hurt her. He was not pleased by it, but if he did not remove her teeth from his throat, she would be eating his windpipe for supper.
Unbelievably, she seemed able to bear the pressure, and Tarken quickly realized he was getting a heavy dose of her high tolerance for pain. He applied more pressure, and still nothing happened, so he reached with his free hand and plugged her nose.
Pain and lack of air—Cushla gasped for a breath and then let go. She expelled a high-pitched scream. “I hate you!” she wailed while throwing her head back. Her grasp on him weakened.
Tarken pried Cushla from his body and dropped her to the floor, forcing an oomph from her lungs as she landed. He leapt, but her feet came to his abdomen to stop him from crashing on top of her. The impact along with the weight of his body however, forced her legs to buckle. Conscious he might break her thighs, Tarken fell to one side, the movement giving Cushla ample room to twist away from him.
But not far enough.
In one swoop, Tarken hooked his arm around her mid-section, easily dragging her toward him.
Cushla shrieked. Her legs flailed as she attempted to pry his grip with her hands.
“Calm yourself, Cushla!” He demanded, but of course she failed to listen.
Rolling, Tarken pulled her so she was face-up and on top of him. His intention was to wrap his legs around hers to bring the wild kicking to heel, but she bucked again.
Using her weight, as little of it as there was, she threw her body, half somersaulting over Tarken’s chest and shoulders.
The unforeseen direction of the movement caused him to lose his grip. And somehow, Tarken had no idea how it happened, Cushla was free and scrambling away. “No, you don’t!” He grabbed one of her ankles, but before he could tighten his grip, she tugged it away.
With a quick movement Tarken pounced.
Cushla recoiled, dodging him and again, she scampered. At the same time, she fought to get to her feet. She was breathing almost frantically, yet persisted in her escape.
Tarken latched onto both of her ankles this time, clenching them firmly. He yanked Cushla’s legs out from under her.
With a heavy thud, she fell flat to the floor, but not before managing to grab a bud vase that decorated the bedside table. “Bastard!” Her arm swung around as she aimed it at Tarken’s head.
He ducked.
The vase whirled by flipping end over end, landing softly atop the cushion of a nearby chair where it bounced one time before coming to rest. Its uneventful fate was in contrast with the wild fight occurring in the room:
She was clawing at the floor pell-mell, as if her life or at least her physical well-being depended on it. She probably thought it did.
Perhaps with other masters that might be the case, but Tarken had no intention of punishing her with pain.
Of course, Cushla didn’t know that yet.
Releasing her ankles, Tarken climbed the length of her legs. Inch by rapid inch, he dragged Cushla toward him until he first had possession of her hips, and then her waist.
She fought him all the way, slapping at Tarken’s head, pulling at his arms wrenching her upper body so tumultuously that when her shoulder struck a floor illuminator it tilted, crashing on top of them both as it went out.
The screaming—that be-damned screaming.
If Tarken gave Cushla any physical punishment, it would most certainly be to gag her. Never, had he encountered a slave that resisted this mightily. “Give, Cushla!” he bellowed, finally pinning her, trapping her arms between their bodies, his powerful legs clamping and rendering Cushla’s legs immobile. She felt deceivingly tiny and frail beneath him.
The cloak she wore had fallen open, and though he was clothed, Tarken was keenly aware of being pressed against her naked body. Much to his amazement, his cock hardened further, the skin so tight around it, he thought he might explode. His position was dominant.
Cushla was trapped though she continued to struggle.
If Tarken desired, he could easily free his throbbing cock and poke her swiftly with his hardened shaft. All he would have to do is shift his legs to the inside of hers. He could then spread her thighs easily.
Propping to his elbows, Tarken took Cushla’s arms and moved them above her head, restraining them with the weight of his own arms. They both panted heavily with the exertion. At the same time, he did exactly what he was thinking—he spread her thighs open with his legs. Tarken then waited, measuring Cushla’s reaction, ignoring the throb that was causing his shaft to ache with the need to plunge into her.
Defiantly, Cushla tensed, as though readying her body to refuse him entrance.
The slavemaster clasped and restrained her wrists with one hand. He moved his opposite hand downward, shifting slightly to make room for it to slip between Cushla’s legs. He skimmed an index finger through her crease, pulled back intentionally and then rubbed the length along her clit a few times before poising the tip of it at her entrance. Tarken dipped his finger inside, but only slightly, surprised to find her warm and wet.
Nonetheless, every muscle Cushla had control of down there revolted.
He deduced that he could penetrate her effortlessly with a single finger, but she clamped down so fiercely, a cock even a fully erect cock would have difficulty pushing its way through her tight contractions. It caused Tarken to wonder how many men had physically taken Cushla by force. Still, it amazed him how obstinate she was…solars of practice at fighting against having sex perhaps? “You know you’ll have no choice in this matter? Why do you so intensively resist this?”
With his question, a vacant expression spread across her face.
Despite the rampant urge to sink his finger fully into her tempting, little pussy, Tarken withdrew. Gently, he smiled at Cushla and skimmed the finger which had probed her along his nostrils. They flared as he drew in her fragrance, keeping his gaze steady on Cushla’s face.
There was no reaction from her.
“Pleasant,” Tarken said.
There—a slight twitch in her right eyelid, the movement so minute, it could’ve been easily missed. The lovely, little slave was well-practiced at hiding her feelings.
Determined to learn every nuance in her face, understand what every posture meant, no matter how slight, Tarken watched carefully as he brushed his finger along his lips before his tongue slipped through to taste it. “Your juice is very sweet, pretty woman.”
Cushla’s lip quivered ever so slightly, and he felt the muscles of her inner thighs tightened briefly. She was affected, Tarken was sure. Eventually, he would be familiar with everything about her and that would give him the upper hand. Cushla would be trained and submissive before she even knew he had control of her.
Rolling quickly, Tarken maneuvered into a sitting position, sweeping Cushla into his lap in the process. She yelped at the unexpected movement. Tarken wrapped his arms firmly around her, crushing her tightly against him. Giving her no time to react further, his head lowered, and seized her mouth, kissing her roughly almost desperately at first, but slowing to a more passionate kiss. Why he did such a thing, Tarken couldn’t fathom. He rarely kissed slave
s—rarely kissed any woman. When he did, it was to explore the slave’s skill at the task, but this wasn’t an exploration. For some unknown reason, he felt anxious to taste Cushla’s lips.
Odd. Despite her body’s rigid protest, he was enjoying the kiss.
Tarken would examine his reaction later. For now, he wanted to know more about this intriguing woman...slave, Tarken reminded himself as his lips slid over hers. Cushla belonged to the king. He was only sent to train and deliver her. For a fleeting moment there was regret in his heart, but the callousness he learned to hide behind surfaced.
All other sentiments were immediately gone, and Tarken focused fully on the woman, deepening the kiss by skimming his tongue along the crease of her lips. He heard Cushla sigh and watched her lids drift shut. Her body softened, molding comfortably in his arms, and her mouth now more pliable, parted slightly. Taking advantage of her submission, Tarken dipped his tongue inside, finding her tongue and tasting her thoroughly.
By sacred misgivings! Her taste was so sensuous, her scent so arousing.
His hand skimmed down the side of her body, and he cupped her mound. The skin there was smooth, warm and soft. He wondered if Cushla was naturally hairless there or if her muff was artificially made to be that way. Sliding his finger between the swell of her flesh, Tarken felt Cushla twitch. There was no resistance this time as he began to flick the hood of her clit over and over again. Instead, her legs were slightly parted, inviting him to coax her arousal, encouraging Tarken to explore her sexuality further.
Cushla moaned when his mouth left hers and he skimmed his lips down the length of her body, stopping first at her breasts to lick and suck one nipple and then the other before moving on to kiss her stomach. His fingers, first one then two delved in and out of her, his thumb rubbing the swollen nub that he suspected so few of her owners cared to consider.
With him, Cushla would learn differently. He would show her what a real man was about. The lovely, little slave girl would learn to be compliant, particularly to those who sought her sensuality. After all, it was often a man—an owner’s pleasure to watch a woman peak with ecstasy as much as it was to experience his own. It was a thing for her to enjoy, not flee from.
With a smile of satisfaction, Tarken felt Cushla arching her back. Her hips began to move and the muscles inside of her vagina tensed before her juices flooded his fingers. He lifted his head to enjoy the bliss in Cushla’s expression. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly parted, and she was panting softly.
“Yes, Cushla,” Tarken whispered. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Again, he lowered his head intent on sucking a breast into his mouth once more.
“No!” Cushla Shrieked.
Blinding light filled Tarken’s vision. Belatedly, he felt the pain of the fist that slammed into his left temple.”Fucking fires of hell, woman!”
Cushla heeled his groin as she scrambled from his lap.
Before Tarken could fully regain his senses, a bottle of spirits flew over his head, crashing against the wall behind him. He slowly rose to his feet, blinking the stars from his vision, and caught a glimpse of yet another projectile heading in his direction. He ducked just in the nick of time.
* * * *
“The king is a tight wad,” Scoac looked down at the female’s head, bobbing between his legs. He was seated on the bed in his room, watching her dutifully sucking his cock. He groaned. “Yes Ayia, faster.”
“Why would you say such a thing?” Rube asked as he stroked into the servant’s cunt from behind.
They heard glass shattering in the chamber next door, and what sounded like the slavemaster cursing.
“The slavemaster gets a room to himself while here we are...” Scoac paused to watch the girl’s tongue swirl around the head of his shaft. “...sharing everything. Suck Ayia, don’t play.”
They ignored the heavy thud that shook the wall separating them from the slavemaster’s room. Tarken was probably beating the wench.
“Tarken has the slave to deal with, brother,” Rube replied slamming harder into the girl, causing her mouth to slip away from Scoac’s groin. “Besides we have the king’s directives to adhere to, and this makes passing information to each other easier and less conspicuous.”
Something crashed in the slavemaster’s room. There was more cursing and a number of thuds.
Ayia smiled brightly as she glanced up at the royal. “Who is this king you’re talking about?”
With obvious irritation, Scoac grabbed the back of the girl’s head, bunching a tuft of hair in his fist and yanked her head back. “You speak only when asked to, wench.” He molded his hand around his cock and shoved it back into her mouth. “Right now, I want your mouth full.”
Their conversation died as both royals began to climax, Scoac’s pumping into Ayia’s mouth, Rube’s breathing was rapid and harsh as his cock stiffened to its fullest and his strokes inside her cunt became shorter and swifter. They both growled out as they came one within a light flash of the other.
A woman’s shriek from the other side of the wall was followed by another crash and then the sound of something tumbling.
Rube pulled out of Ayia, while Scoac rubbed the head of his cock along her lips.
“Go clean up girl,” Scoac told her. “You can sleep here in this room this eve, on the floor in the corner. We may want to fuck you later.” He watched the girl disappear into the bathing room before turning to Rube. “We’ll have to check the slave for the mark of course. No sense in angering the king by delivering the wrong girl.”
“We could just ask the slavemaster if she bears a mark.”
“Brilliant.” Scoac rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Why didn’t I think of that? We’ll just walk up to him and ask if his slave has a birthmark on her ass.”
“Seems simple enough to me,” Rube responded.
“Yes, and sure enough to draw his suspicion. The man is not an idiot.”
Rube rubbed his jaw. “I see your point. His Majesty made it quite clear that Tarken was to know nothing. Yet what does it matter? We’re instructed to kill him anyway if the need be.”
Chapter Six
Cushla was glaring at Tarken but she was more upset with herself. Through her lust-driven haze, Cushla had felt his mouth on her breasts. His fingers played with her pussy, and she felt herself becoming very wet between her legs. Mindlessness suddenly turned to sensibility as Cushla’s rational brain forced its way in. She was being compliant, submitting to his will, betraying her personal values. Her body was betraying her will!
And even worse than that, she liked it!
She couldn’t. “No!”
Anger reared inside of her, competing for space with the foreign sensation and confusion. Cushla knew she wouldn’t compromise what she fought so long to hold on to. She scampered away from him, backward and across the floor. Drawing up her knees, she wrapped her arms around them, studying her new slavemaster with awe and disbelief. “What did you do to me?”
She watched as he released and exasperated breath and raked his fingers through his hair.
Why wasn’t she repulsed by the way he touched her? It would make fighting him so much easier. Thoughts of what he could do to her in bed…sent her mind racing and her blood pumping hot. Moisture seeped from between her legs again.
“You behave like a skittish virgin Cushla, when I know you are not.” Tarken grunted the words as he wrinkled his forehead, wincing at the residual pain. He stood slowly, and then pressed a palm against the wall to steady his body on his feet. “Explain this.”
“Dignity,” Cushla responded with little intonation in her voice. She also pushed to a stand. Her legs were wobbly. Was it from the fight or his lips? She didn’t want to consider which right now.
He stared at her, saying nothing.
Boldly, she faced him and then noticed her cloak was gone. She was completely naked. A quick glance around the room and Cushla located the garment. It was bunched up on the floor. When had the slavemaster taken it off?<
br />
It didn’t matter.
The scanty garment didn’t hide anything anyway. Her attention returned to Tarken. He was smirking. There was a gleam in his eyes that Cushla was unable to interpret. It could be lust, but equally it could be his arrogance of her present helplessness. Was he considering her punishment? The slavemaster wasn’t jesting when he claimed he didn’t anger easily. After what she’d just done other trainers and owners alike would certainly have either activated the slave band, or be endlessly beating her.
“Your cheeks are flushed.” Tarken’s gaze dropped.
Her chest was heaving—she was short of breath.
His eyes fixated on that part of her, and he seemed to become engrossed by how her breasts rose and fell with her heaving breaths.
No… he was fixating on her nipples. They were hard and protruding, and Cushla wanted to cross her arms to hide them but stood her ground, determined to mask the vulnerability she felt. Her arms remained firmly pinned to her sides, though her hands were firmly clenched into fists, her nails digging almost painfully into her palms.
“Are you aroused or angry, Cushla?”
Cushla refused to answer. Let him guess!
Her silence drew Tarken’s attention back to her face and he stared at her unblinkingly and waited for her to answer.
She said nothing.
“Since you refuse to respond, I’ll draw my own conclusions and assume that you want to get laid.” Tarken walked toward the bed and threw off the covers. “As do I. Now lie down and spread your legs.”
Of course…she refused to comply.
“You’ll find nothing but pleasure in my bed, Cushla.”
A small span of silence followed, and then Cushla answered, “Intercourse is never a pleasure.”
Tarken angled his head slightly to one side and again, studied her for a moment. He then paced to one side of the room. Putting his back toward her, he appeared to pay interest to a tapestry that hung on the wall in front of him. “Is it painful? I know that it can be for some women, even when they do try to enjoy it.”
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