Slavemaster's Woman, The

by Angelia Whiting

  “Do you have a yen for dragging women around, master?”

  One of his brows lifted as he glanced over his shoulder. “Most women follow me wet and willingly, mistress.”

  “Ah, but never me,” Cushla responded. Her mouth twisted to one side. “Never me,” she repeated while wondering who she might be trying to convince.

  Abruptly, Tarken halted. For a moment he was stock still, but then Cushla saw his shoulders tense briefly as he sucked in a breath. He swung her in front of him, causing her to stumble over her own feet with the sudden change in movement.

  Exhaling a sharp sound of exasperation, Tarken glared at her, as he steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. “Your stubbornness is becoming tiresome, Cushla. And I’m none too pleased with your attempt at escape. For this you have now lost your privileges. You will remain confined to the ship for the rest of the journey.”

  “I was not attempting to escape!” She protested, resisting the tug on her as Tarken turned and started up the path again. His stride increased in both speed and length, launching Cushla into a near run—so much for his claim that he never angered. “What is this now, thrice I’ve not seen you anger?” she taunted.

  “I do not anger, mistress.”

  Recalling his expression when he chased after her, Cushla went fishing. “Then I suppose what I saw on your face when you were coming after me, was fear.”

  Tarken didn’t respond. Instead, he continued just a short distance more, reaching the busier section of the port where Mecor’s spacecraft was docked. Releasing her, he stared down at her for several starsecs before speaking, his eyes darting back and forth as he seemingly searched her eyes. “I fear no one, Cushla. I fear nothing.”

  Tipping her head askew, Cushla asked, “Not even the king?”

  “Especially the king.” He extended an arm, directing her to ascend the ramp to the space craft.

  Cushla obliged, though she stopped half way. “Then I think the fear was over losing me.”

  Tarken gave her a blank stare, hesitating before replying, “Not fear, though it would’ve been a shame to misplace you. The cost at repaying Mecor for your purchase price would’ve been annoyingly expensive.”

  An emotion that Cushla was lost to explain plowed through her, converging in her chest. The remark hurt, and for the second time in solars her nose tickled with the first sign of tears.

  Well what in the hell pits did she expect!

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Cushla became irked at herself. She never cried. The anxiety of being handed over to Mecor was taking a toll on her. That's what it had to be. She refused to accept it had anything to do with feelings she was developing for the slavemaster. Turning away from him, she took the few steps remaining to reach the ship, and then waited for Tarken to enter the cryptogram that would open the hatch. She watched him punch the code into the pad, attempting to see the sequence.

  He blocked it with his other hand. With a smirk on his face he shook his head at her. At the same time, the hatch slid upward. Once inside, Tarken secured the entranceway and then brushed passed her.

  Cushla understood she was expected to follow him. The reality of that put things in perspective, reminding her of the station she’d been forced into…and once again she'd almost escaped but failed! The anger she always held close, the anger that seemed to sink far below the surface after she’d met Tarken, reared. It was exactly what she needed to quell those ridiculous stirrings inside of her. Ach, yes! Her usual confrontational self was returning!

  “Cushla.” Tarken halted at the entrance of the corridor, leading from the bridge to the sleeping quarters.

  “Did you want something, master?” She stood her ground, a meek expression on her face. She batted her eyelashes, though she gnashed her teeth with her true underlying feelings.

  Tarken tipped his head askew, his expression accusing, but something beyond her attracted his attention.

  Cushla turned to look.

  At the same time, Tarken grumbled a curse.

  Through the navigation viewer aft of the ship’s control panel, Rube and Scoac could be seen approaching the vessel with Ayia just behind them.

  Cushla tossed a sidelong glance in Tarken's direction. “It appears Ayia has decided to continue on her journey with us.”

  “Piss portholes, she has,” the slavemaster groused. “Over my dead body.”

  “And what concern is it of yours?”

  For several moments, Tarken studied her. “You plotted your escape with the pleasure servant.”

  “You have proof of this, master?”

  “The Ferubian woman was in Ayia's company before your attempted escape.”

  “She's a Shalcar, if I may correct you.” Cushla turned to the sound of the opening hatch.

  The royals followed by Ayia entered.

  “Then you admit it.”

  “I admit to nothing, though it's no secret my life's goal is escape.”

  “Get clearance for departure.” Rube glanced at them briefly, and then trudged heavily toward the control panel, taking a seat in the pilot's chair. His hard footfall was a clear indication that he was annoyed about something.

  Scoac took the second seat at the bridge's panel.

  “She will not depart with us.” Tarken glared at Ayia, her pursed lips revealing she was irritated as well. He wondered at that but was more concerned with her presence among them than anything else. “She cannot be trusted.”

  “It's not for you to say, slavemaster,” Rube answered without turning to look at him, instead concentrating on setting the controls for departure.

  “She conspired with the Ferubian to help the slave escape.”

  “Shalcar,” Ayia corrected. “And I did no such thing.”

  “I think you’re a liar Ayia,” Tarken returned.

  “We're cleared,” Scoac announced. He entered a few settings into the console before swiveling in his chair to face Tarken. Before looking at him however, the royal tipped his head toward Rube and they exchanged glances.

  In their subtle expressions, Tarken detected an unspoken message passing between them.

  Scoac's attention then shifted first to Ayia and then immediately to Tarken. “The pleasure servant stays.”

  “Her presence is risking another escape attempt by the slave. She was with the…” Narrowing his eyes at Ayia, Tarken continued. “…Shalcar woman prior to Cushla being taken.”

  “Hmph…was I taken or did I try to escape?” A wry grin creased Cushla's lips. “A question to ponder is it not? After all, I am apparently worth a hefty price.”

  “Fine,” Rube spoke up. At the same time, the ship's engines began to drone. “The pleasure servant goes.”

  Three expressive faces of what? Collided in answer to the royal’s decision, one from Scoac, one from Ayia and one from Cushla.

  Ayia stood and shot an incensed look at Rube. “You've promised me passage. I'll be stranded!”

  “You suck well, you fuck well. I doubt you'll be delayed overlong,” Rube replied.

  “Now wait just a cosmic plucking star min!” Ayia protested.

  Ignoring the visual daggers she was launching in his direction, Rube continued, “We won't need you to satiate our needs as long as the slave is onboard.” He glanced around, his gaze shifting between several of the guards on the bridge. “And I have no doubt, the slave is well-trained enough to satisfy them as well.”

  “I forbid it!” Tarken growled loudly, his emphatic and uncharacteristic reaction, catching everyone off-guard. “The slave will be fucked by no one except me!”

  * * * *

  Tarken stiffened at their stares, immediately taking on a cool expression to remediate the unexpected emotion. “She will not be touched until King Mecor deems her to be available. The slave is his property not to mention…” He glanced briefly in Cushla’s direction.

  Even he was surprised at the force of his own assertiveness, but the thought of them touching Cushla, of anyone touching her was excessivel
y bothersome—no, more than excessively bothersome. It yanked at his gut. Did he favor the slave girl that much? “She is still completely unruly,” Tarken continued.

  “Moon Crasher, what's your status? Departure is cleared.”

  “We need to hold,” Scoac answered in response to port control's inquiry about the ship's departure delay. He leaned back in his chair and then snickered. “Perhaps we should determine who touches her, slavemaster, since you seem to be having trouble keeping hold of her.”

  Tarken's attention snapped to the bridge's viewer. “Bloody fucking starbirds.” All he could see on the other side of the glass was Cushla's backside as she scrambled away. Without hesitation, the slavemaster dashed for the ship's exit, ignoring the snickers from Rube and Scoac, and the rest of the crew.

  Briefly, he considered activating the slave band but decided against it. His stride was much stronger and faster than the little slave's, and it didn't take long before he caught her. Much to his surprise, however, when Tarken clutched her arm as she ran, Cushla came to a dead halt, her entire body whipping around to face him.

  She laughed, loudly, as if it were a game. “I told you master, my goal is always escape. I must admit you've caught me sooner than most.”

  “Cushla, I'm not playing. An attempt to escape warrants severe penalty.”

  “Neither am I,” she returned, her eyes narrowing with disdain. “Particularly when it comes to you...slavemaster.”

  He studied her for a long moment, his eyebrow arching as he considered ways to punish her. Still clutching her, Tarken turned and hauled her back to the ship, their feet clanking against the ramp as they entered.

  Inside, the royals and Ayia turned to watched them.

  “I take it we’re clear for departure now?” Scoac snickered and then activated the control to close the cargo door.

  Tarken said nothing but continued to stomp toward the corridor that led to his quarters.

  “I suppose you’re finally going to beat me now?” Cushla questioned.

  “Rest assured little slave, you will be punished.” Tarken opened the door and yanked her through it. He released her arm and then turned to glare at her. “But I have another punishment in mind.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cushla studied his face for a moment trying to decipher his expression. There was coldness in his eyes, one she’d never seen before. It was as if he was indifferent or mentally detached, and she began to fret.

  Until now, Tarken had typically been forthcoming with his plans for punishment, but this unfamiliar aloofness was unnerving. What was he planning? Would he activate her slave band, deprive her of food or lock her in a tiny, dark room with nipping crawlers to creep all over her? Cushla shuddered at the latter. Had she pushed him too far? “Tar—er—master, I wasn’t fleeing back there. I was truly being kidnapped…” she stammered for an explanation while at the same time, loathing every iota of fear she was feeling as well as the unsettling sense of being at his mercy.

  “Take off your clothes, Cushla,” Tarken ordered. He began to unbutton his shirt.

  Take off her clothes? Had the slavemaster finally gone daft? Sex was no punishment. She knew he was aware of how she responded to him, how much she enjoyed his touches. Was he up to something? If that was what he wanted—Cushla shrugged inwardly her body already beginning to heat at the sight of his bare, muscular chest revealed as his shirt fell from his torso. Who was she to argue? Then again, it would be completely against her nature to comply, so she crossed one arm over the other refusing his bidding. “Why should I?”

  “Your clothes are filthy as are mine.” He sat on chair and removed his boots and then stood again to unbuckle his belt. Sliding from his waistband, he tossed it aside.

  Cushla’s gaze flicked briefly to where it landed before snapping back first to his face and then dropping to his firm abdomen. She felt her own breathing grow a bit erratic as he began to undo his trousers and a heated eagerness to stroke the bulge now thickening and straining at the material filled her. A smile quivered on her lips when his pants dropped to the floor and he stepped out of them, his hardened cock popping free. She eyed it hungrily.

  With arousal now agitating her fully, Cushla waited with anticipation, but he made no move to touch her, or to remove her clothes. Instead, Tarken stood there in all of his magnificent glory, giving her a moment to admire his firmly muscled body, and she did. Gazing first at his handsome face she ignored the distance that continued to plague his eyes, and instead focused on the full sexy lips that had kissed her and coaxed her body to life. Her smile widened when he lifted his hand to glide across his muscled chest, watching as his index finger skimmed across his stiff, masculine nipple, her own nipples beading as she recalled how it felt when he caressed her breasts, her body, how he probed her slit, pushed that thick digit inside of her and drew the wetness from between her thighs.

  Without even touching her, he was drawing her wetness now. His hand moved lower and Cushla’s entranced gaze followed the downward movement of his palm.

  The lines of muscles in his abdomen tightened as he passed his fingers over them and then continued lower to his stirring member. He coiled his fingers around the stiffened shaft taking it into his hand and squeezed it just below the burgeoning head. A bead of moisture seeped from it.

  Her body jumped with the sensual action as she unconsciously licked her lips, she was beginning to tremble with ardent need, her vagina already contracting and burning with sizzling desire to have it sliding inside of her.

  “Take off your clothes, Cushla. We will shower before we begin. I have no desire to taste mud and muck instead of your lovely skin.” Turning, he headed toward the hygiene chamber.

  This gave her a view of his back, and what a tantalizing view it was. Though, she didn’t miss the broad and firm definition of his shoulders and back, Cushla couldn’t help but fixate on his swaggering ass and the way those sexy globes of his flexed and relaxed with his stride. Spirits hell, she wanted to grasp that ass while he pressed his naked body on top of hers while thrusting inside of her!

  Without hesitation, Cushla shed her clothing and joined him in the hygiene chamber. Jets of warm water rained down on them, rinsing away the worst of the mud.

  Tarken took a scoop of cleansing gel and began to message her chest and breasts. He then turned her to face the jets and worked on her shoulders, back and butt as the suds were rinsed from the front of her.

  His actions were both soothing and erotic at the same time, the warmth of the water and his large slick hands as they glided over her soapy, wet skin was, her lust for him surging wild.

  Turning her to face him again, Tarken cupped her face and pulled her to him for a searing, punishing kiss. Trailing kisses down her throat, he sought out one breast with his mouth as he found the other with his hand. Sucking hard on the nipple he smiled against her skin when he heard her sharp intake of breath. “Yes mistress.” He lingered there for a moment and whispered, “I am excited to hear your desire.” Separating himself from her, he stood upright and then handed Cushla the cleansing jell.

  Taking a scoop, she began to cleanse his chest and arms working lower and lower until she grasped his erection while taking in the sexy sight of suds washing from his skin. Slowly, she began to stroke the full length of him and was pleased when he closed his eyes, his head tipping back slightly as he gave himself over to the pleasure she was giving him.

  His already erect cock thickened further in her hand prompting her to lean down and suck the pulsing head into her mouth and heard him exhale a low groan as he grasped her hair pushing more of the shaft between her lips.

  She fondled his balls as well. Taking in the weight of them, Cushla held them in her palms and then squeezed gently. Doing this willingly, giving oral pleasure without it being demanded was new for her. Tarken wouldn’t know that but she wanted him to, wanted him to be aware that at this moment she wanted nothing more than to satiate him, while hoping she wouldn’t later regret submitting.
Running her tongue from the tip of his shaft to the base of his balls, he groaned again, his erection throbbing several times.

  He was close …Returning to the tip, she circled her tongue around it before taking it wholly into her mouth again and began to suck harder, adjusting the pressure by how his member stiffened and relaxed.

  He began to pump and she met his rhythm. “Yes Cushla,” he growled out hoarsely. “Perfect.”

  Lifting her gaze to look at him, Cushla watched him put one hand out to steady himself against the wall, the other hand cupping her head, his fingers buried in her hair. Indeed, he was close. Soon, she would taste the product of his lust, flavor she secretly admitted to enjoying. She smiled, and his cock slipped out of her mouth, she attempted to guide it back in.

  Tarken, who was still grasping her hair, pulled her head away from him. “Enough.” he rasped out.

  Perplexed, Cushla furled her brow as he grasped her elbow and tugged her upward. She rose to her feet. “Was I doing something wrong?”

  Tarken chuckled. “No mistress, you did nothing wrong, but any more right and I would have come and coming is not what I want.”

  Odd…Cushla thought.

  Opening the chamber door, Tarken stepped out. Grabbing towels from the heating rack he handed one to her and also began to dry himself.

  She toweled herself off and wrapped the towel around her torso. Although, she’d been accustomed to wearing nothing or close to it, she now to appreciated a proper cover even if it was merely a towel.

  Taking her hand, Tarken led her to the bed. “Sit.”

  She obliged without protest.

  Sitting next to her, he pulled her into his arms and gave a small tug to the towel.

  It fell open. Cool air prickled her damp skin, but where she would’ve expected it to chill her, instead it had the opposite effect. Now naked and exposed to him, the cool air felt like a frisson of little shocks that awakened libidinous sensation. Reaching out, she touched Tarken’s shoulder.