Slavemaster's Woman, The

by Angelia Whiting

  Cushla stared at him and she wasn’t even sure if he knew she was there anymore.

  He set the glass down hard, his hand remaining firmly around it.

  Cushla reached across the table and took his hand, removing it from the glass as she curled fingers around his palm, hoping to give him some comfort. She now regretted her curiosity. The raw emotion that played on his features was tearing her heart out. She was about to tell him to go no further with the story.

  Then, he started speaking again, “I checked the closest health complex and found that Sosha was still alive. I rushed over there to see her. I spoke to the medics on her condition and they told me she’d survived longer than expected but wouldn’t last much longer. I asked about my son. Okli had died early on in the epidemic. I wanted to know where he was buried and was told that all those who’d died of this virus were incinerated to keep it from spreading.” Unknowingly, Tarken squeezed Cushla’s hand.

  She thought he was going to crush every bone, but having the sense that this was the first time he’d ever spoken about his plight, she said nothing. Physical pain was something she had a high tolerance for.

  “I was made to put on protective clothing and breathing apparatus to keep from contracting the virus and then shown to her room. She seemed so frail in that bed. The welts had left scarring on her face and arms. They’d managed to reduce the swelling in her neck but her fever ran unchecked. I went to her and took her hand. She opened her eyes and gazed at me for a long time. Then she smiled slightly. I wanted to kiss her so badly, I wanted to rip off the preventive clothing and hold my wife in my arms. I sat next to her bed, and she said to me, ‘I didn’t think you would come back.’ ”

  Cushla felt tears gathering in her eyes as he seemed to be far away from where they sat.

  “‘I’m so sorry Sosha.’ I told her. I should have stayed home with her and Okli.

  She then asked me where Okli was. I didn’t have the heart to tell her he was dead—so I lied. I told her that they had him in the children’s annex. I couldn’t tell her our sweet boy was nothing more than ash, so instead I told her what I should have before this. ‘I love you with all of my heart, Sosha. You need to get better, so we can all go home.’ ” Tarken’s eyes glistened as he took another deep breath.

  Cushla knew that she’d never seen this kind of tenderness in any man’s eyes for all of her life…A look of love, regret and pain. She felt her heart jump with some inexplicable jolt of feeling—a feeling she was too afraid to explore.

  He shook his head as he continued, “She then told me she had a surprise for me...‘I’m going to have another baby,’ she said. She was pregnant with our second child…’Are you happy?’ she asked me. ‘Yes, Sosha, I am very happy.’ I told her. I tried to sound happy but my heart was ripping to pieces. I told her I was going to resign my commission and get a position closer to home, so that I could take better care of them. She smiled at me. Her breathing was very shallow at this point and she was barely speaking above a whisper. I love you, was the last thing she said to me before she died.”

  Cushla released a sob, her insides twisting as if his tale were her own. She now understood why he rarely showed emotion, and why he held his anger at bay. He was empty inside. “As empty as I am,” she murmured.

  “Yes. We share a common bond, mistress.” Tarken seemed to know of what she spoke of.

  Gazing up at him, Cushla frowned. She’d been unaware that she’d spoken loud enough for Tarken to hear her, that she even spoken the words aloud, but he clearly understood—felt the same void inside that she did.

  “Tell me, Cushla. Tell me of your plight.”

  Glancing downward, Cushla stared at her hand, now cupped gently between both of his, and she couldn’t help but feel her own sense of comfort with the warmth of his grasp. Warmth that seemed to seep into her flesh and settle in her chest—into her heart. Cushla realized that she’d become vulnerable to the slavemaster and still, somehow she wasn’t troubled by it. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

  Just as Tarken, she’d never spoken to anyone about the horror and the pain she’d endured as a slave child. Cushla had learned quickly that survival meant pushing the memories away, burying them, hiding behind tenacity and anger. She snapped her mouth shut, her lips twisting as anguish pushed to the surface.

  Tarken didn’t push her any further, and Cushla was thankful.

  Instead, he released her hand from his grip, picked up his glass and took several gulps, emptying it of the drink. “When I could not rouse you, I became worried.” Setting the glass on the table, Tarken toyed at the edge of it with his index finger. He then gazed up at her. “I would think a woman of your experience would have acclimated to being bound.”

  “It’s not just the binding, Tarken.” Cushla pressed her palms to the table and leaned toward him, her expression turning serious. “I’m filled with terror when being bound to a bed.”

  “Is that so?” Tarken queried. “Perhaps you will then explain something that I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps,” Cushla returned, then pursed her lips. “Perhaps not.”

  Tarken released a subdued snigger. “Why would you goad me into tying you up if you knew what your reaction might be?”

  Cushla just turned her face away and began studying the crowd milling around the courtyard, sitting at other tables, going in and out of shops. Why had she done such a thing? She returned her attention to Tarken. “At first I thought you would think it was something I wanted you to do and because of that you wouldn’t do it.”

  A grin creased Tarken’s lips. “It hadn’t even occurred to me to bind you, Cushla until you mentioned it, but then knowing you as I now do, I realized it was exactly, for whatever reason, something you didn’t want, and because of that I saw it as the perfect punishment for your behavior.”

  Cushla drew a deep breath through her nose and exhaled through the same as she turned her head to study the activity in the market once more. “Knowing you the way I do now, I think I knew you would do it, and I have to wonder if it was something I needed you to see, needed you to understand as I had no other way of explaining something I didn’t want to recall and tried to forget—something I did forget until now.”

  “Suppressed memories,” Tarken commented. “War ravaged sentinels often experience such a thing.”

  “And only able to confront their trauma when they finally feel safe,” Cushla added, “Assured they won’t be hurt again.”

  “Then you have grown to trust me, mistress?”

  Cushla turned back to Tarken, but avoided the question. She said nothing for the span of several heartbeats before once again speaking, “My owners never had full conversations with me. I was ordered around and treated like a simpleton, but you tell me things and you listen to me. At first, I thought it was a way to bring me to heel, but now I’m thinking it’s something that comes to you naturally.”

  “Not so easily,” Tarken admitted. “But I find that you’re easy to talk to, Cushla,”

  She was taken aback by the unexpected compliment, and she was momentarily unsure of how to reply. Praise from any master was such a rare thing. “Perhaps I am a better slave than you realize,” she finally answered. “Trained to readily listen.”

  Tarken angled his head and smiled softly as he gazed at her. “There’s an ease in your expression when you listen to me, Cushla. The same natural ease I feel, it seems, when listening to you.”

  Cushla studied him for a moment, sitting very still, her chest rising and falling in gentle respirations. “If that be the case, Tarken, then you must understand this.” She pressed her palms to the table and leaned in. “Listen to me and listen well….” Pausing, she searched his eyes to be assured he was truly listening, “I promise to never run from you again—ever—if you will promise to never bind me thusly, to a bed again.”

  “You promise to never run from me, ever? Tarken paused as he seemed to consider that. “How can I believe your words when you have run be
fore?”

  “Because I give you my word!” Cushla felt her anger rising. “Then again, I am a slave therefore I am incapable of telling the truth. Is that correct?”

  “I never said you were incapable of telling the truth,” the slavemaster paused and studied her briefly. “But you are evasive.”

  “I have a right to be,” she stated firmly.

  “You do,” he agreed, and then smiled at her.

  Cushla said nothing, taken aback by the shift in power he bestowed on her. She did have a right to be—to feel any way she desired!

  “Very well, mistress. I will take you on your word. I will not bind you and you will not run.”

  Satisfied, Cushla relaxed against the seat.

  They sat silently for awhile, each absorbed in their own thoughts, occasionally exchanging glances that seemed overflowing with an unspoken understanding that they each had suffered undo pains in their lives. Every now and then they offered kindly smiles to each other that seemed more soothing than sympathetic. There was something else as well. It was respect.

  Tarken had offered her respect and in turn she had developed a respect for him. Could she dare say that the slavemaster might be a good man? “I’m sorry about your wife and child.” Cushla finally conveyed, and then gulped down the rest of her drink.

  “Thank you.” was all Tarken said in reply.

  “Tarken?”

  “Yes, Cushla?”

  “I promised that I would never run from you.”

  “Yes you did, mistress.”

  “But I did not promise that I would not run from the king.”

  Tarken’s roar of laughter filled the air.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Having no desire to return to the confines of the ship just yet, Tarken rented a small and secluded lakeside cabana. He suffered with a rock solid hard-on that was badgering him for release and was determined to take full advantage of it. This pretty little wench had snared his libido like no other. In and of itself that fact concerned him very little. It was the notion that his attentions went beyond mere lust.

  Tarken watched amorously as Cushla straddled his thighs, and then rose to her knees to hike her dress and lift it over her head. She smiled at him as she tossed it to the floor, and it pleased him that she offered herself to him so willingly after the many eves of combativeness. His gaze dropped and he stared admiringly at her full rounded breasts, a nice handful. The temptation to touch them, to lean his head and suck her nipples was unbearable. But instead of succumbing, Tarken forced his attention to Cushla's face.

  She didn't seem cool or removed. In fact there was determination in her expression, a carnal charge in her eyes—an acute awareness, almost calculating.

  Under normal circumstances, no matter what state of mind, if a slave offered, Tarken indulged. Something else stirred inside of him however. It was awe. Cushla captivated him. She’d stolen something from him that since the death of his wife he’d been completely unwilling to give.

  He intended to make love to Cushla.

  Interesting, as to how the idea of making love had renewed itself inside of his heart and head once again. Tarken knew full well, the dangers of harboring emotions for Cushla as such. It was a reckless concession, considering he would have to give her up, but presently all he wanted was to touch her, smell her, entwine her body with his, give her passion and comfort—to hold her as if she were his own, even if for only this moment.

  Somehow, she’d gotten under his skin. She’d taken the shell of the man he was and filled him with warmth and joy. She made him feel whole again. She…she—

  She ripped his shirt….Cushla grasped the collar of Tarken's shirt and ripped from his body. Then, even before he could react, she grabbed his head and smashed her lips against his.

  Momentarily stupefied, Tarken allowed her the lead. But it wasn't long before his escalating lust drove him to take command of her. Just as Cushla had done, Tarken grasped her head, tipping it back overpowering her kiss with a determination of his own. He nudged his tongue between her lips, forcing her probing tongue to retreat, and she moaned. Dropping one hand, Tarken curled his fingers around the thin, undergarment she wore and tore it from her hips, exposing that tender cleft of hers. He broke the kiss, pulling back to admire her face, her body.

  “I need you, Master,” Cushla spoke with urgency, her eyes filled with yearning.

  Tarken's breathing became harsher. His cocked throbbed achingly, and he couldn't remember ever being this aroused. Reaching between her legs he sought her opening and slipped a finger inside of her.

  He stroked her with a heated satisfaction.

  “Spirits, yes!” Cushla hissed with gratification, cocking her hips at his penetrating finger. “Take me, take me hard!”

  “Not yet,” he answered, struggling to maintain his control. It was hot inside of her vagina, her juices of arousal freely flowing, her sweet, tight sheath convulsing and tightening around his finger. The feeling of her body entrapping his fingers blinded Tarken with lust. It intensified doubly when Cushla reached into his trousers once more and squeezed his thickened shaft stroking up and down on it.

  He nearly threw Cushla onto the bed, craving to spread her legs and ram inside of her. But there was something else he wanted from her this time. “Lie down,” he demanded, restraining his urges, noting the slight quiver in her breath as she exhaled and how her body subtly trembled.

  With her eyes fixed to his, Cushla obediently lowered to the mattress. “I want you all over me,” she gasped out breathlessly.

  “I will be soon. But first…” Tarken's gaze wandered the length of her body halting on the treat that awaited him between her thighs. His mouth watered, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip as he thought about what she might taste like. Lowering his head, he flattened his tongue on her swollen mons and licked the bare flesh there.

  Cushla shrieked.

  He smiled when she attempted to scramble away from him, but his hands caught her hips to hold her still. He nipped at the top of her labial crease.

  This drew another shriek from Cushla as her hips jerked. “Master,” she gasped. “I—no—I—please.”

  “Spread your legs, mistress,” Tarken said his voice low and sensual. “My desire is to give you this pleasure.” He waited, patiently watching Cushla's face, her eyes.

  Her expression was almost—fearful—innocent.

  Her claim that no man had ever put his mouth on her clit, licked her there, drove his lust to cosmic heights. “Now, mistress.” Tarken's mastered gaze upon her was firm as again, he waited.

  She swallowed hard, and her chest began to rise and fall in rapid successions.

  He knew she felt vulnerable, and wondered if she would resist or comply.

  With a seeming trepidation, Cushla drew her legs up and then let them slowly part.

  A primal grin creased Tarken's lips. His heart pounded as he admired the way her female lips separated to expose her swollen clit, her inner lips doing the same, flowering open to reveal her glistening slit. A dominating sense surged inside of him. Never before had his position as a slavemaster and the power he had over another excite him this much, making his blood roar hot.

  Her body glistened with beads of sweat as she trembled, lying open to him in very way.

  Tarken wanted to own Cushla in every sense of the word. Make her his. Command her to be his woman in every manner, dedicated bodily, mentally and emotionally only to him. A possessive growl escaped him, and he lowered his head, his mouth opening and latching onto her pussy. He relished in the idea he was the first to give her this.

  “Blazing comets!” Cushla shrieked and attempted to scramble away again.

  Tarken pinned her hips with his hands, forcing her to submit. He continued to suck until her clit was swelling and throbbing, his tongue making quick, circular swipes over the hood.

  A tremor rattled though her core and her thighs, her orgasm imminent, her body demanding as she clutched at his hair, frantic to keep his
tongue there. “Don't stop!” Cushla cried out. She tipped her pelvis upward finding a more stimulating position against Tarken's mouth, the sensation between her legs becoming so intense her entire body quaked.

  With a driving determination, he kept sucking and then licking, and when Cushla’s crooning elevated until she was near screaming, he stuck two fingers inside of her, his tongue proceeding in rhythmic strokes until her hips lifted from the bed.

  Her climax hit, moisture, hot and fluid seeped from her core.

  Tarken groaned with a primal force guiding him as he tasted, and drank her in.

  Power, raw and demanding tore through Cushla's body. Torridly, she shook almost violently as a forced wild cry of anguished pleasure ripped from her. “My slavemaster!”

  “Yes, Cushla,” Tarken rasped out. “I am your master.”

  Lost in euphoria, she seemed only half aware of Tarken climbing over her body, her head thrashing from side to side. He pressed on top of her, his hips settling between her willfully outspread thighs, his cock, stiff and thick penetrating her. Cushla yelped as he sank into her, bringing her to a new height of ecstasy.

  She was thrusting upward to angle him more deeply inside of her. “I love you, Tarken.”

  She loved him. Tarken groaned as he took her mouth with his own.

  She kissed him back with a crazed obsession, her fingers digging into his hair, his arms slipping beneath her to clench her bottom as she wrapped her legs around him. Their groins slammed together, Tarken grinding into her, Cushla grinding back, their bodies a tangled inferno of unbridled passion. All that was tangible around them became null, and they were oblivious of unmoored objects crashing, and the walls that vibrated around them as their bodies became suspended.