by Leia Rice
This drew Mechan’s attention back to her. He grabbed a wooden bowl of water and a cloth. “I will unbind you, but if you run, you will be killed, and I’ve not had to kill a woman in many, many years.”
He stuck a key into the manacle’s lock and the cuffs dropped to the ground, freeing Ishara’s hands. The chief also unbound the binding around her ankles that had begun to wear into her skin. He did not, however, unlock her collar, and the weight of the chains hurt her neck.
“My father will come for me and our people.”
Mechan grabbed one of Ishara’s wrists. She jerked back, but couldn’t break his hold. He ignored the struggle and carefully turned her arms over to expose the undersides where thin cuts marred her wrists. Mechan dragged a cloth over them, wiping away the blood. The gentle brush of the rag increased her heart rate. It beat with both fear and fury. How could a man be so dominating and gentle at the same time?
“That might be so, little one.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Yes. There is no more to say. He may come, and we will be ready for him.” Mechan dropped one of Ishara’s wrists and held out his hand.
She placed her left hand in his without thought, watching him with a scrutinizing gaze. “If he finds me and I am not in the same state that I left my tribe, there will not be any mercy.”
Like some dark creature, Mechan’s gaze flashed over her. “You mean, if you return without your virginity?”
Heat chased her skin beneath the gold dust. “Yes.”
Mechan snorted and dropped her arm. “Don’t worry. You may die a virgin for all I care.”
Stunned, Ishara blinked a few times, and fought the frown tipping the corners of her lips. If he did not release her, and did not use her, she would die in this camp a maiden.
“You are upset? Should this not make you happy?”
Ishara recalled the touch of the women in the tent. She yearned to know more about those mysterious feelings. “Does this not defeat my purpose?”
Again, the chief snorted. “There are many other uses for slaves, little one.”
“Do not call me that,” Ishara demanded.
Her focus shifted down to the hands that had held her so gently. His fingers were much thicker than the women’s.
She wet her dry lips before asking, “Then what will you do with me, if you will not do that?”
“I don’t know,” Mechan responded without looking at her. “It has been many years since I have had a slave. I usually leave them for my men.”
Outside of the tent, Ishara heard some of his men laughing, and between their rowdy guffaws, women wept. It angered her. “How could you let men do that to those poor women?”
“For tonight,” Mechan corrected, “I have plans.” Anger stained his words as he watched her. “I cannot leave this tent without being covered in gold. Your gold.” He grimaced around that fact. “It would be against our tradition, and my people will think me ungrateful. As for those women, your people did it to themselves.”
She scooted back. “You said that I would be a virgin.”
Mechan turned and hurried from the room, returning after he’d retrieved a painted jug. He sat down in front of Ishara and popped the corked wedged into the crude container. Once more his presence immediately filled the entirety of the room. Tipping the mouthpiece in her direction, he finally responded, “You will be.”
He drank from the jug, long drags, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. She thought he might have emptied it all on his own, but when he lowered it and shoved it under her nose, the liquid left inside sloshed around. “Drink.”
Ishara took the jug, but she certainly did not do what she was told. No one ordered her around. Even if he did not want to believe her, she was no one’s slave. Instead, she sniffed the jug, frowning at the coppery, metallic smell. Blood. The same blood from when they had her caged, maybe. “What is this?”
“A potion. You will drink it, and when the morning comes, you’ll have a headache and that is all.” Mechan stared at her, his gaze slowly drifting down her bare chest, over her stomach and lower. The hunger in his eyes, heated her pussy once more. “Drink it.”
She had no choice. There was nowhere for her to go, and if she didn’t listen, he might not let the other women go. She would have to be patient and perhaps earn the chieftain’s trust so that when she did break free, it would be unexpected.
The warm, thick liquid had the aftertaste of blood and strong spirits made from the wild plants growing near her home. It made her body feel tingly and almost numb, but when she drank the rest, confusion settled over her.
Mechan drank nearly three quarters of the brew himself before he reached out with one of his brawny hands and pulled her closer to him with a simple tug to her waist. Compared to her thin, well-toned form, Mechan was large and could easily overpower her.
Dizzy, she found herself in Mechan’s lap, seated with her legs draped over one of his thighs, and her arms sprawled backward over the other. He ran his hand up her body, over the tightness of her stomach and between her breasts. The gold smeared where he touched, and when his fingers reached her neck, Ishara wondered if he would choke her here to teach her a lesson. She couldn’t focus enough to stand her ground, and that wonderful, warm feeling started to grow in her eager cunt once more.
Mechan’s other hand snaked up into Ishara’s dread locks, grabbing a handful of the cords with a fierce tug. A low growl rose in the base of his throat, and under her ass she felt the pressure of his hardening cock. Ishara moaned and arched her back, desperately trying to get the chieftain to touch her again. Whatever she drank had heightened her senses, and when Mechan caressed her, she felt a thousand of his hands on her at once, like the women with the gold dust. Her sight grew red with lust, and she lost herself.
As Ishara pushed her mound against Mechan’s hand, he grasped onto her hair again, keeping her neck tilted back so that she could only see his face. He slid his fingers down past her breasts, which hungered to be touched. Ishara held her breath as his hand continued past her navel and eventually down between her thighs to the shameful heat of her pussy. Mechan rumbled; the sound began to vibrate from his hard stomach pressed against her hip bone.
He pushed his fingers between her slick folds, teasing and tormenting her swollen flesh before retreating. After staring at her mouth, he smeared her warm honey across her lips.
“Taste yourself,” he grunted, forcing his fingers into her mouth.
Ishara had never tasted her own passion before. She never knew of the fire that warmed inside her, causing her to become moist and wet. Lapping at his fingers, she moaned louder when he pulled back on her dreads, forcing her mouth open.
After she’d licked his fingers clean, Mechan wasted no time with pushing them back between her legs. His thumb nudged her nether lips apart, and one of his fingers caressed her little nub. Fiercely, almost too roughly, Mechan circled his fingertip around her clit, and it hardened, becoming more sensitive. Her body jolted with a pleasure never experienced before, and her juices ran down her thighs and onto his. She tried to lift her head up as her back arched, and her hips greedily pushed down into the chieftain’s fingers. Her body worked on its own, driving her to do whatever it was she had to do to seek that release. But as Ishara lifted her head, Mechan pulled her hair down, keeping her in his chosen position—her legs spread, chin back, and neck exposed. Mechan’s cock throbbed against Ishara’s ass, and every time she moved or settled back into his lap, the chief groaned deep within his chest.
Just as Ishara thought she would explode, he stopped. He withdrew his fingers, pulling lines of sweet honey along with them as he set his hand on the inside of her thigh. The chieftain stared down at Ishara, his black eyes unsettling and almost cold.
Ishara wanted to scream at him. Stopping now was so cruel. She yearned to press her thighs together in order to abate the sensation between them, but Mechan pushed on her knee, keeping her legs firmly apart, letting the cool
air lap against her swollen clitoris.
“Beg for it,” Mechan growled.
Beg? Ishara smirked and tried to draw her knees together. “I do not beg.”
“You’ll beg if you seek your release, or you’ll not get it before I make you bring on mine.”
A breeze swirled around the tent, and Ishara’s skin formed goose bumps as she shuddered both from the cold and from the torturing, wispy touch against her pussy. Oolani women did not beg—and certainly not the chief’s daughter. Whatever she desired, all she had to do was ask for it, and her father provided it to her.
But this feeling…this feeling overwhelmed her, and she could not stand being on the edge of what could be an exploding, ecstatic moment, or a nagging, torturing presence that would never go away. It could make her insane. It would. She was sure of it.
With no choice left, she submitted. “Please…please do not stop.”
Mechan growled in approval and inched his fingers closer. “Again.”
He angered her now. “Please!” She tried to writhe against him, anything to experience his fingers back on her.
And it worked.
Mechan’s fingers, which were still wet from her cunt juices, returned to her throbbing lips and button. He pinched her clit, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, and jiggled it. Ishara lost control. She bit back a scream with each jolt of pleasure. Her muscles tensed, rigid and uncontrolled, half-aware people outside could probably here her.
When she opened her eyes, her body shuddering with the aftershock of coming, she found the chieftain staring at her. Ishara shifted uncomfortably. The way he looked at her, lustful and unforgiving, excited her even more.
“Now, it is my turn.”
* * *
Mechan’s heart raced. He could not hide the fact that his cock eagerly ached for release. Every time her ass grazed against the head of his shaft, Mechan had to steel himself not to push her down and take her. The chieftain had not had a woman since the death of his wife. It became common practice to relieve his tensions himself, but even jerking off lost its appeal after time.
Especially with this nubile slave in his lap.
When he demanded his turn, Mechan surprised even himself. Heady and desirous with lust, the ancient love potion had affected his judgment more than he’d anticipated. The chief moved the girl out of his lap and numbingly continued to command her. “Kneel.”
Of course, this did not go without a stubborn argument. “I will not.”
Mechan yanked the young woman by her hair again, forcing her up on her knees in front of him. “Little one, you will soon learn to stop fighting me.”
Her lips still glistened from her sweet, warm honey. Spirits, how he wanted her. He breathed in a shuddering breath and thought of his wife and the devotion that he owed to her, which helped him harden his heart once more.
Untying his loincloth, he let the leather piece fall down around his feet, exposing his generous, stiff cock as it bounced free and at attention. Ishara’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Touch it.”
Her exotic, green gaze shifted from the chief’s prick up to him. Sensing her hesitancy, he reached down, grabbed one of her hands, and laid it on his throbbing member. “I said touch it.”
Ishara curled her fingers around his girth, the whole while looking up at him, meeting his eyes and never dropping her gaze at his erection again. His thighs and hands were covered in gold, and where the dust was smeared off his slave, her tan skin turned a blushing shade of rose. Mechan wrapped his fingers over hers, and began to push her hand up and down, teaching her the motion to jerk him off.
“Mmm. Yes. Just like that,” he almost purred, if beasts like him could purr at all. It had been many years since he experienced a woman’s hand on his dick, and with a touch as gentle as Ishara’s, he was almost ready to come right there and then.
But he didn’t. He would try to hold out and enjoy the moment. He wanted her to please him until he said otherwise. He wanted control.
Mechan looked back down to Ishara’s glistening lips. He had to have her there. “Put your mouth on my cock.”
Her beautiful face twisted in shock. “What?”
“I said, put your mouth on my cock.” Mechan tugged on her dread locks once more, reminding her that she was his.
She was so beautiful. He wanted to claim her and possess her all the more, especially with the smell of her sweet cunt lingering in the air.
Ishara slowly leaned forward—her eyes darting between his cock and his face—and parted her luscious mouth, slipping Mechan’s prick past her lips. It throbbed even more, hot and needy within her mouth, which could barely fit around the head. “Yes…good. Good slave.”
She tried to open her mouth wider, allowing the tip of his cock to sink deeper until it reached the back of her mouth.
His hot seed shot out of his cock in rapid succession, hitting the back of Ishara’s throat. She immediately drew Mechan out of her mouth as she coughed and gagged, caught off guard. In the middle of his orgasm, the chieftain grabbed hold of his cock and pumped it quickly, emptying his hot semen onto Ishara’s beautiful, gold-dusted face. With each pump, Mechan gnashed his teeth together, lowly groaning, careful of the noises escaping his throat.
When the orgasm subsided, his load all over Ishara’s face, Mechan grabbed his loincloth and tied it back around his waist. The chieftain turned and left the private area to seek out a cloth to clean her with. When he returned, he dropped the cloth at her side and stopped to stare. He had caught her touching the sticky fluid and sucking it off her fingers in a private moment. It was enough to almost make him hard again.
But he had to stop himself here, before he went too far. She was just a slave, and he had to be careful not to desire her too much. Mechan wouldn’t betray his wife in that way, and especially not with the daughter of his enemy. He tossed the rag at Ishara’s feet. “Clean yourself. You will sleep in the slave pen tonight.”
Chapter Three
Aloran despised his father. He wanted to keep Ishara for himself. And if not keep her, he wanted to spoil her before giving her over to the chieftain. Aloran did capture her after all—Ishara should have been his prize before anyone else’s.
He would have fucked her too, if the other warriors were not victoriously bumbling about with crying slaves tied to crude ropes at the time. He couldn’t find anywhere safe to have her, if for only a few minutes. Aloran had to grit his teeth and put on a front as he honorably presented the enemy chieftain’s, virgin daughter to his lazy father.
The possibility of taking Ishara lingered. Despite the impassioned moaning from the tent, Aloran knew that his father’s attachment to his mother was too strong for him to mate with the girl. Mechan tried to hide this from his people, but the Manahotchi were not all so oblivious. While some men and women raised their mugs and snickered at the groaning and erotic shadow play against the canvas of the tent, there were others who simply rolled their eyes and knew better—Aloran amongst them. Their chieftain was too stubborn to move on.
Aloran would get the girl. He at least had some months before his father started to give in, or at least he hoped that was the case. Ishara was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and in the end, the chieftain was a man, and all men had their needs.
The next week passed by in a blur of games and competition. By the end, Aloran won a slave of his own in a wrestling match. He picked a thick, young woman named Eila, with hips that had clearly already bore a child. Aloran wanted a slave who would know what to do. He didn’t have to waste time in teaching her. While virgins were nice, they were also tedious and time consuming—and he didn’t need the reminder that his virgin currently spent her time pleasing his father. All he’d had to do with Eila was whip her a few times to break her in, then fuck her mouth all night to humble her. When she’d smiled up at him, her lips glistening with his seed, Aloran smirked in surprise. Eila would do for now.
That morning, with the sun rose and the twili
ght turned the sky the color of bruises, Aloran woke naked and sweaty from sleeping beside Eila all night. Usually he did not allow for his slaves to sleep with him, but he was so exhausted from humping her all night long, he’d passed out with his cock still inside her, half spent.
Now, all Aloran wanted was to wash up. He stepped out of the tent without bothering to lock Eila up. She wouldn’t run. She never wanted anything so badly than Aloran’s prick buried deep inside her. He knew it from the way she serviced him, from the way she always trailed behind him, waiting to be told what to do. The slave would stay put.
Aloran was the only Manahotchi awake in the camp. The night birds sang lazy songs as the morning birds yawned and sleepily began to answer. With his manhood heavy against the inside of his thigh, Aloran sauntered to the creek to draw fresh water he could use to bathe himself, then give to Eila after.
As he passed his father’s tent, he noticed Ishara outside in the slave pen. She watched him with her predatory, green gaze. A smirk tugged at his lips. He padded over to the cage to rattle the bars. “Good morning, pet.”
Ishara said nothing.
Aloran knelt down in front of her, balancing himself on the balls of his feet in a flattering squat. “You do not need to make a sound now, pet, because when I get to you later, you will make plenty of noise.”
Ishara leaned forward, puckered her lips, and spit on Aloran’s face. Her warm mucus stuck to the space between his eyes.
He never stopped grinning, even when he wiped his face, stood, and began to walk away. She was his prize and he would have her. And maybe then, she’d learn her place: no longer a chieftain’s daughter, but the slave of a chieftain’s son.
When Aloran reached the river, other Manahotchi, though few, were gathered to wash as well. Some of the women stood waist-deep in the water with their babes in their arms, planning out their day in quiet conversation. Men washed out wounds and tended to their bruises from the week’s games.