Savage Surrender

by Deanna Ashford

  ‘You have?’ Rianna said in surprise. ‘But the prisoner is no rough peasant, he is a nobleman. The soldiers’ intentions were to humble him as well as to punish.’

  Just speaking of Tarn made Rianna’s breasts throb and her breathing quicken. Eager to be rid Of her tight-fitting garments, she stood up and let her dress fall into a shining pool at her feet. Her shift felt impossibly restrictive, as it seemed to crush her breasts and rub enticingly against her rock-hard nipples. She hoped that Jenna didn’t notice the way the tiny nubs stood out, lewdly distorting the fine silk of her undergarment.

  ‘A nobleman,’ Jenna repeated, lifting Rianna’s gown and smoothing the shining folds before placing it in the storage chest. ‘He is far more than that, my lady. Mircon, my soldier friend, told me that the prisoner is Tarn, the only son of the King of Kabra, and heir to the throne. How can so proud a prince reconcile himself to becoming a slave? Mircon says that is the fate Lord Sarin intends for him.’

  ‘How can Lord Sarin allow a prince to be treated so cruelly?’ Rianna asked. ‘They did the most horrendous and degrading things to him.’

  ‘While you stayed and watched,’ Jenna reminded her.

  As Jenna drew Rianna’s shift up and over her head, the maid’s cool fingers briefly brushed her over-sensitive flesh. Rianna shivered, finding the contact surprisingly pleasurable.

  ‘I could not tear my gaze from him,’ Rianna confessed, feeling conscious of her naked body. ‘The whipping must have hurt, but the lash did not tear his flesh. There was no blood. It was purely to subjugate and humiliate . . .’ She wanted to tell Jenna all that she witnessed and how aroused she felt, but she could not bring herself to voice the words.

  ‘We all have a place of darkness within our souls.’ Jenna slipped the finely embroidered, muslin nightgown over Rianna’s head. The fine fabric fluttered downwards, gently caressing Rianna’s febrile flesh. ‘Watching pain being inflicted on a handsome warrior can be a potent spice to the senses.’

  ‘I would never have believed such feelings possible, if I had not experienced them myself,’ Rianna murmured.

  ‘There are clearly many things you have yet to learn,’ Jenna said with an understanding smile. ‘Perhaps after all it is better that I accompanied you and not Veba. That dried-up old crone doesn’t even know what it’s like to bed a man.’

  Rianna did not like the way Jenna spoke about Veba. She loved the old woman; however, she knew that in many ways Jenna was right. Veba was a spinster, with old-fashioned and restrictive views. Jenna was probably far more knowledgeable about matters of the flesh. ‘Are you very experienced?’ she asked shyly.

  Jenna chuckled. ‘I have known a number of men, if that is what you mean. You may ask me anything you want about the opposite sex, Lady Rianna. I’m certain to be able to provide you with a well-informed answer.’

  ‘Anything?’ Rianna asked, sitting down on her narrow bed.

  ‘Anything,’ Jenna confirmed, smiling affectionately at Rianna. ‘I’ll be happy to tell you about ways to pleasure a man. You’ll no longer be a total innocent when you go to your husband’s bed. But our discussions on this matter must cease now and continue on the morrow. Please, you must rest, I don’t want to incur Chancellor Lesand’s anger again.’

  There were a multitude of questions Rianna wanted answered, but she knew Jenna was right, there was plenty of time for such discussions on the long journey to Aguilar, the capital city of Percheron. Rianna lay down on her bed, and smiled up at her maid as she covered her with a sheet. ‘Thank you, Jenna.’

  ‘Rest easy. I’ll return later to see if you want anything to eat,’ Jenna said, before she left the wagon.

  With her head still full of images of the handsome warrior naked and in chains, Rianna eventually fell into a restless, dream-filled sleep.

  Rianna’s slumbers were disturbed by a sudden noise. ‘Jenna, is that you?’ she queried.

  ‘Yes.’ Jenna moved closer, striking the tinderbox to light a small oil lamp. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my lady. But Chancellor Lesand wishes to speak with you urgently.’

  Forcing herself into full wakefulness, Rianna sat up and brushed the tangled strands of hair from her face. ‘It’s the middle of the night, is it not?’

  ‘’Tis way past midnight. The Chancellor says he has urgent need of your healing skills.’ Jenna handed Rianna a blue velvet cloak. ‘No time to dress, wear this.’

  ‘Who’s ill?’ Rianna asked, pushing her feet into a pair of velvet slippers as Jenna wrapped the cloak around her. ‘Have you my bag?’

  ‘It is outside with the Chancellor’s servant,’ Jenna replied. ‘And I do not know who is ill. The Chancellor did not choose to confide in me.’

  Rianna hurried down the steps of her wagon to where the Chancellor was standing with his servant. Baral was holding aloft a lantern, and at his feet was Rianna’s bag of instruments and potions.

  ‘I apologise for disturbing you,’ Lesand said, appearing rather agitated. ‘There was no other I could turn to. Your maid assures me that your healing skills are well-known in Harn.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can to help. Who is unwell?’ Rianna asked.

  ‘During a struggle with his guards, the prisoner received a blow to the head. He’s been unconscious for hours,’ Lesand explained hurriedly. ‘The military surgeon who accompanies us can do nothing for him, so I crave your assistance. Baral will escort you, Lady Rianna, if you would care to examine the man.’

  Concern for Tarn made Rianna decide she did not want to delay a moment longer. It was dark, no one would see she wore only a night-gown under her cloak. ‘Of course, Chancellor. I’m ready,’ she told Baral.

  Baral picked up Rianna’s bag. ‘This way, my lady. Take care you do not trip on the rough ground.’

  She followed him from the encampment and into the eerie darkness of the wood. Rianna had never been in a forest at night. She jumped nervously as she heard the distant scream of an unknown animal, and was relieved when she caught sight of the flickering flames of a campfire.

  Three soldiers were sitting hunched around the fire, while the rest of the men appeared to be asleep, leaving Tarn unguarded. Unconscious, he lay on his stomach, close to the wagon that bore his cage. A rough piece of striped fabric was thrown over the lower half of Tarn’s prone body, but there was nothing between him and the rough ground.

  ‘Baral, I will need blankets for the prisoner,’ Rianna said.

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ Placing the lantern and bag close to the prisoner’s head, Baral moved over to speak to the soldiers by the fire. Meanwhile, Rianna examined Tarn’s back. The flesh was red and angry, criss-crossed by raised scarlet weals. But there was no blood, no broken skin. The damage would heal swiftly and leave no disfiguring scars.

  Opening her bag, Rianna took out a small clay pot containing a soothing ointment made of agrimony, rosemary and lavender oil. She spread it thinly over Tarn’s damaged flesh, admiring the strength and hardness of the muscles under his skin. She had almost finished when Baral returned with the three soldiers, although she’d not yet lifted the strip of blanket to anoint Tarn’s bare buttocks.

  Under instructions from Rianna, the soldiers laid a blanket on the ground. She covered the top half with a clean cloth to prevent the rough fibres from sticking to the ointment on Tarn’s back. Then she ordered the soldiers to lift him on to the blanket.

  Tarn was a heavily built man, and a dead weight while unconscious. The three soldiers grunted in exertion as they lifted him and placed him atop the blanket. They decorously draped the piece of striped fabric across Tarn’s hips to conceal his sex from her view. Then they insisted on putting manacles on his ankles and tethering his chains to the wheels of the wagon. However, because of Rianna’s pleadings, they did not replace the manacles on the prisoner’s wrists.

  ‘You may leave,’ Baral told the soldiers, who resumed their places by the campfire.

  Rianna examined the wound on Tarn’s head. The gash extended from his left temple deep
into his scalp, surrounded by a matted mass of hair and congealed blood. She cleansed the gory mess with a cloth dampened in boiled water mixed with vinegar. The wound was bad, but the bone underneath appeared undamaged. Rianna’s gentle probing fingers found no sign of a fracture, but even that did not ensure Tarn’s survival.

  ‘Is it bad?’ Baral asked, unable to bring himself to look closely at the wound. ‘The sight of blood sickens me.’

  ‘It’s hard to tell. I’ve seen men recover from worse, while others, with far less serious wounds, have died. Where the head is concerned, anything is possible.’

  ‘Can you help him at all?’ Baral stared sympathetically down at Tarn.

  ‘A tisane of comfrey and valerian, mixed with mallow and borage will calm his blood and help relieve internal swelling,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘After that we will have to wait and see. Baral, will you go and seek out my maid, Jenna, and ask her to brew such a potion. In the meantime, I’ll tend to these other wounds.’ Rianna took a sharp silver scalpel from her bag. ‘See here, on his shoulder.’ She pressed an area of puffy, purplish-red flesh which bordered both sides of the long half-healed gash. ‘There are bad humours here that have to be released, lest they drain into his blood and poison him.’

  Baral turned pasty white. ‘I’ll find Jenna at once.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Will it trouble you to be left alone with the prisoner? I could call the guards.’

  ‘No.’ She looked down at her unconscious patient. ‘What harm can he do me, Baral?’

  ‘What harm indeed,’ Baral agreed, moving quickly away before Rianna could use the scalpel.

  Rianna worked with swift expertise, draining and cleaning the infected wound on Tarn’s shoulder. Then she packed it with a healing unguent and covered it with a clean dressing.

  Now she had but to examine the wound in Tarn’s groin. She looked down at the unconscious warrior. He was quite the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His face was angelic in repose, the features bold but finely drawn. She wished she could see the colour of his eyes, now shaded by long dark lashes. She guessed they would be blue or grey because his hair was a pale shade of gold.

  With the tips of her fingers she touched his mouth, easing it open a little. The lower lip was a little fuller than the upper, while his teeth were white and even. She trailed her hands down his corded neck to the firm planes of his chest. His heartbeat was regular, not thready, his breathing slow and even. These were good signs and she hoped with every fibre of her being that Tarn would recover.

  Under the smooth unblemished flesh, lightly tanned by exposure to the sun, his body was a mesh of strong powerful muscles, honed to perfection by his life as a warrior. She continued her examination, her fingers brushing his nipples: two small dark nubbins surrounded by flat circles of copper. There was not even the faintest hint of a bulge at his belly; it was tight, iron-hard and infinitely appealing. Drawing her breath inwards, Rianna allowed her fingers to travel lower. Gently she eased aside the striped fabric covering his groin. There was a dusting of pale blond hair on his lower belly, gradually thickening into the golden triangle of curls that covered his pubis. She couldn’t resist staring at his male organs. Tarn’s phallus was curled limply atop the bed of curls and behind it lay the sac of flesh which held his seed of life.

  The skin of his manhood was a shade darker than that of the rest of his body, darkening even more at the domed tip. The organ was far from small, but she still found it difficult to understand how it could grow so impossibly large. Who would imagine that this curved, defenceless instrument could stiffen until it was much longer and thicker than the handle of the Great Broadsword of Harn? She recalled the phallus as she’d seen it earlier in the day – taut and shiny, a huge purplish bulb at its tip, poised and ready to pump spurts of creamy seed from his body.

  Once again she felt the unquenchable fire burst into life, deep in the pit of her stomach, knifing through her feminine parts and filling them with lust. She could barely imagine what it would feel like to have Tarn’s phallus thrusting deeper and deeper inside her, the smooth skin of his cock shaft polished to slick perfection by the copious dew of her own body.

  Rianna recalled the feel of Lesand’s fingers inside her, invading her virginal flesh. She’d never believed the experience could be so pleasurable. But what if those long thin fingers had been replaced by Tarn’s huge rod of flesh? Would the pleasure increase or would it prove to be painful?

  Sternly reminding herself that she had a task to perform, Rianna focused her thoughts on Tarn’s well-being. She looked at the long sword gash extending from Tarn’s groin to half-way down his thigh. It was still a little inflamed but the wound appeared clean. She judged it to be mending well. All it needed was regular applications of soothing unguent.

  Rianna spread a thin layer of healing ointment along the line of the wound. On finishing, she wiped her fingers, then rewarded her labours with another glimpse of Tarn’s sex. The skin on the shaft of his penis looked wrinkled and rough. She touched it with the tip of her fingers, still finding it hard to comprehend how the organ could grow so swiftly. Surprisingly, the surface felt smooth and velvety, much like the skin of a ripe peach. She stroked the shaft, watching curiously as it slowly expanded. Before it straightened and hardened fully, she weighed the organ in her hand. How odd to spend one’s life with this always hanging between one’s legs. How much neater was a woman’s body with everything tucked securely inside.

  The head of Tarn’s phallus was protected by a thick hood of skin. As she stroked and rubbed the shaft it grew larger, and the collar of skin slowly rolled back to reveal the tip of the expanding purple bulb that had so firmly imprinted itself on her fevered mind.

  She was still marvelling at the amazing sight when she detected a slight trembling of Tarn’s stomach. He gave a faint moan, and Rianna looked worriedly up at his face, but his eyes were closed and he still appeared to be unconscious. She glanced nervously over at the guards by the fire, fearful that they might be watching her intimately exploring Tarn’s body, but they were all fast asleep.

  Rianna was just about to return her attention to Tarn, when she felt a hand grab her wrist and jerk her forward. She fell across Tarn’s chest, while arms, strong as steel bands, enfolded her.

  ‘You’ve come to entrance me,’ Tarn groaned. His sky-blue eyes raked her face, before he captured her lips with his.

  As Tarn’s tongue thrust between her lips, she gave a pleading moan. But as his searching tongue delved deeper, erotically exploring the moist crevices of her mouth, the fire in her belly blazed fully into life. She felt weak with wanting as she gave herself up to the sublime intimacy of his kiss. It was all she’d ever imagined and far, far more. Her heartbeat increased, turning into a helpless tattoo as she felt pure desire invade every nerve and fibre of her being.

  Rianna forgot that Tarn was a captive, forgot that he was a stranger to her. She welcomed Tarn’s touch as he ran his hands feverishly over her body. He stroked her lush curves through the fine muslin of her night-gown. His hand was so large it easily imprisoned one full breast, kneading and squeezing the sensitive mound of flesh.

  She shivered with pleasure as Tarn’s searching tongue continued to ruthlessly probe her mouth, his kisses and caresses wreaking havoc with her senses.

  ‘Sweet faerie of the forest,’ he murmured against her hot cheek. ‘Bless you for coming to help wash away my shame.’

  ‘No,’ she gasped, but his ears were deaf to her pleadings as his searching fingers slid inside the loose neck of her night-gown. He stroked her nipple, pulling and squeezing the engorged nubbin until she cried out with the joy of it.

  He kissed her again, with ruthless passion, enmeshed in a fantasy of his own making, prompted by the fevered confusion in his brain. One hand continued to fondle and stroke her breasts, while the other fumbled with the filmy folds of her night-gown, pushing the fabric away from her legs. Rianna’s body felt boneless, her pudenda hot and moist. She wanted to open her legs and beg him to
quell the slippery heat in her sex. She gasped as Tarn’s hand moved up her thigh. His fingers slid higher to stroke the red-gold curls of her pubis and tenderly caress the engorged lips of her vulva.

  Reason returned to Rianna in a sudden rush of heated concern. If she allowed Tarn to continue she would lose everything, and if anyone discovered her perfidy, Tarn would suffer even more, perhaps be put to death.

  ‘No,’ she wailed, trying to push his searching hand away from her sex. ‘This must not be.’

  Her struggles proved useless. Tarn was far stronger than her, and still totally enmeshed in his feverish fantasy. Ignoring her protestations, he whispered soft words of love in her ear while the tips of his fingers slid between the swollen leaves of her labia to caress her sensitive, inner flesh. Fighting the urge to give up the battle and allow Tarn to continue on their mutual voyage of discovery, Rianna flailed her arms. Agitatedly she struck out at Tarn, unthinkingly catching his shoulder wound with the heel of her hand. Tarn groaned in agony, his hold on her lessening for a moment.

  ‘Please stop,’ she begged entreatingly. At last she managed to tear herself away from him and sit up. Pulling her cloak together with shaking fingers, Rianna struggled to contain the violent lustful urges that still consumed her inflamed flesh.

  Tarn’s arms fell limply to his sides as he stared at her in confusion. But a measure of rationality appeared to have returned to his mind. ‘Who are you?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘I’m no faerie come to succour you,’ she said, her breath still coming in nervous gasps. Rianna’s skin was afire, and her wet sex throbbed. She fought the need to throw herself back into Tarn’s arms and beg him to continue. The urgent desire he aroused in her refused to diminish and lust still simmered in her pudenda.

  ‘Then I’ve not died and gone to heaven,’ he groaned, closing his eyes as he put a shaky hand to the wound on his head.

  Tarn’s phallus was hard and fully erect, standing out at right angles from his prone body, a gleaming pearl of moisture crowning its bulbous tip. Rianna glanced over at it and blushed, realising how close she’d come to losing control and with it her precious virginity. Filled with embarrassment, she draped the striped fabric over Tarn’s groin, but his erect organ held a portion of the fabric lewdly upwards, like the pole of a tent. Not knowing quite what to do next, she looked back at Tarn’s face.