RAPTURE’S ETESIAN
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, April 2005
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
1337 Commerce Drive, #13
Stow, OH 44224
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0128-1
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
RAPTURE’S ETESIAN Copyright © 2005 CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Edited by Mary Moran.
Cover art by Syneca.
Warning:
The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Rapture’s Etesian has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).
S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.
E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.
X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.
Rapture’s Etesian
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Chapter One
Leksi Helios was their prisoner and completely at the mercy of his captors. Though he was sore—his cock raw from the friction of their cunts sliding roughly down his rigid length—he would not let them know he was hurting. He would not allow them to see his humiliation, could not allow the bitches to know how helpless he felt. Keeping his teeth clenched, his eyes locked on the ceiling, his hands balled into tight fists, the only sound he made was the occasional grunt as thighs gripped his own and shapely asses rocked against his pelvis. The singular emotion showing on his handsome face was the brutal stamp of fury hardening his amber gaze.
“Pretend all you like, warrior,” the red-haired one cooed. “But we know you are enjoying this.”
“By the time we are finished with you, you will know your place.” It was the blonde who spoke and her blue eyes held unmistakable vengeance.
“Does it matter if he enjoys it or not, Sisters?” the tall beauty with the coal black hair inquired with a chuckle. “I have come twice on his staff and intend to come a few more times ere the night is flown.”
“Again, Celandina?” the oldest of the women asked. “Do you want to wear his cock to the nub?”
Lying atop the brawny warrior, Celandina’s hands were under his taut ass, her long fingernails pressing viciously into the flesh. Her teeth latched on his pap. She suckled the pebbly flesh, running her tongue roughly over the tip, then released the hardened nub and turned to look up at her aunt.
“He’ll last a long time with a sweet cock like this,” Celandina replied, raising and lowering her body like a piston. “I am enjoying this whether he is or not!”
“Well, you’ve had enough of him, Sister. Time to share,” the flame-haired woman complained.
“Aye, I have only ridden him once. My cunt is itching to have his cock thrust up inside it again,” the youngest of them—a petite brown-haired waif with conical breasts—said with a sigh.
“Wait your turn, Haidee,” vermillion-haired Ophelia insisted.
Celandina’s lush lips pressed into a mock pout, but she pushed up from the slick body beneath her and rolled to her back as her sister, Ophelia, climbed atop the bound warrior.
“Captain Leksi Helios,” Celandina sighed as she turned to her side and ran her fingertips along the tight jaw of their prisoner. “Such a potent name for a potent man.”
“He has yet to spurt,” the blonde complained. “How do we know he is potent?”
“I will make him spurt, Erinyes,” Ophelia stated. “Just watch.” Grinding her lower body on the hard length of their captive, she bent forward and swung her lush breasts against the warrior’s chest, the rubbing causing her nipples to harden.
“Perhaps he does not like women,” Erinyes said with a snort. She ran her fingers through the thick curls of her blonde hair and lifted the heavy length to cool her fevered body.
“Is that it, warrior?” Ophelia asked as she brought her face close to his. “Are you the pleasure hole for some hulking general? Do you like your balls squeezed by rougher hands than ours?”
Leksi shifted his narrowed eyes to the amused green gaze of the woman raping him. A muscle leapt in his cheek but he kept his mouth shut. Even when she threw back her head and laughed at him, he refused to voice the rage that was striving to break free.
“I do not see him spurting, Ophelia,” Erinyes taunted in a hateful tone.
“He may not be spurting but he’s leaking like a sieve,” Ophelia chuckled. She ran a hand between their bodies. “Or is that me?”
The laughter of the women so infuriated Leksi that when the redheaded slut smeared their combined juices across his tight lips, he could no longer keep quiet.
“You fucking bitch!” he howled, jerking against the chains that secured him wrist and ankle to the bed. “Unchain me and I will show you what rape truly is!”
Celandina clucked her tongue as she thrust her hand through his thick brown hair and anchored his head. “Watch that pretty mouth of yours, warrior, lest we remove your tongue.”
“Unchain me!” Leksi bellowed.
The hand in his hair tightened, gripping his dark curls in a savage twist as his head was jerked toward the beauty with the ebon tresses.
“Not until you are well-broken to saddle, little man,” Celandina hissed. Gone was the amusement in her glistening black eyes. Her lovely face was set in lines of authority. “You are ours to do with as we please.”
“For as long as we please,” Ophelia put in.
Helpless, unable to free himself, splayed open to the ravishing of the four women who had jammed their shapely bodies upon him over and over again for an hour now, the warrior squeezed his eyes shut and thrust an explosive hiss through his clenched teeth.
“He can’t hold that erection much longer,” Galatea, the women’s aunt remarked. She was standing off to one side, observing. As yet, she had laid no hand to their captive. “The tenerse lasts only so long, my sweets.”
Leksi could still taste the cherry-flavored brew they had forced down his throat. The sickeningly sweet liquid had claimed him faster than any fermented drink of which he had ever partaken but instead of intoxicating him, it had stiffened his cock to a steely shaft that throbbed with unwanted desire. Under normal circumstances, he might well have been amused by the rigid erection, but it had become painful and his frustration was mounting.
“The Amazeens swear by it,” Ophelia commented. “I can see why they use it on their enslaved menfolk.”
“Aye, but we do not want to make him bleed. He’ll be of no use to us come ‘morrow if you overuse him this eve,” Galatea advised. “With any luck, Kynthia will want to try his measure before we sell him to our sisters from Lemnos.”
At hearing his fate was to
be sold to the Amazeens, Leksi roared. He cursed the women so viciously, struggled so violently, Ophelia was unseated and flipped off him, landing heavily on one well-padded hip.
“I will see you roasting in Hell for this, you diseased sluts!” Leksi shouted.
Galatea cocked a slim white brow as the warrior bucked and twisted against his bonds. The flesh on his wrists was bleeding, as was the skin on his ankles. His broad chest was heaving as he continued to call them every filthy name ever created for women. Sweat glistened on his handsome face. The rise of his rigid shaft repeatedly jabbed the air as he thrust his hips from side-to-side.
“He has a very colorful vocabulary, doesn’t he?” Ophelia queried.
The women—four of them naked as the day they were born and the other clad demurely in a soft white gown of flimsy gauze—sat watching their captive straining and cursing until at last he stopped, exhausted from his efforts. When he was still, his harsh rasping of breath the only sound of which he was capable, they were amazed that the stiffness of his cock still held.
“Remarkable,” Galatea noted.
“Should we…?”
“Leave him be,” Galatea recommended. “When the pain gets too much for him, he will ask one of us to drain his staff.”
“Never,” Leksi whispered, his eyes closed so he did not have to see the women.
“We will see, warrior,” Galatea told him.
Long into the night, the throbbing member between his legs plagued Leksi Helios. There was no lessening of the rigidity, no surcease from the excruciating ache that caused sweat to cover his body. His senses had become so heightened that he fancied he could smell the musk between the legs of his tormentors. He fancied he could taste their starchy juices on his dry tongue, feel the pebbly surface of their vaginal linings.
“When you are ready,” the older woman said softly. “We will relieve you of the torment warrior. All you need do is ask.”
“No,” he croaked, shaking his head weakly from side-to-side.
“You have to admire his willpower,” Ophelia remarked to Erinyes.
“The only thing I admire about him is the size of his cock,” Erinyes said with a snort.
He thought he lost consciousness for a few moments. The pain had become all encompassing and he was in such torment, he was ashamed to feel tears easing down his cheeks.
“Just ask, warrior,” Ophelia recommended.
“No.”
Galatea sighed heavily. “Stubborn man,” she said, shaking her head.
“Let him suffer,” Erinyes scoffed. “I enjoy watching him being tortured.”
Another hour passed in silence. The room had grown chill as the wind from the nearby sea stole through the window. Draping themselves in their gowns, the women sat upon plush chairs pulled close to the bed upon which Leksi lay. They commented that despite the coolness that had enveloped the room, the warrior was sweating profusely though his flesh was ridged with goose bumps.
“The cold has not caused his staff to shrink,” Ophelia said, pulling a shawl around her shoulders.
“Nay, but it has shriveled his balls,” Erinyes observed.
“Not so. ‘Tis the tenerse that has caused that,” Galatea informed them. She studied the juncture between his muscular thighs, admiring his manhood despite her lack of interest in being serviced by it. “All the concentration of his seed is waiting to be released from those precious jewels.”
Watching the cords standing out in the warrior’s neck, the women’s aunt grew concerned. His face bore a dull carmine shade as he strove to endure the discomfort in his cock. Moisture crept from the corners of his tightly closed eyes and his heels dug into the softness of the pallet. Galatea was worried the man’s heart might burst.
“Go to bed, children,” the older woman commanded. “It will be a while yet before Kynthia arrives, if she does.”
“But—” Celandina started to protest, but her aunt held up a hand.
“Do as I say.”
Grumbling amongst themselves, the women knew better than to argue with their aunt. The old woman was well into her fifth decade of life and wise far beyond her years. Her orders were never to be disobeyed. Reluctantly, the four sisters left, even Erinyes, each casting a whimsical look upon their prisoner.
Leksi felt the old woman’s eyes on him and he opened his own, turning his head a little so he could see her where she sat upon the tall, throne-like chair beside the hearth. The two of them were alone and all was still save the low moan of the wind beyond his prison’s walls.
“Why me?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Galatea shrugged as she settled herself more comfortably in the chair. Her bare toes were stretched out to the warmth of the flames and she wiggled them to relieve the ache of advancing age. “You were handy,” she replied.
“I was riding along, minding my own business,” the warrior complained. “For once, I wasn’t looking for trouble.”
“Aye and such an enticing sight you made upon that big roan brute,” Galatea said then sighed as she thought of the warrior sitting so tall and straight in the saddle. She smiled. “A more befitting mount for you would have been a Rysalian black, perhaps.”
“Aye, well, a Rysalian would cost me two months’ salary,” Leksi snapped.
“But such a beast could easily have outdistanced us. That little roan of yours was barely any competition for our horses.”
“And that damned arrow you shot me with was no competition, either!” he threw at her.
Galatea glanced at the scratch that marred his left forearm. “Haidee needs to work on her aim. She was going for your thigh.”
“I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck when I fell,” the warrior stated.
“You didn’t feel a thing once the initial sting pierced your flesh,” the older woman admonished. “Like a drunken sailor, you tumbled off your horse and landed limp as a wet blanket on the sand—unconscious and unable to cause us any trouble.” She giggled. “Until the girls began mounting you!”
Her words drove deep into the warrior’s libido, and Leksi swallowed hard for the agony between his thighs made him want to sob with frustration.
“All you need do is ask and I will relieve you,” Galatea said gently.
“I’ve had enough cunts abrading me this eve!” he snarled.
Galatea cocked her head to one side. “There are other ways I can relieve you, sweet one.” She held up her hand, palm toward him then slowly closed her fingers until she had formed a loose fist. Slowly she raised and lowered her fist.
“You bitches like to torment men, don’t you?” he grated.
“I am a widow,” Galatea said in a conversational tone as she leaned her head along the back of the chair. “His name was Ocnus but he was anything but incompetent between the covers.” She sighed. “He was a very good teacher.”
“What did you do? Screw him to death?”
Galatea laughed, and lowered her head to look at him. “You are a marvel, warrior. Do you know that? Not only handsome but quick of wit.”
“Lucky me,” Leksi grumbled.
“We are all widows,” Galatea continued. “Well, all save Kynthia who has never married and Haidee.”
“And each of you murdered your menfolk or else sold them into slavery to the Amazeens,” he accused.
Galatea drew in a long breath then exhaled slowly. Pushing up from the chair, she came to sit on the bed beside him. Her eyes roamed over his heavily muscled chest. She put a hand on the sculpted ridges of his abdomen.
“Please, don’t,” he pleaded with her, ashamed of his weakness but the torment was now almost more than he could bear.
“Ocnus died at the battle of Nebul, the capitol of Pleiades. For that reason alone I despise the Pleiadesian king,” the older woman continued. “My beloved was killed along with his brothers Iorgas and Jirkar. Killed as well were the husbands of my nieces Erinyes and Celadina. It has made them both a bit mean, Erinyes more than her sister.”
“If you mean the blo
nde and the black-haired one, they are more than a bit mean,” Leksi disagreed.
As though she had not heard the warrior’s remark, Galatea traced the puckered crease of an old wound on her prisoner’s side. “Haidee was too young to have a man at that time but Ophelia was engaged to a wonderful boy named Phaon. He, too, fell beneath the savage blades of the Nebullian horde. Still one more reason to hate all things Pleiadesian.”
“Many Venturian warriors fell during that battle,” Leksi told her. “My oldest brother and my father were among the slain.”
Galatea looked up at him. The sweat poured from his face and his lower lip was bloody from where he had bitten it to keep quiet. “Were you there?” she asked.
He managed a quick nod then grunted as he felt his staff jerk at the older woman’s nearness.
She circled the scar on his side. “Is that where you received this?”
“A love tap from a Nebullian whore who tried to run me through,” he answered.
“Ah, yes,” Galatea drawled, and her gaze grew hard as flint. “Their women warriors are particularly cruel, I hear.”
“No crueler than the five of you,” Leksi muttered.
Glancing out the window where the night shadows had gathered in the courtyard, Galatea studied the darkness for a moment. “She might not come home tonight,” she said as though to herself. “Oft times, she camps out in the mountains, preferring the solitude of the soft winds and the trickling streams to her kinswomen.”
Leksi was not listening to the woman. He was suffering so greatly, he could not imagine red-hot pinchers and thumbscrews causing more pain. Tears slid slowly down his cheeks and he gave in to a sob that shamed him but was as unstoppable as the wind skirling through the palm fronds.
Turning her attention back to the warrior, she listened a moment to his harsh panting then calmly reached out to wrap her fingers around his straining staff.
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