The Captive

by Amber Jameson

  “You won’t get away with this!” she heard as she leapt like a gazelle down the long passage. Even with tender, torn feet Zacora had the easy stride of an athlete.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Ah, Bernlada,” greeted the Prince cordially.

  Elegant in bright yellow satin robes, His Highness lounged on his opulent padded throne. “We’ve been expecting you these many minutes past.” His voice was deep and cultured and his finely sculpted face smiled at the dark little woman who served him so well.

  Still cupping her naked sex purse Bernlada managed a deep curtsy which displayed her dark folds prettily. “My apologies, Highness. I had reason to escort Callan to the punishment mistress and this delayed me.”

  The beautifully drawn dark eyebrows arched in surprise and the eyes widened. “Callan brought to Freya? Why so?”

  Warm spume oozed through Bernlada’s fingers. “Please, your Highness, may I relay the report to you later. I am losing Callan’s issue which is so important to your treatment.” Added to which, she thought, I don’t want to incur your wrath.

  Bernlada loved the throne room. How she would have adored to bear the Prince’s child. What a good Queen she would have surely made.

  The floor was strewn with satin cushions in hues as brilliant as a strutting peacock. The walls were hung with silken embroideries depicting couples entwined in every position of the act of copulation. Horned satyrs took nymphs in woodland glades, expressions of outright lust suffusing their animal-like features. The nymphs, beautiful and delicate, took all intrusions in ecstatic eagerness. Imps climbed oiled phalluses of gigantic proportions and prepared to thrust these magnificent organs into cavernous fleshy gateways. More imps caressed sperm sacs at the bases of the trunk-like genitals, as if urging them to produce oceans of semen.

  “The hangings always inspire you, don’t they Bernlada?” The Prince’s pale eyes glinted with pleasure as he watched his sex servant look around the room.

  “Oh, yes Highness.” Bernlada turned admiring eyes on the Prince. His tightly tailored satin suit emphasised the darkness of his skin. She loved the way his dark eyes contrasted with his brown muscular body.

  His suit had a tight vest which emphasised the magnificent pectorals and narrow waist. The well-cut breeches skimmed over his slim hips and clung to the honed thighs and calves. His feet were shod in matching yellow slippers, decorated with precious stones. On his black curly hair there was a crown, simple but elegant.

  She sank to her knees, paying homage to her sovereign, freeing his penis with trembling fingers so that it sprang erect, probing towards her moist lips. She adored him as a wife adores a loving husband. Lustrous dark eyes fixed upon the naked object of her desire she admired the satin smoothness of the brown stem. She felt her mouth become wet at the thought of caressing the thick globe with her tongue. The circumcised end bulb gleamed purple in the softly lit throne room and peeped at her through its wide single eye. She felt her breasts become painfully full at the sight, and felt her sex bud jerk in the pool of Callan’s spume in the carefully closed pouch.

  The Prince placed an affectionate hand in her wild curly hair, stroking the ebony tresses. “I love your frolicsome little ways, Bernlada,” he said in his deep, gracious voice. “I cannot resist your wiles. Place those soft lips of yours around the royal fullness and give it the gentlest of kisses.” He paused and lifted her dainty chin, forcing her to look up at him. “But remember you must not take whatever potency may be in my cockshaft. It is for the maiden found upon the woodland path.”

  “Of course, your Highness,” she said, in a strained tight voice. To her the Prince’s penis was as sacred as any sceptre. She wanted it buried in her to the hilt; she wanted him to spray his spume into her vessel; wanted him to be entirely potent. Caressing it with her lips was not what she wanted, but she knew it would have to suffice, understood that he must save his seed for the captive, for the child to be.

  “A tongue to charm a stone phallus,” she heard. The Prince sighed the words as he pressed his crisply curled pubis forward for Bernlada’s attentions. His shaft swayed before her eyes, the purple shining globe brushing her ready lips. She gave him a warm smile. He looked so magnificent, looming above her, his hands at his waist as he thrust forward; a golden clothed god.

  Cupping his heavy bulbs in one dainty hand, she made her lips soft and flexible. The undertaking must be carried out delicately so as not to incur any release of his Highness’s precious issue. The globe only was enclosed in the moistness and warmth of her mouth. Tenderly, she kneaded beyond the neatly cut globe, to engulf just a fraction of his stem. It felt smooth, hot and thick against her velvety lips. Her tongue found the deep pit of the Prince’s eye and she caressed it, probing into the salty moistness, to taste the first issue of royal juices.

  “How goes the induction?” asked the Prince conversationally. “Has Morgan begun the preparation?”

  Bernlada continued to caress the proudness of the Prince’s globe. She could have nodded her acquiescence to both questions, but she chose to avoid answering.

  The Prince placed both his hands on her curls, pressing the groin to her face. “Of course,” he said lightly, “you cannot speak for the moment.” She felt his slim, athletic hips gyrate slowly and rhythmically. He was obviously enjoying her attention. “I can’t wait to embed myself in those silver fronds,” he added hoarsely.

  Fierce tension strung Bernlada’s small body to a mass of angry sinews.

  “I am sure that she will produce my son before the year is out,” breathed the Prince. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she conceived tonight?” The thickening end globe thrust excitedly between Bernlada’s willing lips.

  Continue, my Prince, continue, thought Bernlada happily, and the issue will be used, whether it is potent or not. I shall receive it, savour it, drink it and it will be mine.

  “From whence does she come?” added the Prince dreamily. “With that colouring she is not of our lands. She really is very special, is she not?”

  The searching tongue dipped greedily into the royal pit, inserting itself to open the entrance to the sperm passage. A cossetting hand stroked the firm issue banks, rolling them in their sacs, feeling them draw up with pleasurable tension.

  “There’s a magical quality about her, don’t you think?” The Prince was, unknowingly, urging Bernlada’s excitation of his sex as he thought of the nymph he found in the glade. “There’s an aura. She simmers as one looks into those deep sapphire pools. She has cast a spell on me, I am sure.”

  This last remark was too much for Bernlada. Her sharp even teeth grated upon the tenderness of the Prince’s sex sword as she withdrew her mouth from his globe.

  He looked at her in hurt surprise. Bernlada had always been the tenderest of servants, treating his cock with the reverence that a princely staff deserved.

  “You wished me not to cause your spume to gush before you meet Miss Prim; before you spread her upon the coupling throne.” Bernlada spilled out the words hastily to explain her roughness. The dark little slave gestured towards the specially designed throne which thrust the subject’s pubis in such a position that it became a receptacle for hot, spurted issue. There were stirrups in which the subject’s legs were placed to hold them widely splayed. The arms, too, were held together above the subject’s head, to thrust the breasts high and available, should His Highness wish to avail himself of the suckling.

  “Yes,” nodded the Prince. “Quite right.” Nevertheless, he cradled his cock gingerly, nursing it back to full stature.

  “Allow me, your Highness,” Bernlada said with a smile. “Let it be part of your treatment. They are preparing her for you. She must be nearly ready now.”

  The Prince hesitated, not quite trusting her. “Very well then,” he agreed at last. “But gentle, if you please.”

  “Yes, Highness, whatever pleases you.” Bernlada’s voice dripped molasses.

  The Prince preened, thrusting his mighty staff forward to receive the
treatment. Quite recovered from the nip of Bernlada’s sharp teeth, the brown shaft glimmered with the sheen left by her lips. He posed the swollen globe, a shining purple weapon with such an aura of power. “Why will it not bear fruit?” he mused sadly, his handsome features softened by emotion.

  “Always the wrong partner, Highness.” Bernlada was terse in her observation.

  “Indeed, yes,” he agreed. “But with this girl it will be different!”

  Bernlada squatted, opening her smooth coffee-coloured limbs wide and bending her knees. Slowly, she opened her sex purse, spreading the fat lips with their thick ebony curls. The Prince watched her as she tilted the pouch forward, displaying the dripping folds with their swollen bud jerking in a tantalising rhythm.

  “Oh, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice husky with excitement, “would that you were of noble birth.”

  Bernlada ignored his words, concentrating on stimulating all of his senses. Her small fingers delved into her wet chasm, seeking out every droplet of Callan’s issue. Smiling, she held out the treasure in her cupped hand. It shimmered like a great liquid pearl, seething with life. It issued tendrils of vaporous heat, and she held the steaming jewel close to the Prince’s nose. His eyes closed as the hearty male musk enfolded his senses. The aroma made his genitals enlarge again, grow harder and more vigorous.

  “Callan is magically potent, sire,” whispered Bernlada.

  “Yes,” breathed the Prince, his eyes transfixed on the liquid globule cupped in the woman’s hand. Splay legged he shuffled closer, offering himself to Bernlada.

  Vapour curled around the Prince’s thick, probing shaft, caressing it and cossetting the firm sacs nestling darkly against the yellow silk. With a swift movement of her dextrous hands she swamped the purple globe with the carefully conserved fluid.

  A pleasured sigh escaped the Prince’s full lips as the heat of the globule seeped into the fine dark skin. Bernlada massaged the slickness along the whole length of the offered royal shaft. As she continued to caress she felt the girth increase until it was necessary to use both her small hands to encircle the thickness.

  “Yes, it has magical properties, Callan’s spume,” the Prince whispered. His lean dark body was arched backwards and his eyes were closed as he luxuriated in Bernlada’s attention.

  “Indeed, Highness,” agreed the girl, but she knew that it was her sensual touch which worked the magic. It was the rhythmic slide of her tiny fingers up and down the silky, rigid length and the light flick upon the magnificently swollen end globe at each trail from tip to base. She slid one hand down beneath the gracefully hung sacs to that sensitive spot between them and the royal bottom mouth. The pad of a finger pressed lightly at that rigid place. The Prince groaned with pleasure, tending his massive erection.

  “I regret that I cannot allow you to have a child by this,” he said, opening his eyes to admire the shining stem towering from his groin. He tested its bursting thickness by attempting to circle his thumb and finger around it. The digits did not meet and he gave a satisfied nod.

  Bernlada bit her lips to hold back the gasp of horror which she caught, just in time, in her throat. “Pray do not trouble your royal mind,” she begged. She had other plans for her womb; important plans. It was just a question of timing.

  Pleasantly relaxed from Bernlada’s massage, the Prince walked unhurriedly to the coupling throne. “Go to Morgan,” he said huskily, “tell her to bring the girl before me.” His large dark eyes closed once more, the lashes thick and lush upon the dusky cheeks. The wide lips were gently parted, showing strong white teeth. Indeed, thought Bernlada, the Prince was the handsomest of men.

  Her thoughts fluttered to Callan, her partner for so many changes of the moon. Yes, he was handsome too, but in a more brutal manner than the Prince. She felt she could manage the Prince with ease. He was gentle and it would be easy to make him love her. Her mind was made up.

  “What if Miss Prim does not wish to come to the royal presence?” she suggested quietly.

  The Prince’s eyes snapped open. “Does not wish?” he repeated disbelievingly. “Does not wish?” He stroked his staff nervously, as if expecting it to wilt or disappear.

  “She is not called Miss Prim for nought, your Highness,” reminded Bernlada mischievously.

  “Of course she will wish to come,” He dismissed any other possibility. “By the time Morgan has finished her induction the maid will be ready for me. She will wish to have me over and over again. Morgan has prepared frigid virgins for me and the coupling has been most successful.” His dark face became sad as he remembered. “But still they did not bear me sons.”

  “Quite, your Highness,” said Bernlada triumphantly.

  “But the silver maid has a special quality.” The Prince’s eyes gleamed with hope. “Morgan assures me so.”

  “If you say so, your Highness. I shall relay the message that the maid is required for the coupling throne.”

  “Now!” thundered the Prince. “Now whilst I am in the mood!”

  “Yes Sire.” Bernlada even walked out of the throne room backwards. This act of respect was one with which she normally would not bother. Her privileged position as sex slave excused her from that duty. But she knew that the Prince delighted in her small voluptuousness, so she preened her beauty. Taking very slow, swaying steps she reversed from his presence, taking pains to pose her full breasts and lushly curled mound as she faded from his view.

  Watching him, from the far end of the magnificent throne room, she saw his eyes flare with passion; saw his hand raise as though to beckon her to return, but she merely cupped the soft fullness of her breasts, as if in a gesture of farewell, and slipped through the ornate gilded doors and she was gone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Zacora sped this way and that, along narrow corridors with many doors on each side; along wide passages, some with gracious hangings and some with panels.

  Gingerly, she opened a door. The room before her was huge, stretching into the distance…

  A strong muscular arm reached out of the chink she had created by opening the door. Her willowy wrist was grabbed in a grip of iron and she was pulled through. Her sapphire eyes widened in terror. Again she was captured, this time held fast by a man so vast that she must strain her neck to see his eyes and so broad that her long, slim arms could not encircle his huge frame.

  He was a giant.

  “Bring her to me, Mapoto.” The voice came from the far end of the room; from a man huddled in a pile of satin cushions, so richly hued that it hurt Zacora’s eyes to look at them. “She is the one for whom we have been waiting.”

  Zacora realised that this was the Prince; the one to whom she was to be given. Sadness cloaked her lovely body. She had been seeking Callan. Callan would have helped her.

  The giant, Mapoto, picked her up with one arm, circling her waist to carry her to the Prince.

  “Not like that!” said the sovereign. “You will damage her. Hold her in both arms.”

  The giant looked crestfallen as he gently cradled her across his arm, stroking her firm and beautifully rounded breasts with a finger.

  The ground looked very far away as Zacora looked down. She shivered with fear. If only she had not opened that particular door. There were so many others which she could have chosen. She felt the giant fingers stroking the pronounced curves of her bottom, parting the cheeks. A huge finger slipped to her moist front cleft and Zacora wriggled in alarm.

  “What are you doing, Mapoto?” The Prince’s voice showed the depth of his anger.

  Zacora could see the Prince quite clearly now. A handsome man, dressed in a golden yellow suit.

  “In any case she could not accommodate you,” said the Prince. “You would split the poor little soul.”

  Mapoto placed Zacora next to the Prince, letting her sink into the downy cushions. Although the giant let her slip down as gently as he could, she still fell several feet and her arms and legs splayed gracefully apart.

  Zacora trie
d to arrange herself more decorously on the silken cushions, but the Prince stopped her. “Stay just as you are,” he ordered with a smile. “You look so very lovely like that.” His dark soft hand reached out to stroke the arms which were flung above her head. This position thrust her breasts upwards, as if they were on offer to him.

  The same hand had traced her long slender legs, bent at the knee and spread outwards. He sighed with sheer delight when he saw the silver wisps of her nest, parted to reveal the deep pink of the folds and proud erection of her bud. His eyes slid down to her sorely used feet, to the bandages which were loose and patched with scarlet blood spots.

  “But you have not been properly prepared for me.” The Prince’s smile of admiration changed to an angry frown. “What is Paige thinking of to send you to me in this condition?”

  At the mention of Paige’s name, Zacora immediately became tense and aware, ready for trouble.

  “You should be swathed in gossamer, as fine and transparent as a spider’s web,” the Prince continued. “It should be draped across the delicate mounds of your breasts, to merely lift, but not hide. Each nipple should be clasped in gold rings, set with precious stones, to stimulate the rosy erection and to make you feel very special.”

  The Prince’s wide soft lips caressed each nipple and then his sharp white teeth grated the tender flesh, to emulate the feel of the clamps. Zacora tried to lower her arms but she was prevented. Mapoto held her wrists with his finger and thumb, using his other hand to bind her slender upper limbs with a silken cord.

  The Prince returned to stroking her splayed thighs, but he was still distracted. “What shall we do about Paige?” A frown marred the royal features.

  Zacora shook her head, tumbling the silver tresses from side to side, spraying the myriad of colours in the cushions with spun threads of platinum and gold.

  “Nothing?” laughed the Prince. “Surely not. She should be sent to the dungeons to take some of Freya’s medicine.”