Of Pain and Delight

by Heidi Stone

  Title Page

  OF PAIN & DELIGHT

  By

  Heidi Stone

  Publisher Information

  Of Pain & Delight published by

  Chimera Books Ltd

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Digital Edition converted and published by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  New Authors Welcome

  This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © Heidi Stone

  The right of Heidi Stone to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Introduction

  ‘Such a fine arse,’ the evil man muttered, as though to some unseen audience. ‘It would seem a shame to mark such perfect globes.’

  ‘Then why mark them?’ Sahria said slowly. ‘Why not continue to enjoy them as you have been doing, with your hands and your tongue?’ Shackled as she was, she found the idea quite entertaining, although the very thought of allowing the repulsive man to do anything more intimate than she had just suggested was quite out of the question.

  ‘Silence, vixen,’ he commanded, his tone reminding her that she had little choice in the matter. He slapped her bottom hard with the palm of his hand. ‘In the black chamber you may not speak without my permission.’

  Chapter 1

  The first sensation that Sahria experienced as she slipped from her fitful sleep into a dim world of reality was a dull ache between her legs.

  It was not unpleasant – in fact, it was instead a rather warm memory of recent and pleasurable intrusion. She tried to move her hand downward to touch herself intimately, not to relieve the gentle pain but to relax her rapidly awakening feelings of desire with an erotic caress. To her surprise she found that she was unable to move.

  She opened her eyes and arched her neck to look up and behind. She could now see that her arms were stretched above her head with the wrists securely bound by unforgiving leather straps. She struggled a little and suddenly winced as a sharp stab of pain spiked through her right nipple, which forced her into full consciousness. The wooden bench felt hard against her naked back and the rough surface chafed against the softness of her plump but firm buttocks.

  Surprisingly, Sahria found the sensation to be somewhat pleasurable, despite the fact that there were no cushions or sheets to offer her any comfort, just the bare, unyielding base. She moved her bottom against the harsh wood, taking care not to encourage splinters to penetrate her skin. Her flesh was sore. It was as though she had been recently spanked, caned or whipped, and yet she had no memory of such recent delights. She struggled to remember the previous days or even hours, but her mind remained a fog of uncertainty.

  The aching need for satisfaction that throbbed between her splayed legs was becoming too much to bear. Years of habitually sating herself with probing fingertips upon waking were taking their toll. She began to imagine the sight of her clitoris, clearly visible to anybody who may wish to view her current naked vulnerability. The thought of hidden eyes watching her thrilled her immensely.

  She raised her head and glanced down her bound length as her eyes slowly became accustomed to the half-light. A fine but visibly strong chain was linked to the gold of her nipple ring, with the other end securely fastened somewhere beneath the crude bed. A similar chain tugged fiercely at her other nipple. Normally, her large breasts would proudly thrust upwards when she lay flat, but the tightness of the chains caused them instead to be pulled firmly apart.

  Sahria tugged at the chains at her wrists again in the hope of making them give, but the pain was too acute. Frustrated and becoming increasingly angry, she lay her head back on the solid surface, her brow covered in perspiration. Gradually, her thoughts became less and less confused and memories of the night before began to seep back to her.

  They had done this to her!

  Sahria hissed audibly through clenched teeth as she recalled how the vermin had subjugated her in this way, and hatred seethed through her brain. They would pay, she vowed. They would pay dearly for their impertinence.

  She raised her head again in order to look down at her lower body and legs. She saw immediately that her ankles were tightly strapped with leather bonds, pulling her limbs wide apart in the most obscene fashion. A second pair of finely linked chains had been secured to two of the tiny gold rings with which she had once so proudly pierced the outer lips of her sex. The effect of the chains was to pull the succulent flesh apart to reveal her inner dampness to the damp air of her prison. She sensed a sliver of her juice slipping from within her body to slide sensuously between her buttocks. She was uncomfortable, but at the same time incongruously aroused. She badly needed sexual release, but she was also very, very angry.

  Sahria reflected on how the two black slaves had suddenly turned on her as she played her games of subjugation with them. They almost smothered her with their giant but normally suppliant bodies, and they took her as they wished, penetrating her in every conceivable and erotic fashion and bringing her over and over again to shattering climax.

  But the sensations of orgasm had, if anything, only served to sharpen her fury.

  How dare they?

  How dare mere slaves pleasure themselves with their princess?

  She remembered spitting venomously at them as she struggled, and yet the more they fought with her, the more they held her down, the more she wanted them inside her. Their sizes were magnificent. Their huge, ebony cocks had filled her oiled pussy and her mouth at will, never relaxing for a moment as though repaying her for years of physical and mental torment.

  Yes, she thought, she would make them pay.

  Sahria raised her bottom slightly from the splintered wood and the chains tugged on her labia. The feeling was nevertheless pleasurable, like the urgent caress of an ardent lover opening her to the gaze of any unseen eyes that may be watching. She rotated her hips slowly. The sharp stabs of pain between her legs became as delightful to her as a fluttering tongue against the oozing lips of her cunt. She raised her back as much as she could. The searing pain in her nipples thrilled her in a way she could never have imagined before. Her pussy throbbed and her juices seemed to be seeping from her body to soak the hard wood beneath her. She pushed her hips upwards. The lower set of chains grabbed ferociously at her tender sex flesh and pulled the lips even wider apart. She suddenly felt the muscles of her groin constricting and, with virtually no warning she came with a loud and desperate squeal. The pain was almost unbearable but the more it hurt the more she fought against her pleasurable restraints. Never in her young life had she experienced such a violent and shattering orgasm. She gasped for air, her hips writhing and her flesh feeling as if it was about to be torn apart.

  Slowly, her breathing became more controlled. She relaxed and allowed her mind to wander as the blood thumped heavily through her tortured body.

  Her lascivious needs satisfied for the moment, she allowed her thoughts to travel back to her childhood and she remembered how her father, the king, had taught her of her superiority to the thousands of peasants who lived in the city, and of her divine right t
o force them into obeying her will lest they suffer the penalty. Gleefully, she would order the servants of the royal household to perform the most embarrassing and demeaning of tasks. The walls of the palace echoed to the sounds of her childish laughter as they accepted her volition, their expressions of compliance undoubtedly concealing seething hatred, but above all, their fear.

  She came to savour – nay need – the fear. Often, when a particular prank had gone really well, she would imagine that she could actually smell the terror of the poor wretches under her control, and possibly even taste it on their sweating flesh.

  Al-Fahoud, her esteemed father, would nightly be entertained by her excesses, and he clapped and cheered loudly as her victims crawled, snivelling from the room and grovelling in total subservience. As the child grew into a woman her beauty became legendary, as did her reputation for cruelty.

  She was exceptionally tall for a woman of the time, close to six-foot, and her height was often accentuated by the high heels she preferred to wear. Her legs were long and lithe and had circled about the waist of many a lover, her heels digging into manly, thrusting buttocks. Her own firm globes were perfectly rounded and jutted back in a pert and inviting fashion while her hips curved delightfully to form her narrow waist. Her navel was invariably adorned with a single ruby, and above it her breasts rose majestically, graced by proud nipples that she had recently taken to piercing with gold rings.

  To say her face was beautiful would have been a gross understatement. Her flawless features were such that they could charm the strongest willed man into abject submission. Her wonderful countenance was framed by tresses of long black hair, the sheen of which shone as though with a florescence of its own. Her hair cascaded all the way down to the small of her back and brushed lightly against the upturned swell of her buttocks, as if guiding the eye of the beholder to her most intimate of delights.

  Often, she would parade around the court naked, save for high-heeled leather boots that covered virtually all of her legs and thighs, in the full knowledge that the men would be lusting after her, yet unable to show their desire for fear of severe punishment.

  Sometimes she would link her nipple rings with a thin gold chain and later, after she had courageously pierced the lips of her succulent pussy with yet more rings, she wore more chains attached to them, fashioning them to traverse her body in the most erotic manner to emphasise the smooth lines and delicate curves of her superb body.

  The kingdom was rich and her father was immensely wealthy. Lords and princes travelled from all parts of the known world to court his beautiful daughter, only to find themselves helpless in her mastery and becoming as much her vassals as the lowliest of her subjects.

  But still they came, despite tales of her excesses told by travellers and merchants, and still they suffered. They did so willingly, totally enslaved by her beauty and graceful charms, that conquered their wills while her angelic features clouded the judgement and good sense of the most intelligent of men.

  Only once did she let her guard down. Only once did it seem that the princess of pleasure and domination was to be subdued. There was talk of little else in the teeming market places throughout the kingdom for many months.

  He had arrived alone, without even a slave or bearer accompanying him as he walked purposefully into the court. Announced as Prince Sarne of Persia he strode confidently, almost arrogantly towards the throne, his head unbowed and his steely gaze fixed firmly on the sight of the lovely princess who sat at her father’s feet. Al-Fahoud had been quick to show his anger.

  ‘Know you not that you must prostrate yourself at the feet of the king?’ he bellowed, his face red and twisted with rage.

  ‘Were I the type to do so, my lord,’ the prince answered in a calm and unwavering tone of voice, ‘then I would not be a worthy consort for your daughter, the Princess Sahria.’ He bowed towards her, a conceited smile playing across his lips.

  She looked up at him, her deep brown eyes reflected in his stare. There was lust in his gaze but there was also more – much more.

  His expression showed strength of purpose and forcefulness that she had not seen in a man before, and she knew then that she wanted him. She knew she wanted to control his will and force him to beg for the pain and pleasure that she was fully confident only she could inflict upon him. Although barely eighteen years of age, she had learnt much from her father, building constantly on his instruction and advice thanks to her own unbridled imagination.

  The Princess Sahria had decided there and then that this prince of Persia would be hers, and he would beg.

  Al-Fahoud rose from his throne, the look on his face throwing the assembled multitude of courtiers into visible spasms of terror. They knew that this arrogant Persian was about to die, there, in the courtroom, and that his blood was to spill onto the highly polished marble floor.

  Sahria recognised her father’s ire immediately and stood up next to him. She took his arm and whispered to him quickly before he could take up his sword and slay the intruder, which was clearly his intention.

  ‘Stay, father,’ she hissed, gripping his arm tightly. ‘He intrigues me. Let me deal with this upstart in my own way.’ She grinned and licked her top lip suggestively. The old man’s stern features calmed and a trace of a smile appeared at the corners of his cruel mouth.

  ‘What would you do with him, daughter?’ he asked with a wicked leer.

  ‘Trust me, father,’ Sahria whispered, glad that his temper had subsided as rapidly as it had risen. ‘He will know pleasure but, oh, he will know pain, and he will beg for it.’

  Al-Fahoud nodded in agreement, knowing his daughter was well versed in such matters. He sat down again and smirked contentedly. ‘My daughter wishes to consort with you, although why, I cannot imagine. You have until the dawning of tomorrow to plead with her.’

  Sahria smiled and kissed her father lightly on the cheek. The old man immediately pulled away from her in disgust at this unprecedented show of affection from his daughter. Nevertheless, he watched with a broad grin as Sahria took the arm of the stranger and led him from the throne room.

  ‘And may Allah protect your soul, good prince,’ he was heard to mutter.

  Princess Sahria led Prince Sarne to her chambers, gripping his strong arm with an excessive tightness that would have made lesser men wince. His gait remained confident and his expression stayed cool and aloof. She wondered at this man – could she have at last met her match?

  She took him quickly through her boudoir and directly into her bedchamber, angrily dismissing her handmaidens with a flourish of her free arm. The timid women scuttled out of her presence like frightened mice, although they all took a moment to glance enviously at the perfect features of her handsome companion.

  Sahria closed the heavy door noisily, barring it securely.

  ‘We will be together until the dawn,’ she announced, standing immediately in front of him with her eyes fixed coldly on his. ‘And, by the time the sun has warmed the old stones of this palace you will be my slave.’

  Prince Sarne shook his head contemptuously. ‘Not so, princess,’ he said, his tone if anything stronger, and his attitude more arrogant than before. ‘It is you who will submit and it is you who will beg. I know of your reputation and I am fully aware that you are used to compliance in men… but not this time.’

  Sahria laughed and turned away from him contemptuously. She tossed back her head, the long black tresses of her hair brushing lightly against her pert buttocks, their charms hidden from the prince’s gaze only by the sheerest of silk. ‘And what magic?’ she said with a sneer. ‘What wondrous power do you posses that gives you so much strength of will that you dare attempt to control one such as I?’

  ‘I know many tricks,’ he replied. ‘I am well versed in such matters. But most of all, I have this!’ Sarne threw back his cloak in one practised movement and stood proudly before her. She gasped. He was
naked, his olive-skinned physique glowing with a subtle sheen in the soft light of the evening. There was barely a trace of hair on his body apart from the dark, luxuriant curls that framed his proud features, and a small bush of thick fuzz at his crotch. His penis stood hard and erect, pointing like a fearsome spear at her sudden frailness. Its size was immense, not unlike the images portrayed within the erotic icons in the temple that she had savoured in her solitary moments, sights that had filled her nights with dreams of future delights. Now such a vision appeared before her, and it was real and menacing in the extreme. Never had she dreamt that a mortal man could posses such a weapon!

  The thing seemed to be regarding her through the single eye set in its angry purple head, as though scrutinising her with disdain. The heavily veined stem bore a length similar to that of her own forearm and its girth, if anything, was more than that of her slender wrist. She sensed her will deserting her the longer she gazed at the monster, her arms falling limply to her sides and her eyes widening with desire.

  Princess Sahria knew at that moment that her ultimate desire was to absorb every part of that magnificent cock within her loins. She knew it might hurt, at least until her body became used to the sheer size of the prince’s wondrous rod, and that the massive head of the thing would beat mercilessly against the deepest regions of her soaking honeypot.

  But she also knew that she must have him.

  ‘Well, my princess,’ he said, as he gripped his cock firmly at the root to force the devil to even more immensity, ‘who is to be lord and master tonight?’

  Sahria said nothing. Instead, she fell to her knees at his feet and took the hard stalk in her hand with a gentleness that was all too uncommon in her. She stared in wonder at the gnarled pole, astounded that her fingers could barely encircle its girth. She leant forward and kissed the bulbous head, before running her tongue around the thick knob and then finally taking him within the silky sheath of her young mouth.