by Heidi Stone
Sahria allowed her tongue to slip from within Calema’s anus and began to concentrate her attention on the girl’s juicy cunt. She found the taste to be exquisite, a heady mixture of the scent of the bath and the strong aroma of feminine arousal. She lapped around the outer lips, then drew them into her mouth. She licked between the lips rapidly, ensuring that the tip of her tongue flicked rhythmically against her clitoris at the same time.
Calema’s hips began to buck in response. Sahria knew from her movements that she wouldn’t last much longer. She licked faster, pressing her mouth hard against the fleshy cushion of Calema’s pussy. The sweet taste of her juice changed suddenly, becoming sharper and even more sensuous. Her friend was coming, and Sahria desperately wanted to share her joy. She felt Calema nip her sensitised bud between her teeth, and that was all she needed. She came suddenly, sensing her fluids of love flowing copiously onto her friend’s face at the same time as she drank from Calema’s delicious flesh. The two girls groaned and gasped, the sounds muffled as they devoured each other. They rolled over and over, wave after wave of orgasm ripping through their writhing bodies until, at last there was no more.
Sahria and Calema lay in each other’s arms for what seemed like an age. To Sahria the marketplace seemed a dim and distant memory, for now there was just one person in her life; just one human being who mattered, and that person was lying next to her, sleeping peacefully.
Chapter 7
It had been ten days since Prince Sarne conquered the kingdom – ten days of pleasurable instruction. Sahria had used the time well. She had willingly accepted punishments for any minor misdemeanours, and considered that she had charmed the prince with her beauty and grace.
He had listened intently as she related tales of her numerous sexual conquests. Sahria told him every little detail, sparing nothing until she considered that he had learned much of the intricacies of a woman’s physical needs. For her part, she discovered that the pleasure she took in the domination of the male was remarkably similar to that enjoyed by the prince himself whenever he indulged his carnal cravings with the girls of the court.
It became abundantly clear, however, that the girls sorely needed to be instructed. They needed to learn the true pleasures of abject subservience if they were to ever satisfy the needs of the prince and his cohorts. This was to be Sahria’s task, ably assisted by her young friend and lover, Calema.
There was only one matter that disappointed Sahria. Despite the fact that she invariably wore the most revealing and provocative garments, and notwithstanding her seductive manner whenever she was in the prince’s presence, he had not attempted to touch her intimately, let alone carry her to his bedchamber. It was as though the incident in the marketplace had never occurred. She thought about tackling him about it and asking directly if she had displeased him in any way, but decided that silence, at least for the time being, was the wisest course to take.
Today was to be a very special day. Sahria chose her clothing carefully from the array of exotic garments left by the royal courtesans in the blue chamber. She stood in front of the polished mirror and examined her pose critically. She knew that her presentation and demeanour on this day was of the utmost importance. A group of girls had been gathered from the furthest regions and brought to the court by a band of merchants who had heard stories of the prince’s requirements. They had expected to sell the girls as slaves, but were quickly disabused of this and sent packing by the royal guard. Now Sahria was to be introduced to the girls as their mistress. The instruction was about to begin.
Sahria chose a long pair of black boots made of soft and shining leather. They had extremely high heels and stretched to about halfway up her smooth thighs. Her sex was completely exposed and was now pierced by six small jewelled studs, which glinted within the folds of her outer lips. Her upper body was tightly encased in a basque made of similar black material, which was drawn in at the waist. Her full breasts were supported by a shelf of stiff leather, expertly woven into the fabric of the garment, the effect being to make them thrust proudly. Between the rings that pierced her nipples she had fixed a thin chain of solid gold.
She wore black leather gloves that reached up her arms, and completed the outfit by donning a brief black mask that just covered her eyes. Her long black hair flowed freely and brushed sensuously against her bottom as she moved.
She picked up a small but vicious whip in a gloved hand and smiled as she took in her reflection. It would be clear to the newly arrived girls that she was someone to be obeyed.
The door to the other bedchamber opened and Calema entered. At least, Sahria assumed it was Calema; at first it was difficult to tell. She was dressed from head to foot in black rubber, the garment forming a second skin which seemed to shine with a luminescence of its own. Holes had been cut for the eyes, nose and mouth, and her pert breasts jutted through the clinging outfit through two more openings, and between her legs, Sahria could see her freshly shaven pussy through another small aperture.
‘You look beautiful!’ exclaimed Calema, as she walked fully into the room.
‘So do you,’ Sahria sighed. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’
Calema giggled coquettishly at her words. ‘I found this outfit in my room,’ she said. ‘It is made of the same strange material that formed those pants we found – you remember, the ones with the little cocks inside.’
‘I remember,’ said Sahria. She walked slowly around her friend in order to examine her more closely, and noticed with little surprise, that another hole had been cut in the rubber to reveal Calema’s mouth-watering little bottom, and slapped the rounded globes playfully. ‘The girls are assembled in the pink chambers,’ she continued, ‘let’s not keep them waiting.’
Calema collected a couple of canes and a small tawse and followed her friend out of the room. They walked slowly down the corridor. The soldiers they passed gave them the expected appreciative leers, but the girls ignored them, keeping their heads held proudly high.
Sahria could sense that Calema was nervous by the shallowness of her breathing, and felt somewhat apprehensive herself, but she was painfully aware that she had to show herself as arrogantly confident at her first meeting with her young charges.
Nearing their destination they were met in the passageway by Prince Sarne. He was standing in the doorway of another set of bedchambers, with a pretty girl under each arm. Sahria sensed a pang of jealousy as she looked at the innocent countenances of these nymphets and, although barely out of her teens herself, began to wonder if it was her age that was the reason why he had not approached her again.
‘Greetings, my princesses of pleasure,’ he said as he bowed before them mockingly. ‘Your charges await you. See that they are well prepared.’
‘You are not joining us, your highness?’ asked Sahria.
The prince grinned and hugged the two girls in his arms tightly. ‘I thought I would educate these two myself,’ he said with a booming laugh, and the girls giggled nervously as he turned and escorted them into the bedchamber. Sahria watched him go with a benign expression on her face, and then turned to Calema.
‘Come,’ she said, rather too sharply, ‘we have work to do.’
The pink chambers had once served as the place of rest for the more highly placed servants of the old king, and was comfortably furnished with sofas, beds and fine drapery, all of it in different shades of summer. Neither Sahria nor Calema had ever found the need to enter the chambers before, but now they stood within its simple opulence as servants themselves.
A group of girls sat huddled together in one corner of the main room. There were six of them, each one looking as innocent and vulnerable as the two the prince had selected for pleasurable pursuits. They stared wide-eyed at Sahria and Calema, as they stood before them in their exotic and erotic garb.
‘Stand!’ barked Sahria.
The girls obeyed immediately, pulling themselves nervously to
their feet. ‘Come forward and stand before us!’
The girls shuffled towards them clutching each other’s hands like frightened children. As they approached, however, Sahria could see that they were anything but children. The merchants had chosen well. Despite their simple white smocks she could see that they all had beautiful and mature bodies. Some were slim and lithe; others were voluptuous and curvaceous. Facially, each one was lovely in her own way. She glanced at Calema. Her friend’s eyes were sparkling and she was licking her lips, her penchant for enjoying the touch and taste of those of her own sex clearly apparent.
‘I am Princess Sahria, and this is my assistant, whom you will know as Princess Calema.’ Sahria spoke the words proudly and smiled as the girls bowed their heads in reverence. ‘From this moment you will all address us both as mistress. We are here to teach you, to instruct you in the customs of the court of Prince Sarne, and to prepare you for his pleasure.’
She paused to allow her words to have full effect.
‘You are to be trained as royal concubines,’ she continued, ‘and, who knows, one of you may even rise to become his queen.’
With that the girls broke into excited chatter. ‘Silence!’ roared Sahria. The babble stopped immediately. She walked along the line and looked closely into their lovely faces. The girls stared dutifully at the floor.
All of them, that is, but one.
She was the last girl to be faced by Sahria. She was tall, almost matching Sahria’s height despite being barefoot, and had ebony-black skin and proud Nubian features. Her hair was cut short to the scalp and her huge eyes shone with a mixture of pride and excitement, and she looked directly at Sahria without blinking.
‘What are you called?’ Sahria asked quietly.
The black girl took a deep breath. ‘I am Zia,’ she replied, ‘and I, too, am a princess.’
‘There are no princesses here,’ hissed Sahria, ‘only servants and free men.’
‘You introduced yourself as a princess, and your friend too.’
‘Silence!’ Sahria glared into the girl’s eyes angrily. Her argument was unassailable. Zia’s expression remained impassive, almost regal. Sahria quickly realised that she would have to make an example of this one if she were to hold any sway with her other charges.
‘Remove your clothing,’ she ordered.
‘Mistress?’ Zia queried.
‘Immediately! Do not question my orders or you will feel the lash.’ She brandished the whip to emphasise her point, and Zia reached for the hem of her smock and pulled the garment quickly over her head, then let it fall to the floor.
Sahria heard Calema gasp at the sight of the naked African. Despite her height there was nothing manly about her shapely form. Her flawless, sable complexion accentuated her womanly contours, her skin shining healthily in the bright morning light that streamed in through the many windows set in the domed ceiling of the chamber.
Sahria walked slowly around her and examined her closely. Her breasts were large and firm, with nipples pointing slightly upward thanks to the conical swell of her fleshy orbs. Her waist was narrow and her stomach flat and smooth. Her belly curved sensuously towards the thick bush between her long legs, and the lips of her sex were barely visible through the lush matt of black hair.
But it was her bottom that was the most appealing feature of her superb body. The firm globes of her buttocks jutted with a pert arrogance that seemed to defy gravity, and appeared to be demanding immediate attention from a lover’s hand, tongue or cock. The deep cleft between them was formed like an erotic promise that Sahria knew few men would be able to resist. Knowing Prince Sarne’s sexual preferences in this respect, she was surprised that he had not chosen Zia as one of his early morning’s sexual companions.
Sahria looked across at Calema. Her friend was staring at the statuesque form and was openly caressing herself between the legs. Sahria turned back to Zia, and could certainly see the attraction. The Nubian exuded sexual promise from every pore.
‘Kneel before Mistress Calema,’ she ordered, but Zia remained motionless. ‘Now!’ With an infuriating confidence the black girl walked over and stood in front of Calema. ‘Kneel, I said!’ barked Sahria.
Zia slowly lowered herself to her knees, keeping her thighs erect so that her face was level with Calema’s chest.
‘Suck her nipples,’ commanded Sahria. There were a few giggles from the group of girls. ‘Silence!’ she hissed, and the room fell into an immediate hush.
Zia eased forward and took one of Calema’s nipples between her thickly pouting lips. Calema groaned softly as the Nubian suckled her.
‘Now the other,’ ordered Sahria. Zia glanced contemptuously at her, and then did as instructed, and Calema sighed with pleasure. ‘Now, bend lower and place your face between her thighs and pay oral homage to her pussy.’
‘I will not,’ Zia refused defiantly, and Sahria immediately lashed her viciously across the buttocks with her whip. Zia yelled in pain, but made no move to lower herself further. Sahria whipped her bottom again with even greater force than before, but Zia made no more sound. A third lash cut her squarely across both buttocks, and this time the girl fell forward and buried her face between Calema’s rubber-clad thighs.
‘Is she licking you?’ asked Sahria, and Calema shook her head. Once more the whip tore across the quivering black buttocks. ‘Lick! Make her come with your tongue or I will thrash you until you bleed!’ Sahria then watched with satisfaction as Zia’s head began to move up and down, and the room filled with the sounds of sensuous lapping.
She laid the whip on a table and sat on a low couch to enjoy the proceedings. In her kneeling position, Zia’s bottom jutted out even more erotically than when she was standing, and Sahria could see the dark promise of her anus and the thick lips of her sex. Four dark red stripes criss-crossed her perfect buttocks as testament to her punishment. Sahria felt an overwhelming desire to crouch behind her and lick the wondrous globes as though to soothe her pain, but thought better of it. She had decided that before any of the girls could enjoy the delights of sex they must all first relish the joys of pain.
Calema closed her eyes and rolled her head from side to side. She was cupping her own breasts and pinching her nipples. Zia’s head bobbed faster, and Calema groaned and rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders, then raised one leg and pressed her foot on Zia’s back. Zia turned her face slightly and Sahria found that she could now see her tongue flicking rapidly against Calema’s shaven pussy. She sensed her own sex lips becoming damp and crossed her legs, anxious that the other members of the class should not become aware of her arousal.
She looked at the other girls. Each one was staring at Zia as she lapped hungrily at Calema’s juicy prize. She smiled to herself; this proud African had been subjugated and they had all witnessed her mistress’ triumph.
Suddenly Calema squealed as her orgasm tore through her body. She gripped Zia’s head and ground her crotch against her face. Zia’s head bobbed up and down rapidly again as she devoured the cream that Sahria knew would be filling her mouth.
Zia moved her head back, nipping Calema’s outer lips between her teeth, and Calema shuddered as a second wave of release hit her. Zia didn’t stop her oral ministrations for a moment, and it was obvious to those witnessing her subjugation that for all her earlier protestations she was an expert in the art.
Calema finally pushed her away and fell back to collapse onto a nearby couch, and the girls began to chatter again excitedly. Sahria stood up quickly and clapped her hands, and the room fell into silence once more.
‘May I rise, mistress?’ Zia asked presently.
‘You may,’ replied Sahria, enjoying the proud girl’s apparent capitulation. The girl pulled herself stiffly to her feet and stood before her, head bowed. Her face shone with Calema’s juices, glistening in the sunlight. ‘Join the others,’ said Sahria quietly.
Zia rejoined the line, and Sahria studied her carefully; somehow she no longer bore the gait of a princess.
‘You are to tell me your names and detail your sexual experience.’ Sahria was standing once more in front of the line of timid girls, addressing them like a tutor would instruct her class. ‘You begin, Zia. We already know your name, of course.’
Zia stepped forward. ‘I am eighteen years of age and no man has ever taken me.’ The group gasped in astonishment.
‘I find that difficult to believe, Zia,’ said Sahria.
‘It is true, mistress. I am… I was a princess. My father, the king, would have slain any man who dared to touch me.’
Sahria was delighted; a virgin of such infinite beauty would surely be a prize the prince would be eternally grateful for. ‘Have you never yearned for the touch a man?’ she asked, and Zia hung her head in embarrassment. ‘Speak,’ said Sahria, in a softer tone. She had no wish to humiliate the girl further, but her curiosity burned.
The girl nodded. ‘The men in my country rarely wore clothing. On the rare occasions that my father was absent the young men of the court would sport themselves deliberately in my sight, teasing me unmercifully. One in particular tempted me. He was handsome, strong and muscular, and possessed the loveliest weapon imaginable. It hung almost to his knee and I had many long nights of painful frustration as I tried to picture it in its full magnificence. But it was not to be.’
‘How do you come to be here? If you are a princess, how is it that you were delivered like a slave by a band of common merchants?’
‘Soldiers of the Egyptian Pharaoh attacked my home. I escaped with some of my close consorts, but our caravan was captured by the merchants.’
Sahria suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. ‘What became of your father?’ she asked carefully. Zia hung her head and she noticed a tear slip down her sable cheek, and knew the answer. She moved to stand before the next girl, anxious to lighten the mood of the proceedings. The girl couldn’t have been more different in appearance or demeanour.
