Suddenly, it was no longer his fingers that were poking at her, and try as she might, she couldn't prevent him from placing his cock at her still tender, newly opened entrance, then plunging it deep up inside her, proving yet again just how truly helpless she was against him.
Still, she refused to capitulate, using up a burst of renewed strength in the useless struggle, until she replayed the words he had just secreted into her brain. "I love it when you fight me. It's just what I want," and she forced herself to complete stillness, biting her lip with each heavy thrust so as not to even make the slightest of sounds that might contribute to his enjoyment of raping her like this, outside, where anyone could stumble upon them, taking her from behind like a dog with a bitch.
But it wasn't just him she had a startling realization about. It was herself, and despite her position and situation – or even more troubling perhaps because of it – how startlingly hard it was not to moan with each powerful thrust of his hips as he pumped himself into her. She refused to acknowledge that what he did to her felt good in any way and ruthlessly clamped down on her own reactions.
But her passions managed to get the best of her, regardless, and she knew it.
He couldn't last very long this time, either, much to his own disgust. He found the novelty of having her actually rebel against him to be so exciting that he had the same hair trigger he'd had as an adolescent. Hopefully, constant and consistent repetition would ease that problem.
He had noticed, in his favor, though, that this time when he entered her, she was nowhere near as dry as she had been the first time. As much as he wanted to chalk that up to his own prowess, he knew that it was as simple as her own body's natural reactions to what he was doing to her – and, if he was lucky, perhaps even a bit of passion on her side.
Regardless, he would succeed in taming her eventually, but before that – well before that – he would hear her scream in his arms and not from either his belt or his blade. He'd never failed to bring a female to pleasure in his life, although he'd never had to deal with such blatant disobedience, either. Most women knew his reputation – as either a lover or a warrior – and let him have his way with them with little to no fuss, and even less so, once they'd spent a night in his bed.
But this girl, she was different, in many ways that made her the least and most important woman in his life at the same time. He wouldn't usually spend so much time thinking about a scairn's pleasure – or lack thereof – but that was one of the differences. She wasn't just a scairn. She would likely be the mother of the next leader, and that set her apart – only a bit, but enough – from the average slave.
Unaware of the thoughts running through her captor's mind, Avette had managed to work herself into a frenzy trying to reclaim the use of her hands. She had managed to make it to the other side of the tree from him, grunting and groaning so much that he thought she was going to try to saw the tree down single handedly using only the chain between her cuffs.
Grabbing a hold of the first thing he came to – which happened to be that shock of blue hair – which he wrapped around his forearm like a leash, he grasped the back of her head once he'd exhausted that natural rope and held it tipped back, so that she was staring up at unfamiliar stars. Then he released an arm – but not her hair – and rebound her, but this time with her hands behind her, leaving her just that much more accessible and open to him.
And even more vulnerable, she quickly realized.
He guided her into the cabin, with her head still craned back, so that she had to rely on him as to where she put her feet. He marched her to the bed and picked her up, laying her down with surprising gentleness. Then he reached over to grab the only chair in the room and set it next to the bed, sitting there, as close as he could get to her without actually joining her on the bed.
Avette could hear the ancient wood creak under its heavy load. Still, every bit of him was muscle – there never had been and never would be a fat Kohnzi. He had the same bald head as all of the Kohnzi warriors, but before he'd become a man, his hair had been the usual midnight black. None of the fair-haired brides his ancestors had taken had succeeded in lightening that one bit. His beard was full, but neatly trimmed, as that was a sign of wealth and rank amongst them, to say nothing of the fact that long beards, as well as hair, could be used against one during battle. The most unkempt beards were on the least of them, for they lacked the wherewithal to buy the proper tools with which to groom and maintain one correctly.
When she realized she was staring – her body blushing brightly again at the thought that he knew it, too – she tried to assess her situation as best she could. One of the few good things about lying on her hands was that her arms took some of the weight off her poor blistered behind. One of the worst things was that she was, in essence, even more at his mercy that she had been before her ill-fated attempt at getting away from him. The ropes were too loose and worn for her to be able to roll away from him at will. Even as small as she was, she'd practically need a winch to get herself to the other side.
So when he laid his heavy arm down the middle of nearly the entire length of her body, there was no avoiding it, or him, especially since that well-muscled arm was nearly as wide as she was. As he began to touch her, much less violently than ever before, his eyes remained on hers, as if he was carefully gauging her reactions to what he was doing.
And he was. Stohsz was determined that – despite the punishments and other humiliations he'd put her through – that he was going to make her enjoy his touch. It was a matter of honor and pride, one on which he would not relent.
His palm ended up lying between her breasts, his fingers long enough to tap her chin in admonishment if he thought she was trying to drift away from him behind closed eyes. "Eyes open and on me, scairn."
Her eyes remained shut.
His retribution for her disobedience was breathtakingly swift. With not one but both hands, he leaned forward and took possession of her nipples, pinching them until they were as flat as he could physically make them. The punishment had the desired effect. Her eyes flew open and she tried to squirm or roll or somehow get away from him, but she was trapped right there, unable to end the relentless agony he was inflicting.
She hadn't realized it, but she was absolutely howling from it. It took her several long seconds to make her way through the haze of pain and hear herself, but eventually she did, and he watched her exert her will as her mouth snapped shut.
No further sound came out, even when he added in a twisting motion experimentally, just to see what she would do. Her eyes watered, and each hard fought breath distended her cheeks, but she didn't cry. Eventually, after several minutes, her mouth opened as if she would scream again, but no sound came forth.
Even when he let those tender bits go, her body remained stiff and tense, as if she was still in the throes of it.
That wouldn't do. He'd wanted to make a point, but he hadn't wanted to drive all concept of pleasure from her – just the opposite.
His task was laid out in front of him, but it was one he intended to thoroughly enjoy.
Chapter Three
Mindful of her sharp teeth, he didn't stroke her face, as he might when he had tamed her a bit more. But regardless of her more aggressive tendencies, she was a pretty little thing, with flawless skin, full pink lips, and heavy lashes surrounding soulful brown eyes. And her hair – he had never felt anything like it; it was soft like corn silk in his hand yet strong, too – and he knew from the little time she'd spent on her feet since they'd met that it hung well below her bottom. He even found its new color very appealing, although he was now on a quest to change it.
He rather liked her with her hands behind her. It forced her breasts into a greater prominence, and they were about as exquisitely perfect as he had ever seen, almost but not quite too large for her figure, firm and tip tilted. He had noted previously that her nipples seemed to be perpetually peaked, as they were now, and he wondered exactly what caused it, since
she most certainly wasn't happy with her current situation – she'd made that more than abundantly clear. Yet every time he'd encountered them, those two buds rose up proudly, a pinkish mauve that he knew would be reflected elsewhere, in less obvious parts of her.
Stohsz leaned an elbow on the other side of her so that he could easily touch a breast with each hand, squeezing gently and shaking them a bit, but they were so young and firm they barely moved. He let the tips of his fingers trail around the outside of each, making concentric circles until there was no other unconquered territory, save her nipples, which he took possession of at the same time.
He could hear her indrawn breath as if she was expecting his touch to be as unpleasant as she had experienced in the past. Yet this time, it was the lightest, almost teasing quality, barely making any contact at all, then slowly gripping just a bit harder and careful not to hurt at all, but instead to tease and tempt with faint glimpses of how wonderful he could make her feel, if he chose to.
She began to pant softly at his ministration well before he'd expected her to and looked up to see those damp lips just slightly parted as her breasts rose and fell beneath his hands. Experimentally, he tightened his hold just a bit, pinching ever so slightly, pulling carefully and slowly. His eyes watched every response splash across her face as it began to dawn on her body first – and then her mind, much later – that what he wasn't bringing her the agony he had but instead, a pleasure that would prove to be even more insidious than any lash he could take to her.
For long moments, she lay still as he grew bolder still, grasping a breast in each big hand and squeezing rhythmically, contracting his big fingers around her and lifting them slightly away from her body. He actually watched her nipples actually double in size before his eyes as if they were trying to entice him to do that which he had intended anyway, but for which he was going to make her wait a bit longer.
He bent and kissed his way around each breast, following the trail that his fingers had already blazed, but not ending where he could hear she wanted him to – taking a nipple in his mouth. Instead, he returned to plucking each impressive bud, twisting a bit more aggressively, pinching several shades tighter and gauging her reaction to his every move. And he was beginning to get the idea that no matter what protests had already and would inevitably fall from her mouth in the future, she liked it when he hurt her a bit. Perhaps not as cruelly as he had on occasion, but when he pinched her tightly, he could see that her breathing became much more erratic than when he simply plucked at her.
He leaned even further forward, adjusting his grip back to her to the very base of each breast and squeezing relatively hard, slapping the tips of first one, and then the other, against his cheeks and closed mouth and earning himself a soft sigh he didn't think she even knew she'd let slip.
Triumph roared through him, as hot and heady as if he had conquered her on a field of battle rather than in a run-down little shack, swelling every bit of him – his chest, his head and his already near-to-bursting cock.
But he tamped his desire down as far as he could. There would be time for that later, after he'd done what he'd set out to, when he could wrap himself up in her hair and know that it was he who was the author of its amazing color.
She was one of the greatest challenges he would ever meet – and defeat, of course – because he intended to make her enjoy the process while he was forcing her to endure it.
Her surrender – her true surrender, not the one she'd mouthed because her nanny had urged her to and then lied for her about, would be all that much sweeter for it. He would be the only witness when she finally, really did accept him as her Lord and Master. And it would likely be in the deepest, darkest point of a very long night spent pleasing him on her knees, or atop him or beneath him...and, perhaps, not long after he finally allowed her own release after a very long time of being frequently teased and denied the ecstasy she craved, but only he could give her.
She would want to whisper it to him in the false sanctity and safety of that darkness, but he would never allow it. He would light every lamp and put her on her well-spread knees on his bed, her head down, her privates offered up to him, the way she belonged. And he would savor each and every syllable as she confessed it and he took her at the same time, ordering her to repeat it until he climaxed, which he had to admit probably wouldn't be anywhere near as long as he would prefer at that moment.
But for now, he had already proven to her that he had the power and the right to discipline her whenever and however he deemed necessary. And he intended to show her that he could inflict ecstasy on her at will, too, and – if he was lucky – he would demonstrate to her that she had even less control over that aspect of her slavery, because he had reason to suspect that her body would conspire against her and would instead move in favor of him.
When his mouth finally captured and kissed one of those impudent nipples, he thought he heard the faintest of groans. Then, as if even the possibility of it had alerted her to just how involved she was becoming in what her captor was doing to her, she cleared her throat, and he was left wondering whether he'd imagined it or not.
He didn't let her silence deter him, though. Because he could see how heavily she was panting while he worried those delicate bits, suckling fiercely, flicking them with his tongue, mashing her breasts together and lighting on first one then the other, back and forth, quickly, listening and watching for the responses she didn't know how to suppress – and couldn't if she'd recognized them.
When he left her breasts to travel down her stomach, Avette felt abandoned, her breasts and their tips aching for more of that anguished torture, so much so that she caught herself opening her mouth to beg him, until she snapped it shut with a loud click of her teeth with a sense of alarm that bordered on impending doom.
She could not lose herself to him, no matter what he did to her. She had to admit, though, that these torturously sensual ministrations were something she would never have thought of – punishments, yes, but this? She didn't know what to do to steel herself against it, and, if she was truthful with herself, and to her complete mortification, she was terribly afraid she wasn't going to be able to resist very long.
And when he got up and moved the chair to the end of the bed, moving first one ankle towards its closest bedpost, then the other, that overwhelming desire expanded a thousand fold. But just as much as the thought flashed into her mind that she wanted him to see her there, where no other man had, to even touch her, perhaps, she was just that apprehensive about it, too, having been raised – as every other Tonyeh princess was – to believe that only her husband should see her that way. Not to mention how horrified she was at herself that it was something she would even consider enjoying.
So as soon as he moved her leg, she moved it back.
Within a second, she found herself on her stomach. One of his knees pressed her bound wrists into the small of her back as he produced that small length of leather and began to wear it out on her behind, thrashing her thoroughly and soundly for long, torturous moments. His weight smashed her breasts against the itchy, prickly ropes that trapped them and leaving her, as always, completely unable to stop him from searing the flesh of her still-sizzling-from-the last-time backside.
"When I place you into a position, you are not to move out of it," he stated calmly, in direct contrast to the frantic pace of his arm as it rose and fell, meting out his own justice to her in a manner that he knew would hurt like hell for quite some time, but wouldn't leave any lasting scars. "I will not tolerate any hint of disobedience from you, Avette. You may not have been born that way, but many aren't. You are now scairn. You are my slave. Not my princess and not my wife, but my slave, by your own words. And I will do with you as I please."
She didn't know how much longer he whipped her, but she was just on the edge of not being able to remain silent any longer when he stopped and assumed his earlier position. But this time he tied her ankles apart, then reached up the bed and grabbed her hips
, hauling her back down so that her legs were splayed wide apart simply because of her location – he'd left her hips at the very end of the bed, between her heels, with her legs bent up and back, and her privates brazenly displayed.
Avette went wild, doing her best to buck and writhe and somehow extricate from the position in which she found herself, but, when she'd used up every iota of her energy, she hadn't been able to move herself even so much as an inch.
For several long moments, Stohsz had simply watched her, letting her wear herself out, but then he got up and returned to loop several ropes around her that tied her even more securely to the bed. One at her waist, one just below her breasts and anchored very tightly up higher on the bed, to undercut them, and one above them bound lower on the bed, which was lashed just as tightly. The next – and most worrisome one – went right across the top of those generous mounds, over her still peaked – he noted – nipples, and this was tied the tightest of them all, so that it was dangerously close to making it hard for her to breath, but not quite. It did have the effect of cutting very uncomfortably over – although not into because it was too thick – her flesh with every panting breath she took, severely irritating her hitherto unblemished skin.
He forced the last rope between her clicking teeth when he reached behind him to cup her exposed parts. She opened her mouth to scream, but found a length pulled tight against her lips, keeping her mouth open the thickness of the intruder, which was about an inch, then bound beneath her to one of the handy and likewise components of the bed.
With very little energy left, she tried to fight against everything he did to her, but it was impossible. He was so much stronger than she was, and she was already in such a vulnerable position that she was doomed to lose the fight before it had even started, and he knew it.
When he'd finished, she could move no more than a babe in swaddling could, and as he got up from securing her head, Stohsz trailed his fingers possessively over every inch he encountered on his way back to sitting on that chair, where he could admire the intimate view of his most precious possession.
Princess Slave Page 3
