Her legs were set very wide, almost to the point of causing her to topple forward, but not quite, her ankles also secured to the floor, much like her hair.
He had her completely immobilized, just the way he liked her. Before he'd had her bend down, he had bound her breasts with a type of rope she had never seen before that was strong but also somehow stretchy and springy. It was black as night and at least as thick as his thumb, creating an absurd yet compelling contrast to her firm, creamy white breasts. He coiled one such rope at the very bottom of each breast, and then wrapped it around several more times, not atop the previous loop, but in front of it. The effect was to make her already upstanding breasts jut almost straight out from her small frame. He then took a third rope and bound them together, tightly pulling them both as close to the center of her chest as he could.
Although they were standing at attention, he could barely grab a hold of her nipples because of the way her breasts were forcibly compressed. But he persisted and was able to affix clamps to them. They were beautiful, more like jewelry than instruments of torture, made of gold, and richly embellished. He had made them himself. Although he was – and always would be – first and foremost, a warrior, every Kohnzi male was also required to learn a trade, such that, if he was injured during the inevitable battles he would face, he would still be able to support his family. Injured warriors formed what there was of the Kohnzi mercantile class, and he – being a prince – had apprenticed to his uncle, who was a goldsmith.
They were also of his own mechanical design; such that, the more weights attached to the circles at the ends of the vices, the harder they would grip their intended target.
When he first applied them, she made no protest at all. They were deceptively small and light. Then he made her bend over, and once she was completely secure, he began adding things to them. At first, they were mere decorative baubles – rubies, emeralds and diamonds that he didn't even bother to show to her, but that he liked, as they sparkled in the firelight. She had been a spoiled princess, and he was quite sure that she had many more ostentatious things than he would ever give her. Besides, they weren't really hers, anyway. A scairn could not claim to possess anything, including his or her life.
The rest of what he would add to them was much less decorative and much heavier.
When he attached the first real weight to each of them, holding them in his palms before allowing them to slip slowly out, it took a little bit before she began to feel the full effect of his genius design. He earned a rare, unedited yelp of surprise for his efforts. As she was generally very quiet, he counted that as a rare jewel, indeed, his cock swelling to epic proportions at the achievement.
Stohsz knew she did her best not to cry out when he punished her—or when he brought her to her full womanhood and sent her body into uncontrollable ecstasy. In her lowly state, there wasn't much control she could exert of her circumstances, and he recognized her stoicism for what it was, an attempt at control, when she truly had none, probably for the first time in her pampered life. So she liked to deny him her reactions to things whenever possible. But, to him, that just made it all the sweeter when he was able to force her to overcome the tenets she had set for herself, and that's what he strived for every time he took her into his arms, or bent her over his knee.
Avette had found herself on the losing end of his efforts more often than not, especially when he surprised her.
He stood back for a moment to admire his handiwork, as her breasts hung there, squashed in multiple ways, the devious clamps biting into her nipples and pulling them further away from her body with every breath.
He didn't bother to strip off. He didn't often, with her. He liked remaining clothed and keeping her naked, considering it a hedge against her running, which he had not relaxed his guard about in the least, despite how long she'd been with him. It was also a psychological advantage. One of the things he found somehow exciting about the situation he'd manipulated her into was how she had gone from the haughty, powerful woman he had met to her current status, where everyone in the town was of a higher rank, except, of course, other scairns. He forced her to be submissive in front of the people she would have ruled, and he liked that irony.
He knew she'd owned her own horses and had hunted with her brothers, using a scaled down crossbow. He knew they had also taught her how to fight and defend herself, and that she had even had a sword of her own, although she was more proficient with the crossbow.
Part of him wanted to see her demonstrate those abilities, but his rampant sexual need of her still trumped everything else in his life, even fighting. He hadn't been out with his friends – which he'd done daily before he'd met the baggage – since he'd brought her home, when, before, his father had loudly and frequently despaired of him and his rowdy ways . The old man's lectures now were more along the lines of demanding a grandson.
Now, all he ever wanted to do after a long day honing his skills was to sink himself into her, to reach down and grasp a breast in his hand as he fucked her, knowing that little else – beyond a thorough punishment – would bring home to her just exactly how far it was that she had fallen.
His comrades had wanted to go drinking and gambling this very evening, yet he had put them off. They hadn't even let him finish his thought, supplying crude reasons for why he had abandoned them that weren't very far off, in truth. But nothing he could do with his friends – not hunting, not drinking, not whoring – could compare to the delights he found with Avette.
And he was damned glad he had come home when he had, or he would have missed an excellent opportunity to punish her – not that he needed an excuse, but he liked to have one, anyway – to say nothing of the fact that her actions had reinforced his wariness about her possible attempt to escape.
He casually added a second, somewhat larger, weight to each nipple before releasing her hair and his cock at the same time, coming to stand in front of her and lifting her mouth to him with big fingers beneath her chin. As amazed as he was that she was able to accept him between her legs – and he still was, every time – he was just as amazed at how well her mouth fit around him, her lips sealing against him as that small tongue darted out to flick at the very tip of him.
Stohsz wanted to throw his head back and growl; she still brought him embarrassingly close to losing control long before he wanted to get to that point, but he had become better at learning not to give in to it. Instead, he leaned over and ran his hands down her back and flanks, enjoying the soft, supple feel of her smooth, almost blemish free skin beneath his hands. There were really only a very few areas of her body that ever bore any marks at all, and even those were never permanent. Although he was sure that – in the application of them – she must've thought they were at the time, and each of those was an area where he was going to be the only person who saw the results of her chastisement.
Today, because of a punishment he had given her yesterday, it was her backside, from a line just below the beginning of her crack to just above the backs of her knees that bore the results of his efforts in shades of still sizzling, angry red lines. Slightly darker welts denoted to the keen observer that he had used his belt on her and the breasts he had bound so cruelly. He hadn't had an occasion to punish her slit in while, but he never knew when the mood would strike him or when her behavior would warrant it.
Such as now, when he could get to her by uppercut, if he so desired.
He reached down and held her head still, raping her mouth violently, hearing her whimper both from that action and the fact that his heavy thrusts forced her tortured breasts – which were darkening and looking more and more like one large breast – tried unsuccessfully to bob and swing against their cruel bonds in violent response.
When he was just shy of allowing himself to shoot down her throat, he instead forced himself to withdraw. He wasn't anywhere near through with her yet, and he didn't like to allow himself completion until he had finished the preparations he had planned for her.
He added two more sets of weights off of the side of each tether, and was rewarded by the sound of her actually squealing, which descended into a dull, low keen.
Although he couldn't be sure, it seemed to him that the longer she was with him, the shorter time it took for him to break her resistance, to force her past the restriction she'd set for herself and into a realm where all she could do was react – baldly, rawly, wildly – to whatever he did.
He liked it when he drove her out of herself like that. She always came very hard when he'd managed to get her to that point – on the rare occasions when he allowed her to. One time, he thought she had passed out, although she was, apparently, only overwhelmed by it.
It had always been in the back of his mind that he wanted to make her pass out for one reason or another – pain or pleasure, he didn't much care.
And tonight, he thought he just might get his wish.
He reached into a drawer and took out an implement he hadn't tried on her yet. It was something he'd gotten from a trader from the south, a thick, short marble dildo that flared at the end then suddenly thinned all around, with an almost handle on the end. As the trader had explained to him, it would force whoever was required to accept it into their body – in a very particular place – to keep it there until he decided to remove it. It would be – in nearly all cases and certainly hers – much too large for her to be able to dislodge on her own.
The man guaranteed that it would leave no marks, and, as long as it was inserted carefully, cause no injury, yet it would try the resolve of the most obedient of slaves – which was not at all how he would describe his little slave.
He dipped the broad tip of it up between her legs, to where he already knew it would receive a generous bath of her own lotion. Then he straightened and used the thumb and finger of his left hand to pry apart those still very sore looking bottom cheeks, right above the hole in her backside, using his right hand to point the head at dead center of that now very tightly puckered flesh.
Slowly and carefully, he began to lean into it, pushing firmly, feeling her try to move away from the uncomfortable pressure he was causing, but severely hampered in doing so, such that she really couldn't move a bit.
Every resident of the town probably heard her full-throated, anguished cry, not that that bothered him in the least. Stohsz was quite sure that the majority of the town deliberately listened for his sessions with her. He knew they were the subject of much conjecture by the townsfolk, but that was something he'd never paid any mind to. He continued to exert steady force on the heavy instrument as it advanced very slowly within her, and her wails retained their high, mournful volume.
"Accept it, Avette. There's nothing more you can do about it," he murmured softly, almost regretfully.
That had her adding a low growl of protest to her lament. Although he was sure she would have preferred to continue to deny herself the release of vocalizing her displeasure, as her poor behind was stretched open wider and wider, she apparently found it impossible to concentrate on anything but that. She actually screamed, then burst into sobs when he finally pressed it home, seating it fully within her.
Ignoring her protestations as well as her tears, he gave it an experimental tug and was satisfied that his money had been well spent, when it didn't fall out into his hand. In fact, she sounded even more worried about it coming out, than she had about it going in.
He didn't have the time or the inclination to coddle her, especially knowing what he did about her – that her protestations were all lies. Not that she didn't feel every sting and fiery stroke he issued to the fullest possible capacity – he knew she did. He knew her tears, cries, and groans were very real. But he also knew that she liked to be treated harshly. He had proven it to her early on in her captivity, and the truth of it was born out in the unfailingly pink color of her hair. That, more than anything, spurred him on to be even harsher with her than he might have, finding that arousing her like that increased his own pleasure immeasurably.
He knew he wasn't doing anything to her that would cause permanent harm – ever. He never took his fists to her – as he knew some of his friends did to their legal wives. He never broke any bones or left any bruises anywhere except her most private of places, where she would know with every movement even when he wasn't with her, and he would feast his eyes on at every possible opportunity, which was another reason why she was never allowed to wear clothes – even when he took her out.
He liked how the other men – and some of the women – gazed at him when they compared her telltale locks to her telltale bottom and tittered speculatively behind them. And he never missed an opportunity to discipline her in front of the crowd.
In fact, he knew he had been the reason for a renaissance in husbands disciplining their wives among the Kohnzi. A man who sold punishment blades in the marketplace had thanked him profusely for doing so. Apparently, he had more business now than he ever had in his life, so much so that he couldn't keep up with the orders.
He was only too glad to help.
Stohsz stepped between her legs, bending his own slightly, to accommodate her size and angle, then thrusting himself up into her to the hilt, lifting her hips by virtue of his height, which, of course, then made those clamps bite into her tender flesh. She had always been amazingly tight, having been virginal when he'd first taken her, having lost very little of the initial resistance her body gave him unconsciously when he entered her. But with her bottom filled as it was, the intruder in her behind made her even harder to claim, forcing her quim to grip him even more tightly as he claimed her.
He had bound her breasts so tightly together that they barely bobbed, as he fucked her as hard as he could, while she mewled, squealed, and squeaked in protest. By the gods, she felt better to him each time he took her, he would swear!
Again, though, seconds away from spurting his seed deep within her, he forced himself to back away from her. And it was a very close call as to whether or not he was going to spill himself right there on the floor, but he managed to get himself under control, barely.
There was one more thing he wanted to set up for her – well, for him – and then he would let himself go.
Chapter Seven
He put the implement he was going to use – a single tail, not too long, just the right size for what he had in mind – on the table near her head, then reached into the nearby drawer again to take out a vice he had made that, instead of clamping things together, would spread them apart – wide apart. He'd made it slim and almost elegant, sanding it carefully because he hadn't any intentions of giving her splinters where he intended to use it.
And he didn't slicken it with anything. He knew by now that she generated enough of that stuff herself, and, although he thought he had devised a way of holding it in place, he didn't want to make the area any more slippery than it already was – and was probably going to get.
He'd even tapered the ends of each side of the splint, so that it would be easier for him to insert it between her lips, and it slid in there perfectly. His scairn was quiet at the moment – well, she was moaning softly and panting, but that was relatively quiet as far as he was concerned – at least, until he began twisting the control at the bottom of the device that caused the two long, thin pieces of wood to separate, thus also separating her generous nether lips.
Stohsz didn't stop until she was completely butterflied down there, and then he tied the straps that were attached to each side to the tops of her thighs, which he hoped would help to keep it in place. For a moment, he admired his handiwork, and the fact that she was now literally dripping wet. But without th
ose soft folds to hold it, drops were forming and falling onto the floor below.
Yet she had the audacity to, as he began to part her divide, sob and cry and do her level best to protest, as if he was splitting her asunder.
No, he was saving that for where he was through at this end, little did she know.
He cupped her exposed bareness, letting the pad of his middle finger gather honey from her pot and bring it up to her perpetually swollen clit. Teasing it mercilessly with the lightest of touches, watching it jump and strain as she did against her bonds, trying to get a better angle for the fleeting second he touched her, trying to retain contact and exact some sort of satisfaction from it, but he was too careful for that.
Because he kept her on the edge of orgasm pretty much at all times – whether by methods of pain or pleasure – and her access to completion was very severely limited, her clit never resolved from being swollen to three times its normal size and remained hyper-sensitive. Stohsz leaned forward, his mouth hovering teasingly above her so that she could feel his moist, hot breath flowing over the spot on her body that craved it the most.
"I'm going to teach this impudent little bud a lesson it will never forget, I can promise you that, my slave. You are never, ever to touch any of my weapons. Scairn are forbidden to do so, you especially."
Before he took his place at her head, he added the last set of weights, stepping back to watch her as she bucked and writhed against them, keeping an eye on the device that held her wide open to make sure it wasn't dislodged.
Then he planted himself in front of her and yanked her head all the way back so that she was forced to look up at him, gathering most of her hair in a ball at the back of her head. He could see the tears coursing down her cheeks and knew that she was genuinely distressed by what he was doing to her.
And he had saved the worst for last, as she was about to see.
Princess Slave Page 7
