Princess Slave

by Carolyn Faulkner

  "I want you to remember this the next time you think about reaching for a weapon – mine or anyone else's. You are no longer a privileged princess with brothers and a father who will allow you to run around unrestricted, learning things you have no right to as a female." He placed the entire length of his cock into her mouth, saying, "I think you know by now that I'm not that indulgent." He closed his eyes as he began to pump in and out, feeling her tongue flicking at him, washing him, her lips closing around him to suckle hard, as if she was trying to draw his tribute out of him in one mouthful.

  With that, he raised the single tail he had grabbed when he walked by the table, and brought it down within that exposed crack of hers, a bull's-eye every time. He never hit her cheeks or her back or anywhere he didn't want to. Instead, each and every horrifically agonizing stroke fell right where he wanted it to. All the way up her very sensitive slit from the bottom to the top, so that the very tip of the tail, upon which he had affixed a small piece of hard leather, in contrast to the rest of the whip, landed time right on top of that hard, proud clit of hers.

  Avette had heard the expression about seeing stars, and now she knew the truth of it. She couldn't cringe away, she couldn't move to cover herself, she had been laid bare and was being subjected to a punishment that had agony exploding from that ultra sensitive spot and registering through the entire rest of her body at every inexorably steady fall of his arm.

  He fucked her mouth as slowly as he could, his pace there slower than the one he inflicted on her cunny, so that he might get in as many strokes as possible before he collapsed, useless for several hours as he usually was when he was with her now.

  As he set both of their crotches on fire in very different ways, and his thrusts increased in pace, so did the crack of the whip against the most tender spot on her body. He was ruthless and relentless, just as she had come to expect he would be. He gave her no quarter. He showed her no mercy. The vicious single tail flew down upon her sensitive bits, slicing at them, scoring them, welting them, until he could hold himself back no longer. He shot his creamy load down the back of her throat, holding her head still for it and getting in one last, full throttle crack before releasing his hold on the whip and falling away from her, onto the floor, to try to recover.

  He left her there, as usual, to try to cope with the way he had ravaged her body. He had, on occasion, left her, in whatever position he'd bound her, while he slept the night away. But this time, he only waited until he stopped feeling as if he was going to lose consciousness every time he lifted his head, smiling slightly at himself. The idea had been to drive her to unconsciousness, not himself. Eventually, he swung himself off the floor in one fluid motion and put away the single tail. But he didn't move to release her at all.

  Instead, he trailed his hand up the outside of her restrained arms, over her shoulders and then down the sides of her bulging breasts as he squatted down beside them. "I bet these hurt a lot right now."

  It wasn't really a question, and she knew he didn't expect any kind of an answer, although he got one when he reached out and gave them a full force, open handed smack to one side of them and then the other. He had expected to hear her voice break as he applied the single tip, and he wasn't disappointed, but when he did something like this to her afterwards, he enjoyed her pitiful sounding attempts at groans and wails almost as much as he enjoyed eliciting the real ones. He straddled her, backwards, towards her behind and began to apply that same type of swat all over her already tortured flesh, occasionally reaching down to play with the weights that had the clamps practically ripping her nipples off. And she thought – as his hands worked their way up the line of weights and gems to the actual device – that he would relieve her of them, but she was very sorely mistaken.

  He didn't remove them. Instead, he used his thumb and forefinger to pinch over them, forcing them down into her even more so than the weights ever had, making a vicious mockery of milking her with them as the claws dug further into her nipples.

  Then he moved to squat behind her, and she knew he was looking up at his handiwork. He reached up and tugged her ravaged inner lips apart, noting the large wet spot beneath her on the floor and how her juices were running down the side of his hand as he held her. Stohsz shoved three fingers up inside her, cramming them hard, as his other hand dipped into one of the pots of special lubricant he used with her and landed on her clit.

  He thought it was a bit bigger than the last time he had touched it, and he smiled, amazed by her as always. "I'm going to make you cum," was all he said, and he set about doing so.

  Avette desperately did not want him to bring her to orgasm when she was in such a state. He never granted her pleasure at normal times – those occasional nights when he came home too tired for anything more, fucked her and fell asleep, often atop her.

  He liked to prove to her just how perverse she was, as if she didn't already know. His having said that, she knew, was her permission to come at will, but she didn't will it, and so she did her best to fight him every step of the way, even though she knew that she would eventually lose. He would play with her all night if he had to.

  He never, ever let her win out over him. If he said she was going to cum, then, short of death, she was.

  And he didn't try to get it over with, either. He took his time, doing everything he knew she particularly liked, because he fully recognized it as the battle of wills that it was. He knew she liked him to stretch her and fuck her roughly with his fingers, so that was what he did. Relentlessly. He knew she loved to hate the presence of the plug in her backside, so he left it there, knowing it would add something immeasurable – something that reminded her both of her submission to him and of her own perverted desires – to the coming storm.

  And, of course, he played with her clit – softly, slowly, fast and hard, round and round, and sometimes never moving off the very tip. Sometimes, he used one finger, sometimes three, but not with his tongue, as he thought that would get her off much too easily. So he teased her with it, as he had before he had whipped her, putting his mouth as close as it could get to that straining point, but not satisfying her by surrounding her with his wet, warm lips.

  No, she couldn't have that. She would have to obey him in the manner he prescribed. The harder way, as he always decided with her.

  Towards the end, when he knew she was getting close, he reached behind and began to tug the plug out of her very slowly, adding yet another layer of sensation to her experience, one he knew she had deep reservations about, but that he required she submit to, regardless, of course. He could feel how hard her body was resisting him but was patient and persistent, and first one side, then the other broke the hold her sphincter had on the solid marble, and it began to come out of her more quickly.

  This, of course, was the point at which he decided it was better to leave it up inside her. And so he waged that battle until the end, until he knew she was seconds from exploding, when he shoved it back up inside her then did the same with three fingers again, slowing down the pace at which he tickled her clit and forcing her to experience every second of it in slow motion. He watched the gooseflesh form on her thighs and could feel her start to shake as he watched her convulse violently, as best she could within the restraints. He could feel how powerfully she clamped down on his fingers, watching the plug move as her bottom joined in and she stuntedly bucked and writhed, forced to remain stationery, as stationary as she could or subject herself to more pain.

  He loved it. He thought he was going to orgasm, too, and realized his cock was half-hard from watching her, although he knew that nothing was going to come of that. He needed much more time to recover.

  He was so amazed by her that he couldn't stop repeating it as he removed her from all of the contraptions, all of the manacles and vices and devices and clamps and invaders, until it was just her again, on her knees and elbows, sobbing silently and shaking like a mare that'd just been ridden extremely hard.

  Stohsz reached do
wn and scooped her up into his arms, adopting the unusual role of caretaker to her, tucking them both into bed and keeping her close to him as she continued to shake and shudder even as he held her in his arms and did everything he could think of to get her warm. He fell asleep, not long afterwards, but he didn't think she slept at all that night. He heard her stirring in the morning much earlier than she needed to, to see to his needs.

  She was quiet and reserved when he rose – although she had no voice, so it really was hard to tell, he supposed. She looked weary and wide-eyed, despite her lack of sleep.

  When he left, trying not to worry about how she was feeling, he commanded her to rest all day.

  Avette knew what that meant. Other servants would come into the room to clean it – when that was usually her job – and if they found her out of bed when they burst in, unannounced, they would report it to him, and she would be in trouble again. So she stayed in bed, and, to her great surprise, she did sleep most of the day. In fact, at lunchtime, Sita, who was one of the girls who had bathed her when she first got here, had to wake her to eat, and she fell back to sleep immediately afterwards, until he came home.

  Stohsz could not be convinced – despite her desperate hand signals and shakes of her head – that she was not ill, although, when he summoned the doctor, he could find nothing wrong with her.

  "You're on her too much, I'd bet," the older gentleman said, elbowing Stohsz in the ribs with a knowing smile. "Give her a rest for a few days. She'll be fine after that."

  Avette was very surprised that Stohsz took the doctor's advice to the letter. For the next few days, she was neither punished nor raped. When he came home in the evening, they ate together – which consisted, as always, of her sitting on his lap while he fed her from his plate – and then he would bundle her into bed with him and insist she go to sleep. They couldn't talk – when she blew out her voice like that, it was gone for at least a week to ten days, and that was only if there were no other instances that caused her to scream again. At one point, earlier in her captivity, she had lost he voice for going on three months in a row, not that they talked much, anyway. He wasn't about to share Kohnzi secrets with her, and she had the most boring life in all the kingdoms, so there wasn't much of interest for her to say to him, either.

  Instead, Avette spent the time thinking of things she had pushed to the back of her mind for a long time, since she had voluntarily committed herself to this life, this exact life as his scairn, where her existence revolved solely around him and his desires. Where she conformed herself to him, let him make her into what he wanted her to be.

  But those old conflicts – those old desires to escape, to anywhere – had begun to rear their ugly heads. She didn't think she could deal with who she had become any more. He might well be right – that she was a chaisson – but that didn't mean she had to live that way – or even live that way with him.

  The old reasons for not escaping were still valid, though, even after so much time had gone by. He still never let her out of his sight, and he, still, never left her alone without a guard at the door. He had been taking her out less and less lately, spending more time training and arriving home later and later and more and more tired, and when he didn't collapse into bed, he was punishing or fucking her.

  She didn't think she could escape. In all this time, no real opportunity had presented itself – not that she had been looking much. Avette resolved to begin to pay more attention – immediately – to see if there was any possibility of wrenching herself away from him, somehow.

  * * *

  For his part, Stohsz was spending so much more time away from her and coming home so much more tired, because the Kohnzi were gearing up to raid. What they couldn't make themselves, they stole from their neighbors. Raiding had always proven very profitable, but it required that all of the men be at peak abilities, and he was no exception, since he was always the leader of the raiding party.

  But he was feeling conflicted about going for the first time in his life – neither his mother nor his sisters had inspired any sort of concern about leaving them for months at a time, but the idea of leaving Avette alone in his home caused something cold and unsettling to curl up in his stomach. He knew he would be fine; he was the best warrior in the world. No one could beat him – he was quite literally undefeated. But would she be safe if he left her behind? And if he decided that he didn't want to leave her behind, how would the others – especially his father, who already thought he was too involved with her – feel?

  He snorted to himself as he lunged at one of his best friends during sword practice. He knew how they'd feel – a woman on a raid would be bad luck. No doubt at all.

  But if he didn't bring her, then what was he going to do with her? There wasn't a man in camp whom he would trust her with – and his father and his brothers were included in that lot. She simply wasn't safe as she was, unless there was the ever present threat of his wrath, should she be kidnapped or molested by another man.

  He knew what he should do, too, not that he wanted to do it or was going to do it. He should marry her and elevate her to the status she should have had all along. No one would even think of touching her then.

  Scairn females were fair game for any man who could catch one. And he had spent the past year plus, entertaining the camp with the sounds – and sights – of what his life was like with her, and he knew more than one man who would be willing to risk his life to have her, even just for the months while he was raiding.

  "You will remain in the tent at all times. There are two armed guards outside, just as there were at my home." He didn't mention that it was two good men he really couldn't spare. Having decided to bring her along with them, there was a goodly portion of men who flat out refused to come, no matter how badly it would affect their families' futures, but he wouldn't compromise her safety by leaving her in the hands of two men he couldn't trust. "If you need anything, you let them know."

  There were no servants here, of course. They only took the barest of essentials. No one else even had a tent. His men were all out in the elements, as he would have been if he had not felt compelled to bring her.

  "Yes, sir," she agreed, although she had already vowed to herself that she wouldn't do so, unless she absolutely had to. Something was different about him on this trip, today, in particular, he seemed almost nervous, which was something she'd never witnessed in him. He had always been supremely, annoyingly confident in what he was doing or saying, never a bit of hesitation, until now, and his worry heightened her own.

  He grabbed her, pulling her naked body up against his hard leather jerkin and breeches from thighs to breasts, his mouth descending on hers, plundering her as surely as he was going to do to some unsuspecting village very shortly. Avette could feel his desire rising to poke rudely into her stomach as his hand roamed down to capture a breast and heft it, as if he'd never felt its weight before, squeezing hard, pinching the nipple as he leaned down to suckle at its twin.

  "Milord, the men are ready," came a cry from outside that interrupted his dalliance.

  Stohsz grabbed the end her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Behave." He reached around to squeeze a buttock that was still generating heat from the thrashing she had received the previous evening. "Or I'll make this look like love pats."

  Chapter Eight

  Then he was gone, leaving her to do what she wasn't allowed to do when he was present – reaching behind to rub her stinging, aching posterior. Last night had been a very strange – even in some ways alarming – one. She thought she had been getting used to what to expect from him, but he was constantly proving her wrong. She thought he'd hide her away from his men, as much as he could, on this journey. Instead, he had almost flaunted her, giving her a beautiful white horse, on which he had placed a richly tooled saddle, as well as the softest furs, over it, as he was forcing her to ride, not only bound, but, as always, nude.

  The only adornments he had allowed her – and he had dressed her in t
hem himself – were long gold bracelets, beautifully filigreed and decorated with dozens of gems of the highest quality – and almost embarrassing size. She wore a collar around her neck that was equally ostentatious, as well as cuffs around her ankles that echoed the ones on her wrists. Her cuffs and, thus, her hands, locked together, and, though she rode her own horse, he held the reins.

  He had not touched her at all, as they travelled, not until last night, when they had established a semi-permanent encampment. He had come in so late each night previously that she had barely seen him. He spent the evenings with his men around the fire. It was the right move to make, to heal the damage her presence had caused between him and the warriors, with whom he entrusted her life, as well as his own.

  Last night had been different. He arrived in the late evening, and they ate, her perched upon his knee as always, allowed to eat only that which he gave her – generously so – from his gold plate and cup. Avette was surprised to see such luxury on a raid, especially, since at home they used wooden plates and a plain silver chalice that had belonged to his grandfather. Why he would show so much more pretense now, she couldn't fathom.

  His approach to her was unusual, too. He kissed her frequently, which he hadn't indulged in very much since she had bitten down on, and nearly ruined, his tongue when they were first together, even though she had committed herself to him long since. Touching her with a reverence she had never felt from him, as if he didn't think he was worthy of it, he scattered barely there butterfly kisses in odd spots. Her waist, the underside of her breast, her shoulder, his hands barely grazing here and there, and always coming back to delve his fingers into her hair, tip her head back and melding his lips to hers, brave tongue fording into her mouth to tickle hers, then receding as he moved on wetly, leaving a trail down her neck to engulf the tip of one generous globe, then the other.