He stood, bending down to press his forehead to hers, whispering to her, "You know what I must do, don't you?"
Avette caught her breath but nodded. "Yes, sir," she whispered back.
The regrettable incident had happened earlier that afternoon, when she had – unthinkingly – spoken up and contradicted him in front of his men. Although Tonyeh men were not known to be as fierce fighters as the Kohnzi, they did train to defend themselves and their people, and she had done a goodly amount of that with her brothers, or afterwards, if their instructor objected to teaching a girl.
She had felt the need to speak up and mention how unsuitable the spot he had chosen was for an encampment. It was much too open, and there was little cover, and, frankly, the fact that he had brought a tent for them would scream to anyone who found them that they were well off enough to do so, and they were quite likely, therefore, to be raided themselves.
Despite the way he was looking at her – with the promise of censure in his eyes – she continued to speak, although her voice had trailed off as if it knew better than her tongue how to preserve her poor flesh. She knew she was right, but she couldn't get her body to obey her commands – not unlike how he felt about how often she disobeyed him.
He had bent her over the end of the rope bed he had brought for them, with furs rolled up to put beneath her, placing her backside into further prominence and spread out on the bed before her, so that the only part of her that was going to feel his wrath – right now - was her behind. The feel of the ropes beneath her breasts reminded her of the cabin he had taken them to just after he had declared she would be his slave, in front of that austere audience, and whisked her away from everything she had ever known.
The only implement he had brought along – in addition to his belt – was the spanking blade that always hung from it, only, since the town had experienced quite a renaissance in that market, the one he had now was smaller but much more effective, having been custom made to her measurements. That had been a mortifying experience – being brought through the marketplace to the blade maker, who, with his lord's permission, had sized her up quite intimately, then spoken to him at length as to what his goals were, in regards to disciplining her to his satisfaction.
The prince had said baldly that he wished to impart the most discomfort, with the least effort, and the result was what he had in his hand, a blade that would cover the largest portion of her flesh possible, with each stroke. The wood was well polished and about a half an inch thick, and the craftsman had kindly made several holes in it that imparted just the lasting impression he wanted. The Prince's Blade, as it had come to be known, had quickly become a best seller – every man wanted to have one dangling from his belt, and Avette would swear that her screams were no longer the only ones that rang out in the village at night.
She hated it with a passion. It wasn't as crudely brutal as his belt, or as vicious as the single tail, but it packed a wallop that hurt like the dickens from first impact and lasted for days, because of the blisters it raised. And its ready availability and portability meant that it was the implement that he was most likely to use when she misbehaved while they were out in public. It reduced her to the level of a blubbering baby in a humiliatingly short amount of time, no matter how hard she tried to resist breaking down in front of all of those gawking strangers.
And tonight was no different, except that this time, the audience was all burly, muscular men who had no choice but to listen to her chastisement, nor the lecture meant to shame her utterly that accompanied it, she was sure. It was if he was playing to them, his voice so blasted loud as he upbraided her.
"Are you a part of this raiding party, Avette?" he asked seriously, expecting her to answer as he set her backside afire with short, sharp smacks that she knew from experience would quickly give way to harder, more powerful strokes that he put more muscle into. And that would nearly lift her off her toes when the unyielding wood connected with her rounded, cringing as best it could, behind.
"N-no, sir."
"Are you a warrior, under my command?"
He landed a particularly hard blow just after he'd made the query, such that she had expelled all of her breath and had to draw it back in, just in time to answer him in a timely fashion.
Stohsz was not a patient man, and she missed the deadline, which meant that he began to swat her with the same level of force, but double time, until she did deign to answer him, which, of course, only made it just that much harder to do so.
"N-no, s-sir!" she wailed, as quickly as she could, but not fast enough that she could avoid being given about twenty swats in the space she would have received only ten. Her head rolled back and forth between the frame of arms that were anchored by her wrists that were held in place well up the bed, so that she was forced to stretch out, her bottom kept nice and tight, rendering it less able to absorb each smack with any amount of ease.
"And what are you, then?"
"Your scairn!" she practically shouted at the end, as another blow fell, determined to get it in even if it killed her to do so – and it nearly did.
"Do you think it's a slave's place to make suggestions about where a raiding party should camp? Or for how long? Or when?" He emphasized nearly every word with another stripe that he inevitably laid over many other previous ones.
"No, sir!" No amount of thinking just how embarrassing it was that every other person in the camp could hear her being paddled like this could keep the wails from escaping her mouth. She thought that she was being loud enough that, even if he gagged her, they'd still be able to hear every agitated syllable.
"Well, it's good to hear you say that, although I would prefer, next time, if you demonstrated it in action, rather than making yourself an object of ridicule in front of my men, by speaking about things that don't concern you."
She was caught behind again by that last volley, and during the double time swats she lost her voice entirely, so that her sobbing, "Yes, sir," couldn't even be heard by him, much less the straining ears outside the tent.
He was in the middle of the last, long, never-ending round of peppering her with hard, crisp swats when there was a voice at the door. Whoever was out there was very stupid.
"Yes?" He hadn't let up his rhythm in the least, punishing her just as thoroughly and effectively as he spoke.
"Sir," It was his second in command. "Sir, the men would like to know if the la –" He had almost said "lady" but then, she was not that any more. "If your scairn is all right."
Stohsz knew they weren't concerned in the least with her welfare, but rather wanted to know why they were no longer being treated to the sounds of her anguish. He smiled very slightly and continued with his work. "You may let them know, Tseugot, that the lady has lost her voice but is continuing to be chastised until I think she has learned her lesson."
"Very well, sir."
Avette was thoroughly mortified by the cheer she heard go up when his lieutenant informed the men as to her condition.
It was a long while after that before he allowed her to get up, and then he was most unusually solicitous. Very often, after he'd punished her, he would turn her onto her roasted parts and force himself on her, but this time, he gathered her into his arms and brought her onto the bed with him, treating her more tenderly than the rare occasions when she was sick.
But that didn't mean he didn't find his pleasure with her – he did, in a manner she was unfamiliar with until just then. He removed every stitch of his clothing and lay stretched out on the bed on his back, lifting her up and over him so that when he allowed her to sit, he automatically impaled her, slowly, excruciatingly slowly. He didn't, as she would have thought, reach down to press on her hips, so that she would have to accept him more quickly. Instead, chose to let her own body weight dictate the pace, so that she sank down on him in increments that had the breath hissing through his teeth nearly the entire time, his neck arched, as if he was in terrible pain.
The only pain he was experien
cing, though, was the terrible, ecstatic torture of being fulfilled at such a snail's pace, and when her hips finally met his, he did, finally, reach down to grab her slim hips in his hands, but he didn't move her in any way. Instead, he simply raised his hips and, when he brought them back down, he held her in place, so that his cock was withdrawn from her. Then he orchestrated his rhythm so that she met him in the middle of his upswing, crashing himself into her and enjoying watching the expressions of wonder at this new position passing over her face. He used a hold on her wrists to control her to some extent, tugging her forward when he wanted to feel more of her body against him. Feeling those breasts crushed against his chest, the proud tips poking at him, and then raising her back up so that she rode him like a horse, letting her establish her own rhythm to a certain extent, until he interrupted it again with his own needs.
Eventually, he sat bolt upright, one arm around her waist, while he released her wrists to reposition them behind her, pulling on them so that she had no choice but to arch her back, which pressed him just that much further inside her and those beautiful breasts of hers into his eager mouth.
He forced her to maintain that exact pose with one hand, using the other to grope the hellfire that were her bottom cheeks, pulling down on her shoulders uncomfortably when she tried to rise up, off of him, to get away from the pain his hand was inflicting.
Those sharp teeth of his nibbled around each nipple, pincering each of them in turn while he held her fast as he pistoned himself in and out of her, finally, near the very end, slipping his index finger up into her bottom so that on the down stroke she was doubly impaled.
It was her agonized cry at that realization that threw him over the edge, into a blissful, mindlessly plunging oblivion. As he lay there, trying to recover, he realized that he might well faint from their coupling long before she did, but then, he didn't limit his own orgasms at all, and hers were all very carefully controlled.
Perhaps he ought to change that, he thought, staring up at her. He did have a new toy he wanted to try out on her, but he had thought to save it for a long while before using it on her. He knew she was instinctively not going to like it, but he also knew that it had a bit of a trick up its sleeve that wouldn't allow her to escape it, just as he preferred.
After giving himself a while to recuperate, he told her to go to one of his bags and get out the rectangular box that was in a drawstring oilskin bag. Avette did as she was told, noting with interest that the bag he had sent her to had a cache of weapons – including a crossbow that looked to be just about her size – before she dug far enough into it to find what he wanted, bringing it back to him immediately.
"On your knees, now, with that gorgeously roasted bottom towards me."
She knew, right then, that she wasn't going to like whatever it was that he was going to do to her – or, worse than that, she was going to be made to really love what he was going to do to her, and her non-existent money was on the latter.
She assumed the position she had been taught, arms stretched out before her, her wrists still cuffed, of course, head down between her arms, shoulders pressed into the bed, too, but her backside lifted up as if she was going to try to attempt a summersault from that position, somehow. When he trained her to it, he couldn't emphasize enough that she must – at least appear – to be encouraging her punishment or training or whatever it was, regardless of how she really felt about it.
"Very good, Avette, I'll get you properly educated in how to please me yet," he said, entirely ruining the soft compliment with the last phrase.
He set the apparatus up – it really had only two parts – then reached up under her to her quim. It was, as always, sopping wet. Despite that, he had brought along the very special lubricant he used on her when he decided to use her in this way, preferring it as more long lasting than her own, which was just as good when it was his cock in her quim. But when something was going to enter elsewhere on her person, he preferred not to take any chances of damaging her and always used the slickest thing he had. Although not too much of it, because that got very messy, very quickly, and sometimes, when he'd first started to use the stuff, he thought he'd end up sliding right out of bed; he'd gotten so much of it everywhere but where he'd intended.
So he'd learned to just put the barest dab on the very end of the dildo, carved and shaped very much like him, perhaps just the slightest bit smaller, but not by much. And it had a very interesting and surprising capability that he was dying to see how she responded to.
When she felt that, only somewhat, familiar pressure at the entrance to her backside, Avette wanted to weep loudly. She did not like having anything inside her there, not that it mattered to him in the least. And what was worse was – as usual – her body seemed to absolutely adore it. Almost every time he touched her back there, he allowed her completion, but her mind calculated that wasn't anywhere near the necessary compensation in return for the sheer embarrassment.
Her body would have gladly withstood it, for free, any time he liked. The orgasm at the end was a mere bonus.
Usually, he would fit something inside her – like the heavy plug he favored – and then reach under her to finger her knowingly but very slowly, teasingly, so as to prolong the experience as long as possible. In fact, he required she tell him that she was getting close if he hadn't spotted it, and woe betide her if she went along ahead without his permission.
This was much longer and consistently larger than the plug, she thought, and it didn't seem to have a notch that would give her no choice but to keep it inside her. Instead, he began to fuck her with it, paying no attention to her gasps and hoarse, barely there groans as he did so, varying his pace so that she could never get used to a rhythm and never knew what to expect as he slammed it up inside her.
Then he put something down beneath her breasts, such that, there was nothing she could do as she was driven back and forth by his powerful thrusts but drag her sensitive titties over it. She wasn't sure what it was, but it was terribly rough – rougher than any burlap she'd ever felt before, and the eager peaks of her nipples were quickly rubbed practically raw, without him so much as touching her. There was no escape from it – back and forth, back and forth, until she was sure they were going to be level with the rest of her breasts by the time he was finished.
But that wasn't the last surprise he had in store for her. He removed the dildo entirely, which was unusual, in itself. Then he replaced it, in one fell swoop, making her grunt again unbecomingly with the force of it. As he did so, something horribly stimulating – soft and teasing – caressed every bit of her clit all at once. Top, sides, front, back, all of it was stimulated at the same time, once up, once down, but always in contact with that most eager bit, as if it had been sealed there with a plaster that allowed it to move, but not leave its intended target.
She thought it might be a feather, but wasn't at all certain. All she knew was that, in his more than capable hands, it was driving her slowly crazy.
Occasionally, when he thought she was enjoying herself entirely too much, he lifted just that part of it away from her, but he always replaced it a while later, when she had cooled off some. She didn't know how long he teased her with it, but long enough that her bottom had begun to feel funny all on its own – kind of like her clit did just before he drove her to her end, a tension gathering back there that only made things even more sensitive as he fucked her relentlessly.
"All right, Avette. I want you to cum like a good girl. Quickly now, or I'll start in on you again with your punishment blade," he warned, replacing whatever it was that engulfed her clit.
Her breasts swelled at his words – specifically at the threat, as he knew – her sore, raw nipples too, as if begging for the scraping they were already getting.
Although he had a free hand with which he might have filled her cunny, he refrained from that, preferring to bring her off in a method he knew she detested, thus forcing his will on her more blatantly, requiring that she achieve
pleasure from what he did to her, despite how she felt about it.
And she did, as loudly as she could. If her voice hadn't already gone, he felt sure that the entire continent would have heard her cries of ecstasy. But he was just as aroused by her attempts at bellowing her defeat, if not more so. She was a good girl, keeping still as he drained every bit of it from her, not allowing her to get away with just one or two concerts of spasms, but wringing fully seventeen of them from her, until she finally collapsed in a heap at the last.
He removed all of the items he had used on her and put them on the floor for washing later, all of his attention on her. He had achieved the goal he had set for himself – she was out cold, and by his hand, too.
His cock swelled, and he wished he thought he could fuck her again, but he knew better than to try, and embarrass himself in failure.
Instead, he wrapped her up like a baby and held her in his arms, rocking gently until she came around on her own, confused and embarrassed. Even more so, it seemed, than when he spanked her about the town, for some reason he didn't understand.
She tried to get away, at first, and he put it down to coming out of oblivion and soothed her back down into his arms, where she fell into a deep sleep, moments later.
Although she did doze on the bed a bit after he'd left, Avette awoke in the early afternoon and realized that her guards hadn't offered her any lunch. She thought that was very strange, as the prince thought she was much too thin and had ordained that she was never to miss a meal.
Feeling bolder than she had in a long time, she peeped out the tent flap and saw the men she knew had been charged with guarding her tent fighting in hand to hand combat with men who looked like they were from the native contingent. Alarmed, she closed the flap, wondering where the prince was, and if he knew that, other raiders were raiding his own men. Bound, as always, she did her best to gather as many pseudo weapons as she could, but there weren't many. Then, her eyes landed on the bag he had sent her to last night, for that wretched thing he had used to torture her until she lost consciousness. It had been full of all sorts of weapons that she'd had to sift through, to find what he'd wanted.
Princess Slave Page 9
