Master of Her World

by Lily Harlem

  Or had they hurt him so badly that wasn’t possible? Or worse…

  Her limbs were weak and she was dizzy but Briella managed to pull herself to the window. Clinging to the sill, she stared at the parade ground. A large brown cross had been erected in the center and a few people were wandering about. There seemed to be an air of anticipation.

  “What… is going on…?” she asked.

  “It’s not your concern, slave.”

  He was behind her; she could feel the heat of his body, hear his breaths. His smell was different than Gast’s; spicier, harsher.

  “How do you wish to be medicated?”

  He was asking her? Even in her dopey state that surprised her.

  “Answer me, time is running out.” His tone was firmer.

  “I don’t… want you to medicate me.”

  “I understand that.” He paused. “And you do have a choice here.”

  “I know. It’s die or you?”

  He sighed. “I know Gastion, he is a good man and probably a good master.”

  “You know him?” She turned to face him.

  His expression softened. “Yes, and I would bet my own life on the fact he would not wish you to die because you refused medication from me.” He paused. “I am a good man, I only wish to help.”

  She shook her head, stumbling from the window as she did so. Not quite making the bed, she clutched the table and bent over it.

  “Hey, be careful.” He gripped her arm. “And surely you can see, we need to do it now.”

  But she didn’t want this man’s semen. She wanted Gast’s.

  Gast. Her beautiful master. She’d never see him again. She was suffocating. They’d been right, it was like slipping underwater.

  “But I…”

  “Can you picture his face when he’s told you are dead?”

  “No, no I don’t want to picture that.”

  “Then please, take what I can give you.”

  Thoughts tumbled through her mind. This man, this friend of Gast’s, he was talking rationally, she knew that. And she didn’t want to die. She wanted to live a long and happy life in the dome with her master. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Good.” He nodded seriously. “That is the right decision.”

  She turned. Instantly there was a pressure on her back, her skirt was flipped up.

  “I’ll insert it into your ass.”

  Arse? No…

  She shook her head. “No… please, not there.”

  “So where? Tell me soon if you want to see your master again.”

  See him again. Yes, she did want that. More than anything.

  “My… pussy,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, not my ass, my pussy.”

  He didn’t delay and within a second the smooth domed head of his cock was pushing into her pussy.

  She groaned. She wasn’t wet the way she always was with Gast. It didn’t feel erotic, just functional.

  He gripped her hips, a gentle but firm hold, and slid to full depth.

  She hoped it would be quick. That he’d give her the gift of breath without the need for a long drawn-out process.

  He pulled out, pumped back in. His way was easier now and she figured he’d used saliva as lubrication.

  She pictured Gast, handsome and strong and working in his yard with his muscles rippling beneath the surface of his skin. She’d do anything to be with him, at his dome, caring for him, him caring for her.

  A long low groan sounded above her. The cock in her pussy stiffened.

  Then it was there, a hot spurt of semen flooding her body.

  She dragged in a breath. It whooshed down her airways, inflating her lungs.

  Another thick shot of semen arrived, and she pulled in fast breaths, renewing her blood with the air she needed.

  He carried on pumping, filling her, saturating her. He was clearly a virile, potent man with copious amounts of medication and she was thankful for that.

  Finally he stilled. He, too, was breathing fast as he continued to grip her hips.

  But she wanted him gone. The deed had been done; they’d gotten down to business. There had been no erotic pleasure on her behalf; it had all been about breathing and having the chance to see her master again.

  “You are feeling better?” he asked.

  “Yes… thank you.”

  He withdrew, slipping from her pussy and releasing her hips.

  Briella stood, thankful that the dizziness had receded and breathing was once again normal.

  The man stood before her with his cock protruding from a gap in his trousers. It was still hard and thick, the end glossy.

  “Please give Gastion my regards,” he said, placing his hands on his hips.

  “How do you know him?”

  “We were in the same section at the childhood facility.”

  “I see.”

  “I hope you will tell him that I dealt your medication with respect.”

  “Yes, because you have. I’m grateful. And thank you for making me think straight, it’s hard to when feeling so unwell.” Hope suddenly filled her heart. “So you do think I’ll see him again?”

  “That is for the king to decide.” He began to tuck his deflating cock away.

  “And when will that happen?”

  “Soon.” He nodded at the window and frowned. “I just hope your master is strong enough.”

  “For what? Strong enough for what?” Hope was replaced with fear.

  He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “You will see soon enough.” He turned and left the room, leaving Briella with clear breaths but a hundred questions.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A sudden roar coming from the parade ground blasted through the turret. Briella rushed to the window and was shocked to see the crowd had multiplied tenfold.

  Roun men lined the walls again the way they had for the slave parade. Their attention appeared to be on the cross in the middle. It reminded her of the cross in Gast’s sleeping room and she wondered if a slave would be tied and beaten.

  The sounds of the jeering crowd intensified and a line fractured between them; someone was being led out by guards. Ahead of the procession walked the king dragging a long black whip.

  But it wasn’t a female the guards were ushering along by prodding their guns, it was a man. A big, broad handsome man with hair the color of oil that slicked down his back.

  “Gast!” she cried out, a shrill noise that tore from her throat. What were they going to do to him? Why was he there?

  Flattening her palms against the glass, she scanned the crowd, wishing she could see someone coming to his rescue. Was Walden there? Would he help? Or would that just see him ending up with the same fate? Whatever that fate may be.

  Her medicator had said he hoped Gast was strong enough. Did that mean he was going to have to endure some physical hardship?

  Of course it did.

  And now that the king had stopped beside the cross, the whip coiled on the ground at his feet, she could guess what it was going to be.

  The guards were efficient and determined and pushed Gast up to the cross.

  He stood before it, chin tilted defiantly.

  “Men of Roun,” the king boomed. “Today not only have you enjoyed the spectacle of a slave parade, you will now get to see why it is in your interest not to deny me or disrespect me, your king, the ruler of this great planet. I own all that is on it and that includes the slaves I have kindly welcomed here to live and breathe.”

  He nodded at the guards who dragged Gast up to the cross. He looked huge next to them and Briella knew if they didn’t have guns he could have easily fought the few closest to him away, but he was too outnumbered and by the looks of it, all alone.

  Apart from a token shake of his shoulders, Gast surrendered to his fate.

  As the guards secured his ankles and wrists, the king flicked the whip. It snapped through the air then landed on the grou
nd, spraying up a cloud of dust. “And now I must punish this Roun man, Gastion Ribald Newton of Reme, for his disrespectful attitude during the slave parade.”

  There was a quiet round of applause. It wasn’t particularly enthused.

  “And if he lives through it, he will be permitted to return to his dome with his slave.”

  There was an apprehensive cheer. As though the crowd wanted to root for Gast to survive but were fearful of angering their king if they were too eager for the prisoner’s success.

  Briella clasped her hands over her mouth. Survive? Surely the king wouldn’t kill him. His crime, if it could even be called that, certainly didn’t justify the death penalty.

  She felt nauseous and her stomach gurgled. Her new easy breathing was difficult again, fear constricting her throat.

  Again the king gave a practice flick of his whip. It unfurled, the tip striking the ground with a sickening crack.

  Briella jerked and a shiver went down her spine.

  The king stepped backward, eyed his target, then brought the brutal whip down with a hard slash against Gast’s back.

  Gast jolted and yanked against the cross.

  “No!” Briella cried, shaking her head. Already a deep welt could be seen, even from the distance of the turret.

  The king struck again.

  Gast bucked forward as if trying to escape the pain. But he couldn’t and another deep slash formed.

  Tears poured from Briella’s eyes, trickling down her cheeks to her chin where they dripped to her bare chest.

  The audience started up a slow clap. The slaves, mingled with the men, looked away, some burying their faces in their hands.

  The king struck again and again, in time with the slow clapping that was rattling around the arena.

  Briella hurt all over; it was as if she were being struck. She’d take the pain for her master if permitted. She hated seeing him beaten like this. Whipped as though he’d committed murder or treason.

  If the Roun king dropped down dead, she’d cheer. She hated him, hated him more with each strike of his whip against her master.

  Finally, after what felt like forever, the beating stopped. The king threw down the whip and walked up to Gast.

  Gast’s head hung forward, his knees were bent and his shoulders stretched. Only his binds held him up; without them he’d be a crumpled wreck on the ground.

  Briella dashed at her tears and wrapped her arms around her waist. Now what would the hideous king do?

  She managed to focus on Gast’s back—red with blood and scarred from the whip. He needed poppy salve on it, the sooner the better.

  If he was still alive, that was.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of him being dead. Of the king whipping the life from him.

  But he wasn’t moving, he was just hanging there.

  The crowd fell silent.

  The king curled his fingers into Gast’s hair and tugged his head up and back, his neck hyper-extending. He pressed his face close to Gast’s and appeared to listen for signs of life.

  “The Roun man lives,” the king said, roughly releasing Gast’s head. “And has been taught a valuable lesson in respect.”

  The crowd cheered, much louder this time, their relief palpable. Their king might be a sadist, but it was clear the Roun men had wanted Gast to walk away.

  But he didn’t walk. Briella watched horrified as he was released, and as she’d suspected, he slithered to the ground, his strong body weak and exhausted. It took four guards to carry him off.

  When he’d gone from sight, Briella hurled herself at the bed, sobbing. She sobbed until her chest ached. Until she thought she had no more tears. The bedding was sodden with her angst and distress.

  Where had they taken him? Who would tend him? When would they be together again?

  Her need for her master was a real physical pain. She yearned for him. It hurt to not be with him when she knew he needed comforting and treating. She could do that for him, provide what he needed. She knew in her heart that she could.

  Briella had no idea how long she laid on the bed, distraught, confused, and fearful of the future. But eventually the door to the turret creaked open.

  She opened her puffy eyes and raised her head, expecting to see the medicator once more, preparing to provide her with semen.

  She blinked, rubbed her eyes. Was she seeing right?

  Her heart rate picked up and she let out a sob.

  Gast stood in the doorway. His shoulders were hunched and he clung to the frame. But he was upright.

  “Master.” She rushed to him, her knees shaky and her stomach lurching. “I’ve been so scared for you. That whipping…” Another sob.

  “Shh, slave. I survived. I’m okay.”

  “But your back. Oh, Sir. The king is so cruel.”

  “Shh.” He pressed his index finger to her lips. “Do not speak ill of the king or you will find yourself in the arena on the cross and I fear he would strike you until he was sure you were dead.”

  “He wanted you dead.”

  “No, he didn’t, not really. He might be cruel and narcissistic but a king who kills his own people does not remain in power for long. He is clever enough to know that by looking at the history of the universe.”

  She touched his forearms, wanting to hold him but worried about hurting him.

  “Are you okay, slave?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s you I am worried about.”

  “You can breathe?”

  “Yes.” She tore her attention from his face. “I can.”

  “How?” He cupped her cheek and urged her to look up at him.

  “I was…”

  “Go on.”

  “Medicated, Sir.”

  “By?” He frowned.

  “A friend of yours. A Roun man, he was kind, Sir. Gentle. He asked me to relay to you that he’d been respectful.”

  “And was he?”

  She swallowed; the memory wasn’t a particularly pleasant one. “I only want you, Sir, but I have to breathe so I had little choice.” She paused. “I considered dying, allowing the blackness to steal over me. But the thought of…”

  “What?” He held her face firmly as he stared down at her. “The thought of what?”

  “The thought of never seeing you again, I couldn’t bear it. I need you, want you, you’ve made me feel complete, Sir.”

  He smiled, just a little. “I’m glad that you took the medication from another man, but you should know that from now on, for the rest of our lives, it will only be me.”

  “That’s what I long for, Sir. With you it’s special, the erotic pleasure we share, it’s as if our souls were meant to be.”

  His smile widened but then he winced.

  “Sir, you need treatment.” Worry for her master washed over her. “Can we go somewhere?”

  “I only want to get back to the dome. There maybe you will apply poppy salve.”

  “Yes, of course.” She hesitated. “But will the king just let you leave?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I was whipped and survived. He’s good on his word for allowing me to return home.”

  They descended the turret steps, Gast pausing every now and then to clutch the wall and grimace.

  When they reached the base, he clipped her lead on. Tipping his chin, he then stepped out into the daylight.

  A few Roun men were loitering in the arena.

  But Briella barely noticed them, walking two steps behind her master; the sight of his poor tortured back made her knees weak and almost had her crying again. The skin was so damaged and torn, slashed with great lines from his shoulder tips to the rise of his buttocks. Blood, drying now, stained his flesh and his hair, damp at the ends, clung to him.

  The sooner they got home the better. The whip marks needed to be cleaned and salve applied. She’d guess several applications would be required.

  “Gast, my friend, do you need help?”

  Gast stopped. So did Briella.

  Walden stood before
them, Nhah on a lead two steps behind him.

  “I can walk,” Gast said, “thank you for asking.”

  “And drive? Would you like me to take you and your slave back to your dome?”

  “I appreciate the offer, you are a good man, but no, I will be able to get us there.”

  Nhah smiled gently at Briella. Her expression itself was a hug. Empathy and friendship poured from her.

  Briella blinked away a fresh wave of tears.

  “I’m sorry the king was so harsh with you,” Walden said.

  “Unfortunately he seems to enjoy tormenting me,” Gast said. “But I hope that now he’s taken his whip to my back, he’ll leave me and my slave to live in peace.”

  “I’m sure he will. From what I hear he moves on quickly. His temper and attention span are short.”

  Gast huffed.

  “Go,” Walden said, glancing around. “I shouldn’t be holding you up. You need your slave to care for you. But when you’re well, please come and visit us. My slave and I would enjoy that.”

  “We will, thank you.” Gast nodded and began a slow walk across the arena.

  Nhah blew Briella a kiss.

  Briella nodded, then fixed her attention on her master again. If he faltered, she’d catch him.

  They stopped several times on the way back to the vehicle, and were the subject of much staring. Briella was careful to remain submissive, but as they made their way she knew she was more alert to the moment than her beaten master.

  Once in the vehicle he placed her lead on her legs, then flicked the back of his seat downward, so it wasn’t touching his back.

  “Sir, can I do anything for you?”

  “Talk to me,” he said, charging up the engine. “I feel woozy.”

  “I’m not surprised, Sir. Should we find you a healer of some sort, before we make this journey?”

  “No. I wish only to be in my own dome, on my own bed, with you.” He gave her a weak smile. “We will be there soon.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He maneuvered onto the main freeway out of the city. Briella kept quiet, sensing he was concentrating, but once their way became a straight road, she decided to spark up a conversation.

  “Sir, can I ask you something?”

  “Yes, slave.”

  “Why did the king take Skylar?”

  Gast gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “Because he could.”