Minak’s eyes popped nearly from his head. Sweat was pouring from his forehead. ‘Please,’ he whimpered, ‘we meant no offence. Let us go about our business and we will trouble you no more.’
‘We will never return to this place again,’ added Torano. ‘We swear it!’
The man’s eyes looked deeply into those of Minak, the sword still in place. A second later a puddle appeared on the floor at the huge man’s feet. The man blanched red in shame.
‘Go,’ the stranger repeated, replacing the sword in its scabbard. ‘Now.’
Torano and Minak nearly demolished each other in their race for the door.
Caralissa was overwhelmed; she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She wanted to embrace this man and thank him. But there was something else she needed to do first. Grabbing his arm, looking up into the darkened shadow of his cloaked face, on tiptoe, she asked, ‘Varik, is it you?’
‘Be silent, woman. And follow me.’
A wide path was formed for the cloaked man, as girls and men alike stepped warily from his way. Caralissa hoped he might lead her out the front door, but alas he led her directly back to one of the pleasure rooms.
‘Wait here,’ he said, when she was inside.
She stood there in the dark, heart thumping, trying to discern if she was crazy or if she was really being rescued by the chieftain of the Rashal.
A few moments later he returned with a clean towel, dampened. ‘Wash yourself,’ he told her, tossing the thick cloth.
Numbly, Caralissa wiped the towel over her stained face. It was a guest towel, a privilege ordinarily denied to pleasure girls. For her part, ever since her arrival, her body had been allowed to touch nothing but rags.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, as he drew the curtain closed behind him.
‘Turn your back to me,’ he said. ‘And put yourself on all fours.’
Caralissa’s knees were so weak it was hard to obey, hard to keep from collapsing at the man’s feet. His power was so overwhelming. Who was this man? The voice was right, but the solitary figure so silent and gracious was a mystery. If he wasn’t Varik why did she feel so safe and sexy in his presence, even in the middle of this dingy room, with the chains on the wall, the whips, the stone floor?
Gravity itself compelled her downward. The lowness, the solidity of the prone position was what she desperately needed at this moment. She felt so open, so vulnerable. Terror gripped her briefly as she realised that if he was a stranger he might hurt her, or even kill her. If she was wrong about his identity she might not survive the night.
‘Spread,’ he ordered, manually widening her calves with the toe of his boot. ‘You have a sweet arse,’ he told her, kneeling beside her on one knee.
Caralissa cried out as the flat of his hand impacted possessively against her quivering cheeks. It wasn’t pain, but recognition she felt. That hand - she’d know it anywhere! ‘Varik!’ she cried joyfully.
‘Silence, wench,’ he complained, repositioning himself to fill her opening. ‘Do you want the entire house to know our business?’
‘No,’ she smiled, ‘master.’
‘Do not call me that,’ he chastised. ‘I do not own you.’
Caralissa backed against him, taking him inside her to the hilt. ‘Yes, you do.’
Varik withdrew halfway only to plunge into her again, more forcefully and with a deep grunt. ‘Insolent girl,’ he exhaled.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘master.’
They came together in a flooding torrent, powerful enough to wash away the world, even with all its history, all its pain. As she began to regain her powers of thought, she said a silent prayer.
Let this not be a dream. Let it be reality.
Caralissa saw her sister first. She was in a long line of prisoners, marching between two columns of Rashal soldiers.
‘Romila!’ she screamed from high atop her horse, Grey Cloud.
‘Caralissa,’ Varik chided, seated beside her on his own mount. ‘Show some dignity, will you please?’
‘Sorry,’ she smiled, ‘master.’
Romila was running towards them, having broken through the ranks unimpeded. Caralissa dismounted and the two embraced: the elder sister still in rags, the younger in a long green dress, belted with a sash in the Rashal manner.
‘Little sister?’ Romila wept, beholding the redheaded braids, the feathers and claws on Caralissa’s necklace. ‘Is it really you? I thought you were dead! Oh, sister,’ she cried, throwing herself into Caralissa’s arms. ‘It was terrible. After the auction I was taken to this horrible pleasure-house. The most unspeakable things were done to me there. I thought I would die there, but then, quite out of the blue, we came under attack and the whole place was in flames. It was the Rashal, we were told, under a new leader, the old one having been deposed.’
‘Voluntarily stepped down,’ Varik corrected, looking down on the two sisters. ‘My brother and I came to a new arrangement. He will run the empire, and I will chart new territories for him.’
Caralissa beamed. ‘Varik and I are journeying together. Into the Forest of Night.’
Romila blinked. ‘But what of the rest of us - what of Orencia?’
Varik pointed to a body of horsemen, fast approaching. ‘Your answer is coming now.’
They watched as Senelek rode proudly towards them at the head of a squad of mounted warriors, behind them on a long chain, a line of naked prisoners, all males.
‘Greetings, brother,’ said Senelek, as the party came to a halt in front of them.
‘Greetings, chieftain,’ replied Varik.
‘No, Romila!’ Caralissa was saying as she tried to hold her sister back from one of the prisoners, a small weasel of a man who held particular interest for her. ‘Do not acknowledge his existence. Let him be taken away and executed with the others.’
‘Get her off me!’ Telos wailed pitifully, unable to raise his chained hands in self-defence against the flailing arms of the princess.
Realising her sister would do little harm to the man she decided to let her have her fun.
‘Mercy!’ the prisoner begged, falling to his knees as Romila fell on him.
‘Mercy!’ begged Remik, who was chained to Telos’ left.
‘Mercy!’ parroted Alinor, chained at his right.
‘Chieftain,’ Varik said, trying to maintain the dignity of the meeting. ‘The princess Romila is obviously quite spirited. May I recommend her as administrator in this new region of the empire?’
Senelek inclined his head. ‘We take the counsel of our brother with the utmost seriousness. Consider it done.’
Caralissa tried to keep herself from giggling as she noted the scar on Senelek’s briefly down-turned forehead. There were similar ones on Varik’s chest. According to the former chieftain, the two had hammered out their peace under torchlight, in the dead of night upon a lonely hillside, grappling at one another for the better part of four hours until they finally collapsed together, utterly exhausted.
‘The great chieftain is most generous,’ Romila spoke up, straightening herself proudly, revealing herself to be a natural born politician and pragmatist. ‘We shall humbly serve the Rashal. May we make, to this end, one small request?’
‘Name it,’ said Senelek. ‘Romila, Administrator of the Valley of Seven Kingdoms.’
Romila looked at the chained men, a wicked smile slowly snaking across her lips. ‘Allow me to take these prisoners off your hands, my lord. We can find use for them here, as our slaves.’
The men trembled at the queen’s words, particularly the final one. Caralissa allowed herself a smirk. She had no doubt these arrogant fools would pay dearly for their crimes under Romila’s new administration.
‘So be it.’ Senelek raised his hand in a gesture of finality. How splendid he looked in his chief’s armour and cloak. ‘Deliver these wretches to t
he castle,’ he commanded a nearby officer. ‘I must bid you farewell,’ he said to his brother. ‘There is much work to be done.’
Varik bowed low in his saddle. ‘Your presence has honoured me, chieftain. Until we meet again, I shall serve you ceaselessly.’
Senelek’s lips moved into a near smile, the closest she’d ever seen the man come to actual mirth. ‘I’ve no doubt of that, Varik.’ Pulling up on his reins to commence a turn, he added, ‘I fully expect when next we meet that you will have single-handedly subdued the entire Forest of Night.’
Varik pressed his lips together. ‘As you command. But as I am no longer alone in the world,’ he declared, indicating Caralissa, ‘I shall be due only half the credit.’
Sometime later, in a humble tent, a lone traveller reclined upon his side, bare-chested, his head resting on his hand as he regarded the splendid kneeling girl. For the better part of an hour he held her in this position, hands clasped behind her head, knees spread, breasts prominently displayed, as he finished his supper of warm meat chunks and gravy served with thick brown bread. As he beheld her now, his eyes lingered on the most delicious parts of her.
‘Have you something to say?’ Varik asked with amusement, breaking her enforced silence.
Caralissa’s eyes burned with fury. ‘Your girl is hungry,’ she said, stating the obvious. ‘If it pleases her master.’
Varik belched, picking a bit of meat from between his teeth with a toothpick. ‘And what concern is that of mine?’ he enquired.
‘Your girl will starve, master,’ she reminded him, ‘if master does not feed her.’
‘Indeed.’ He raised an eyebrow, as though this were some revelation. ‘Am I simply to give away my hard earned bread, then?’
‘No, master,’ she replied, with as much sarcasm as she could still manage. ‘Allow your girl to earn her pitiful allotment of food. Allow her to please you as a god.’
He exhaled uneasily, eying the half a loaf of bread and partially filled pot of soup. ‘For such a feast,’ he said, ‘a girl would have to be very pleasing indeed.’
Caralissa cast him a wicked glare, promising much. ‘Yes, master,’ she replied huskily, lowering herself to her belly on the dirt. ‘Your girl understands.’
Caralissa was prostrate, slithering her way to Varik’s feet. Her aching nipples chafed on the ground, her tender sex twitched with need.
‘I beg permission to kiss your feet,’ Caralissa said, her mouth ripe and needful.
‘Permission granted.’
Caralissa closed her eyes as she worked her lips over his skin. As far as she was concerned - her present anger aside - every part of Varik really was sacred to her. Gradually he allowed her higher up on his body, compelling her to bathe every inch of his feet and legs with her tongue.
How she longed to rush ahead to his manhood, skipping the rest of the preliminaries. And yet she knew she must earn that right, as she must earn the right even to beg, offering her willing body in exchange for food or beverage.
Varik was a ruthless master. Devious and harsh. He kept the reins tight. Though it was only a few days since they’d reunited, he had already tamed her considerably. Obedient and attentive, she was readily assuming her place as second in the household behind the boisterous Ahzur. To her surprise she was even becoming jealous of Varik’s attentions to the beast, the way he petted the animal, allowing it the privilege of lying beside him whenever it wished, the way he allowed it to eat and drink as it desired.
The first night she threw a fit when he revealed to her that if she were thirsty she would take water from Ahzur’s dish, lapping it with her tongue. All through the night, feverish and parched, she’d lain, chained in the dirt, too stubborn to move. Finally, shortly before dawn, humbled and desperate, she begged for the opportunity to use the once spurned dish.
‘Across my lap, wench,’ Varik told her now.
Caralissa shuddered, knowing immediately what he intended. Once again he would feed her under discipline, compelling her to beg for a spanking in order to receive a few measly scraps of bread.
‘Is Cara hungry?’ he asked, employing the diminutive she so hated.
‘Yes, master,’ she replied, her buttocks warming under the spread of his caressing fingers, ‘Cara is hungry.’
‘Bread is five strokes a bite tonight,’ he told her.
‘The rates have gone up,’ she noted. ‘Master.’
‘Inflation,’ he shrugged, applying his hand for the first stroke.
Though she did not wish him to see it, she was grinning. He was such a beast!
Her buttocks red and inflamed, she opened her mouth at last to receive the piece of bread. She licked his fingers as he fed it to her.
‘Are you ready to earn another?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘master.’
Bracing herself, she made a vow in her heart. Before the night was done she’d have the whole loaf - and a healthy dose of his semen as well.
‘I love you, master,’ she told him.
‘And I you,’ he acknowledged, his hand swatting her yet again. ‘And I you.’
Also Available
Enjoy more erotic fantasies by Reese Gabriel, also published by us at Chimera:
Dream Captive
Marcellus beheld the nude, golden-haired beauty spread-eagle on his bed. She was the very picture of male fantasy; her upturned bottom unbranded, unscarred, helpless to every predation; her back, virgin to the cat or long whip; her pussy, untouched by any mortal. The bonds that held her, silken cords from the boudoirs of the Talassian imperial court, only heightened the arousal factor. A lesser man would have taken his fill by now, claiming her maidenhood as his own. Marcellus, however, had a greater purpose. Or perhaps it was a lower one, more ignoble even than the potential ravishing of a captive nymph...
Tesra has spent her entire life on the Isle of Dreams, where no man has ever set foot. As a seer, Tesra is given to visions more valuable than gold, but when the daring pirate captain Marcellus steals her from her bath one morning, she learns quickly that she herself is just one more possession in the eyes of men.
After laying his strap upon her shapely buttocks to teach the blonde beauty her place, Marcellus takes her to his ship. Thrown into the hold with a bevy of jealous slave girls and faced with the cruel lusts of her kidnapper and his crew, Tesra soon finds herself forced to submit to the very depths of her being. Marcellus happily manipulates her, using her foresight to gain treasure, though unbeknown to both of them a powerful emperor is watching and biding his time. He wants the seer for his own and he will stop at nothing to obtain her.
Can Tesra ever hope to win back her freedom against such odds, or will she remain forever the Dream Captive?
Possessing Allura
‘A whip like this doesn’t just punish a female,’ he went on, Allura barely hearing his goading ramblings, ‘it fucks her.’
Allura accepted the handle pressed to her lips, and without being told she parted them and he pushed it deep, her jaw aching as her mouth filled with pungent leather. Frightening herself with her obedience she sucked, wanting the feel of it all the way to the back of her throat, the smell and taste of leather filling her nostrils and her mouth, mingling sickeningly with the dungeon keeper’s odor and the stench of the foreboding dungeon, and the constant pull of the cuffs on her wrists, pulling her body so vulnerably taut as she hung there.
‘How about it?’ He removed the saliva coated handle from between her lips. ‘Ready to be whipped?’
Princess Allura is spoiled and beautiful. Her guardian, the Grand Duke Fortragian, is powerless to stop her from abusing her hapless slaves and clueless suitors, and only the handsome Baron Montreico is strong enough to tame her.
Tricking Allura into a compromising kiss, he then invokes an ancient law requiring that the princess marry him. Still Allura thinks she will easily o
utwit the man, but Montreico turns the tables, placing her under a regimen of cruel and humiliating discipline. Denying her sexual satisfaction he treats her like an animal, making her beg for her most basic needs under pain of severe corporal punishment. His plan is to break her completely, converting her into a cringing sex slave while he seizes the crown for himself.
In the way, however, stand a sadistic priestess and a lust-filled god, both of whom have staked their own claims on the submissive princess.
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