by Dagny Aldan
“Have you ever served Mikael?” he asked his cellmate.
“Hm?” grunted Mikael, jerking awake.
“Have you ever served?”
“No,” he grumbled, “Never wanted to.”
“Why do you think people join?”
“Why did you?” asked Mikael.
“It gave me opportunity that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I wasn’t very well off, and didn’t know where I wanted to go. My father suggested the army might give me purpose.”
“Well there you go,” said Mikael and Hans heard him roll over. “Good night.”
Hans considered for a moment, then said,
“Why would someone who has the best education in the world, who knows exactly what they are going to be when they grow up, who has no natural inclination for the military life, join up?”
“I dunno,” grunted Mikael, “Maybe you should have asked the princess when you had the chance?”
Hans grimaced. The reason for his incarceration was only somewhat known. The other inmates knew Hans had worked for the royal family and had committed treason, but they didn’t seem to know that Hans had been Isabel’s bodyguard and they certainly didn’t know he had been sleeping with Isabel. Mikael continued,
“Strangest thing I’d ever heard when that news broke. The girl was nothing like a soldier. Yet there she was, uniform and all. Mind you she grew into that pretty good. You see some of the pictures of her these days? Gone from fat to fit.”
Hans grunted in false amusement,
“But why did she join in the first place?” he asked aloud.
“Who knows,” yawned Mikael. “Now shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”
Hans let him be, but he turned the questions over in his mind. Had anyone really asked Isabel why she had joined the military? Asked her properly, not as a way of shaming or criticising her? Would Isabel even be able to articulate the reason? She had never seemed clear on anything to do with her time before coming to the palace.
The more Hans thought about it the more uneasy he felt. Despite all the time he had spent with Isabel, had he really taken time to understand her needs outside of the bedroom? He had been protective, but was that really enough?
Hans rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Wherever he had messed up with Isabel, he would figure out how to be better for her. He would find a way to make them work, whatever he had to do.
Chapter Six –Justin
Justin took his place among the other Esquires who were standing along one wall. The slaves knelt before the Dukes and Duchesses who were all sitting on ornate chairs. Justin always thought it was strange how vulnerable the slaves seemed to be just kneeling in a group like this. So many young, submissive faces before him, and yet he was struck by Isabel’s submissiveness. She seemed very desperate to please. Strangely, he was not sure if that was a good thing.
Grand Duke Ahmed entered the room, bringing Isabel by her leash. They went to the centre of the room and the Grand Duke had Isabel kneel in front of him, her arms behind her back and her eyes lowered. Justin could see the faint trembling that seemed to have overtaken Isabel and wondered what was making her so nervous. She had not been overly phased by his immediate dominance earlier. Maybe she was nervous of being made to perform in front of an audience.
“Welcome everyone,” said Ahmed. “Today we will be welcoming our newest and final heir to the Dukedom. Isabel of Tisza has been brought here by Duchess Lena, who has graciously agreed to my inducting Isabel into the Dukedom.”
The Dukes and Duchesses applauded and Justin watched Lena preen. He narrowed his eyes at her in distaste. He had never really liked Lena. She was vain and did not really seem to take her role as a Duchess as seriously as Justin thought she ought to. She enjoyed the status it gave her, but did not seem to care otherwise. He turned his eyes back to Ahmed and Isabel. She was still shaking slightly and Ahmed was staring down at her hungrily. Justin would find the stare unnerving if it were directed at him.
Ahmed reached down and curled his fingers under Isabel’s jaw, lifting her head so they could see her face. She was pale and determinedly staring down at the floor. Was she trying to seem as submissive as possible, or was she trying to avoid looking any anyone else in the room? Justin suspected it was both. Isabel had seemed terrified at the idea that she would be with her peers, which he found odd. There was no record of any real discord between her and the others when they had been in school.
“I’ve been running in my mind,” said Ahmed in his calm, soothing voice, “Just what would be most fitting for the last heir’s welcome. Lena has told me such things that I could probably do just about anything and this little slave would submit to it. However, we are not here to inflict unnecessary suffering. We are here to teach submission to the heirs of the world. True submission is not just gritting your teeth and bearing it, it’s about giving yourself over to your masters, knowing that they know what’s best for you.”
Still holding Isabel’s chin, Ahmed slid his other hand over her cheek, before giving it a little smack.
“Slave Isabel, are you ready to be welcomed?”
Isabel’s breathing was rapid, her eyes were darting everywhere but at the other heirs, and it seemed for a moment that she wasn’t listening to Ahmed. Everyone watch with baited breath. Then Isabel said in a small, nervous voice,
“Yes sir, I’m ready.”
“Excellent!” Ahmed let her go and clicked his fingers. Justin watched two of the lower ranking esquires pull forward the gynaecology chair. It was high backed with adjustable parts that allowed the slave to be restrained in almost any position. Justin raised an eyebrow, curious about what Ahmed had planned. His speech suggested that he would not be using pain very much to welcome Isabel, which surprised Justin. Ahmed was excellent with every implement for pain in the Dukedom, from floggers to clamps to knives.
“Stand up Isabel,” said Ahmed, picking up some ice-blue silk rope. Isabel stood and bowed her head again. Justin could see she was still trembling. Ahmed started to wrap the rope around her ribcage just under her breasts, then between them. Isabel moved as he directed her, her blonde hair hiding her face as Ahmed cinched her breasts with the rope so they were framed and bulging, making them stand out, the blue of the rope bright against her tanned skin.
“Wrists,” said Ahmed, binding her wrists together in front of her. “Bend forward.”
Isabel bent, her hair covering her face completely. Ahmed moved her arms around for a few moments until they were above and slightly behind her head. He took the trailing rope of her wrist tie and started to gather her hair up, twisting it around the rope, exposing Isabel’s face. Justin smirked as he saw the moment she realised she had lost her veil. When Ahmed was done, all of Isabel’s blonde hair was plaited around the rope.
“Up you get,” he told her, holding the rope between her wrists and head, pulling her to the chair. Isabel had to hop and squirm to get onto it without her hands, flushing red when a few of the Duchesses giggled. Her shaking was getting worse. Justin was starting to understand Ahmed’s plan as he pulled her wrists up and over the back of the chair and secured them. Isabel could not move her head in any direction, she was forced to face the crowd that was staring at her, and she clearly did not like it. Ahmed strapped her legs down to the chair, then pulled a lever, which made them swing apart.
Isabel jerked violently, a wordless cry of panic escaping her mouth as her pussy was exposed to everyone. She strained to pull her legs back together, clearly losing her head in the moment, her eyes practically rolling in their sockets.
“My, my, that won’t do,” said Ahmed, picking up a riding crop and bringing it down on Isabel’s left breast. Isabel yowled and froze, her eyes landing on him and staying there. “Don’t disappoint us so early Isabel,” said Ahmed, tracing the tip of the crop against her inner thigh, which trembled. “We want to see you. Your lovely big breasts that are just begging to be toyed with, your greedy little pussy that’s already wet with need, and of course
, your asshole, that Lena tells me is desperate to be filled.” He moved the crop tip over her bulging breasts, then dragged it over her pussy and asshole in turn, pressing against the small opening as Isabel strained against the restraints, her face bright red and her eyes shiny with tears. Justin almost felt sorry for her as she visibly struggled to submit to this exposure. Ahmed was merciless as he pulled the crop away and moved the stirrups as far apart as he could.
“Move your hips forward Isabel, we want to see your asshole and your pussy clearly.”
Isabel squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her hips so she was sitting back more, her asshole clearly visible beneath the folds of her pussy. Justin licked his lips, remembering the soft warmth of her pussy and he wished he had taken more time to toy with it. Ahmed leaned forward and slapped her cheek twice, saying,
“Open your eyes Isabel, and do not close them again.”
Once again Isabel visibly struggled to obey. Her breasts strained against the ropes squeezing them and her teeth were clamped together, but she did open her eyes. Ahmed touched her cheek before turning to the crowd.
“Look at this lovely creature we have presented for us today. She seems a little shy, doesn’t she?”
The Dukes and Duchesses tittered and Isabel looked at the ceiling, her face bright red. Ahmed turned back to her and lifted the crop again.
“We’ll just have to break through that shyness.”
Chapter Seven -Isabel
Isabel thought she was going to pass out in horror. It felt like the whole world was looking at her, staring at her and judging her. Her heart was racing and her chest strained against the rope harness as her breathing came in quick, panicked pants.
‘Please don’t let me have a panic attack, not here, not now!’ she thought desperately. A bite of pain in her thigh make her jerk and she looked at Ahmed. If she could just keep her attention on him and not on the others, she would be fine. Ahmed lifted the crop and pressed it to her mouth. Isabel opened it and he placed the crop between her teeth.
“Don’t let it drop my dear,” he said softly. Isabel nodded, wincing at the pull of her hair. Ahmed touched her brow and traced a finger over her face. “So pretty…”
Isabel whimpered, watching his face as he moved over her neck and cupped her left breast, squeezing it with splayed fingers until it became painful and Isabel grunted in relief. Yes, pain was grounding, pain would help. Being able to take pain was not shameful. Ahmed’s lips quirked up and Isabel thought she saw something wicked flash across his eyes. Her stomach gave a lurch and she dug her teeth into the crop. Ahmed moved to the side and then he was gone. Isabel tried to follow him with her eyes, but she could not turn her head.
“Look forward Isabel,” Ahmed commanded behind her. Isabel gulped around the crop and forced herself to look at the people gathered before her. The slaves kneeling in neat rows, the Dukes and Duchesses sitting behind them, sipping from fluted glasses, their eyes all fixed on her. Isabel looked from one face to the other, her panic returning as she met Rawiya’s scornful eyes.
“Now, now,” crooned Ahmed, his hand sliding around to trace the length of her throat. “None of that Isabel. Are you ashamed to be seen naked before your old classmates?”
The crowd made soft noises of interest while Isabel tried to think of an answer that was both honest and correct.
“Do you think you’re above them?” asked Ahmed softly. Isabel shook her head frantically. The last thing she needed was for her peers to think she was looking down her nose at them. Ahmed’s hand trailed down to her right nipple and he circled it with his fingertips. Slowly and gently he rubbed at the nub almost tickling it into pebbling. Isabel grimaced, she didn’t like this gentle touch. It was annoying but not distracting.
“Do you think you’re beneath them, I wonder,” murmured Ahmed. Isabel’s eyes began to burn. She wanted to beg him not to ask her these questions, because she did not know the answers. Ahmed pressed closer, his chest against her bound hands.
“Look at these breasts,” he said in a louder voice and Isabel flinched. “Aren’t they lovely? So firm and full, with these big, dark nipples.” He cupped her breasts and lifted them up to show the audience. Isabel arched her back, straining against the bonds automatically. She tried to concentrate on his touch, the feel of his fingers, rough callouses and strong grip. They would feel so good hitting her ass, or stretching her open.
“Benjamin, come here,” called Ahmed. Benjamin stood up at once, but there seemed to be a murmur of surprise. Isabel forced herself to look at him, to try not to feel ashamed at how, even naked and encased in a chastity device, he still looked commanding. “Benjamin, do you like Isabel’s breasts.”
“Yes Grand Duke,” said Benjamin in a carrying voice.
“Would you like to suck them?” asked Ahmed.
“Yes Grand Duke.”
“Then do so,” said Ahmed, still holding Isabel’s breasts in his hands. Isabel’s eyes widened as Benjamin stepped forward and bent down, sucking her left nipple into his mouth. Isabel sighed softly, squirming as she felt the soft, wet muscle of his tongue circle the nipple, sending soft ripples of pleasure through her body. The hard metal piercing was strange as it caught the very centre of her nipple, making her jump. Benjamin’s hands were clenched on the edge of the seat, she could feel the heat of his skin just brushing her pussy. Or was she imagining that?
Benjamin moved to her other nipple, giving it just as much attention, making Isabel squirm against the chair, her eyes fixed on the top of his dark head.
“Look up Isabel,” Ahmed crooned in her ear, “Look up and see all the eyes upon you.”
Isabel did not want to obey, but she knew she had to. The struggle to lift her gaze was unbelievable, she had to fight every instinct she had to tilt her head up and look out at the crowd. So many eyes… so many faces… she trembled violently. Benjamin let go of her nipple for a moment, then smoothed his pierced tongue over it.
“How do her breasts taste Benjamin?” asked Ahmed. Benjamin lifted his head, his chin brushing the swell of her breast.
“Lovely Grand Duke, may I continue?”
“No, switch places with me,” said Ahmed, letting her breasts go and moving around to stand next to Isabel. Benjamin moved behind her and cupped her breasts, his hands softer and smoother than Ahmed’s. Ahmed ran his hand over her stomach, dragging his fingertips across her navel, making her twitch. Finally his hand moved down and he touched the tip of her clit. Isabel tensed, her eyes searching for Lena, or for Adrian or Sander, someone familiar but before she could find them, Ahmed pushed his finger inside her and she let out a cracked noise. The crop nearly fell from her mouth but she managed to tilt her head back and reassert her grip.
“Hmm, lovely,” said Ahmed, working the finger inside her. Isabel groaned and her feet flexed helplessly as the wet arousal grew with every stroke of his finger. “Benjamin, Isabel’s not looking at her audience, help her fix that.”
“Yes Grand Duke.” Benjamin let go of her breasts and curled his fingers around her head, forcing her to look at the crowd again. They were all watching Ahmed’s finger moving in and out of her body, and for a moment Isabel had a strange out of body experience. She felt she could see what they saw. Her legs splayed apart, her breasts bouncing slightly with every breath, the glide of Ahmed’s finger in her pussy.
Isabel moaned loudly around the crop and pushed her hips forward into the finger. Ahmed responded by pressing a second finger inside her and increasing the speed. Isabel pulled on the ropes holding her down, yanking at her own hair as she tried to rock into him, unable to stay quiet anymore.
“Such a lovely slut,” said Ahmed casually, “Eager to show your greedy pussy to us all, aren’t you?”
Isabel wanted to shake her head but Benjamin held her steady. Her breathing was getting heavier as she felt the gathering pressure that warned her of an orgasm. Could she come? Did she have permission to come? No one had told her if she needed permission. She let out a questioning
noise, arching her back. Ahmed did not reply, he just pinched her nipple with his free hand. Isabel’s mouth opened with a cry, and the crop slipped forward. Isabel managed to catch it with her tongue and drag it back, but only barely.
Laughter rang out through the room and burning embarrassment went to war with the pleasure inside her. Ahmed twisted his fingers inside her and pressed on her clit with his thumb. Isabel’s breath caught in her chest and she could not force it in or out. But while her lungs were frozen, the rest of her body was alive and writhing. The pressure in her core was growing and growing, she was going to come any second now and she did not know if she could. She clenched her hands into fists, her toes curled down and she forced her body to still. It was the only way she could hold it off, her whole body tense as a pulled bow string, sweat rolling down her face.
Ahmed stilled too, his fingers buried inside her.
“Oooh, poor thing, look how hard you’re trying to hold off that orgasm,” he crooned. “You know you need permission, don’t you Isabel?”
Isabel couldn’t reply, her whole focus was on holding that orgasm at bay. She was trembling so much she was making the chair shake, her body so taut she was lifting right off the chair. Please, she wanted to beg, please let me come. But she could not even make a sound, she was too tense.
“Look at me Isabel,” Ahmed ordered, and his voice had changed, it was deeper, rougher. Isabel’s eyes flicked to his face and found him staring at her with such intensity she was almost afraid of it. Ahmed pressed his final finger into her and pressed so hard she could feel his third knuckles sliding inside her, right down to the joint of his thumb. She bit into the crop so hard she was in danger of snapping it or her teeth. That terrible pressure was swirling faster and faster inside her, her body trembling violently. She needed to let go or she would pass out from lack of air.
Ahmed leaned over her, taking up her whole vision, his face inches from hers. Black spots were dancing in her eyes, and Ahmed dragged his hand out of her with aching slowness.
