by Dagny Aldan
“Ah –don’t!” Isabel groaned, pushing back into his touch as he started to fuck her ass with the toy. “Oh no… no don’t do that.”
Ahmed grinned against her skin,
“No? Then why are you trying to fuck yourself on this toy?”
Isabel froze, her mouth hanging open as she panted.
“I’m not!”
Ahmed pushed the toy back inside, pressing his fingertips to her rim, feeling the muscle twitching as it closed around the narrow handle. He pulled the toy out again, and swirled it against that ring of muscle before pushing in again.
“Oh, fuck, god!” Isabel shouted, slamming her hand against the wall.
“Beg me,” Ahmed commanded, repeating the swirl and push.
“No –god! Yes!”
Ahmed liked this fiery side to her, though it was not quite what he had been expecting from Lena’s reports. He grabbed the back of her chest harness and pulled, forcing her to arch her back even more, so only her belly was touching the wall. The toy was soaking his fingers in lube, and he was running out of patience.
“You know this toy does more than stretch your ass for cock, don’t you?” he purred.
“W-what?” stuttered Isabel. Ahmed caught some flesh between his teeth and flicked the button on the base. The toy began to vibrate, hard. Isabel let out a scream and her hands clawed at the wall. Ahmed braced her against the wall with his own body, enjoying the way she squirmed and struggled, pressing the toy against her walls. He knew she could feel that vibration in her teeth.
“Oh, oh gods, I c-can’t!” she wailed. Ahmed pulled her by the rope and growled,
“Beg me to turn it off and fuck you.”
“Please! Oh god, please turn it off and fuck me sir. Please, please, please!”
Ahmed flicked the toy off, catching Isabel when her legs gave out underneath her. He turned her around again, he wanted to see her face when he took her. Isabel’s pupils were blown, she looked wild and desperate, and she clung to his neck as if he was the only thing in the world to keep her alive. Ahmed pulled her leg around his hips again and lined his cock up to her opening.
“Beg me,” he repeated. He needed to hear her say it while he looked into her eyes. Isabel looked straight at him, her eyes were damp and soft, her mouth swollen and pouty. It felt like an eternity passed between them before she whispered,
“Please sir, fuck me.”
Ahmed claimed her mouth in a kiss, hungry and dominating while he nudged her opening with his cock. Only when he pulled away and looked into her eyes again did he enter her in one, hard thrust.
Isabel did not cry out as he had expected. Instead she gasped and seemed to stop breathing, her mouth opening and closing silently. Ahmed grit his teeth to keep control as her hot pussy gripped him tight. He reached down, grabbed the backs of her thighs so she was lifted off the floor and pulled out as slowly as he could, watching Isabel’s face as the flush in her cheeks deepened and she mouthed silently.
“Breathe Isabel, breathe,” he commanded and she sucked in a ragged breath as he filled her again. There was no more defiance in her eyes, real or pretend, just a desperate neediness. Her hands cupped the back of his head, burying her fingers in his hair, an intimate action that he normally would have stopped and punished her for. But instead he braced her against the wall and moved his hips as hard and slow as he could. Isabel gasped and grunted pitifully, her thighs tight on his waist.
“Do you understand your place now? Submissive and wanton, with me inside you?”
Isabel nodded,
“Yes, yes I understand.”
Ahmed groaned loudly, throwing his head back as he increased the speed of his hips. The tight warmth of her pussy was almost unbearable, and she was tensing with each thrust, squeezing him even more. It was exactly what he had imagined for years and he was not going to be able to last as long as he had intended.
“Touch yourself, play with your clit!” he ordered, because he could not do it himself while holding her up. Isabel obeyed at once, putting her hand between them,
“Oh –thank you!” she gasped without prompting. “Thank you Grand Duke.”
God she was so fucking submissive, so hot and tight. Ahmed gripped her thighs in a bruising grip.
“Come now, now Isabel!” he ordered, needing her to finish first to really conquer her.
“Yes Grand Duke!” she replied promptly, her hand working furiously on her clit, brushing his cock as he drove into her. Her thighs trembled, her back bowed and she let out a choked noise as her walls clenched around him. Ahmed covered her mouth with his, feeling like he was swallowing her pleasure as he came inside her. Claiming her for his own. He buried his cock as deep as he could as he filled her up, crushing his chest against her breasts.
“Mine,” he growled against her lips. Isabel nodded, but he knew she had no idea just how much he meant that. But she would learn. She would learn exactly what that meant.
Chapter Eleven –Isabel
Isabel stirred slowly, feeling warm and slightly stiff. There was an arm wrapped over her breasts, pulling her against a firm body. She opened her eyes and blinked hard. She knew exactly where she was, there was no confusion over it. It was just strange to realise that she was really in this place that Lena had told her so much about.
She shifted and peered over her shoulder. Ahmed was asleep behind her, holding her close and breathing softly into her hair.
He had shed his clothes after dropping her on the bed, something that had amused her slightly because he had thoroughly dominated her without taking off his shirt. Isabel shifted onto her back and stared at him, drinking him in now she had a chance.
At a guess he was probably in his early forties, older than Adrian, Sander or Hans. He was also softer in his form, not hard muscle like Hans had been, or even lean like Sander. Yet that did not mean he was any less attractive or commanding –if anything he was more commanding than anyone she had ever met.
Ahmed shifted and his eyes opened, finding Isabel’s at once. He frowned,
“Are you looking at me, slave?”
Isabel’s stomach gave a lurch and she quickly looked away.
“I’m sorry Grand Duke. I was admiring you.”
Ahmed huffed with amusement, sitting up and stretching. Isabel peeked at his back, smooth and tanned, as the muscles rippled under his skin. It was an appealing expanse and she wanted to touch it. Ahmed shifted to the edge of the bed and snapped his fingers.
“Suck me, slave.”
Isabel jumped and scrambled down onto the floor. She knelt before him and reached for his cock, already half hard. Since it was early morning, she guessed he would want something relaxing, gently rousing. So she took her time, gently massaging the length, then sticking her tongue out to swipe up and down a few times.
Ahmed made no sound, but she could feel his gaze on her face. She wanted to look at him, wanted to see his expressions shift as she worked, so she peered up. Ahmed was watching her with half-lidded eyes. He smirked when their eyes met.
“Cheeky slut, keep your mind on your work.”
“Hmph!” she hummed softly, looking down and concentrating on what she was doing. Ahmed stroked her hair and sighed in pleasure.
“You look so good like this Isabel, so natural. I bet it feels natural too, like you were always meant to be here?”
Isabel hummed softly, swirling her tongue around the head, but she was only half listening after he told her she looked good. She was pleasing him, that was all that mattered.
✽✽✽
When Ahmed had showered and dressed, with Isabel doing most of the work, he led her back downstairs where the slaves were already eating their breakfast. Ahmed directed her to join the female slaves and she crawled over to kneel next to Jingyi who gave her a quick smile before returning to her own meal. Isabel saw the pink marks on her back and wondered what had made them.
“Problem Isabel?” Justin was standing behind her, a cane in his hand. Isabel shook her head and
bent over her own bowl. Only as she ate the first bite did she realise how hungry she was. In minutes her bowl was clean and she sat back on her heels, her hands behind her back. Keeping her eyes lowered respectfully, Isabel peered up through her eyelashes at the Dukes and Duchesses who were eating at the table in front of her. Ahmed seemed to be engaging in an intimate conversation with Luke. Isabel wondered what they were talking about, maybe about her and how she had performed last night. But why would they? What was worth talking about? All things considered, she had not really done much to prove herself. Her ass wasn’t even red from Ahmed’s spanking.
Justin came back and tapped her shoulder with the cane. Isabel turned her head to him, but kept her eyes on his shoes.
“Finished? Good. You’re to come with me so I can show you the rest of the house.”
Isabel crawled after him as he led her into the main hallway.
“See this?” Justin indicated a set of stocks, like the kind in medieval times. “You don’t want to be in here. This is where a slave goes if she has really fucked up. You can be left here for several days if your actions are bad enough.”
Isabel stared at the dark, finely polished wood and shivered. The punishment was clearly intended to be public, right where everyone passed. Being stuck in that thing, unable to hide, with no other punishment to distract the mind, the idea was horrifying. Isabel vowed to herself that she would never fuck up that badly.
“Come on, I want to show you the punishment room,” said Justin. As she followed, Isabel found herself thinking back to her training in the military. Once her drill sergeant had abruptly ordered her to crawl through a long stretch of mud. She had obeyed, trying to go faster and faster as her drill sergeant had ordered her on. When she had finished and clambered to her feet, sweaty, filthy and panting, her drill sergeant had yelled in her face for twenty minutes for getting her uniform dirty.
“As you can see there’s a range of punishments for naughty slaves,” said Justin, gesturing around the room. Isabel blinked, pulling herself out of her head and looked around. Nothing was hidden here, she could see every tool that could be used on her hanging on the walls. Whips, floggers, paddles, knives, not to mention clamps, phalluses and vibrators. There were benches and tables, restraints and gags. Plenty of ways to make a slave suffer, especially if you had enough imagination.
Isabel looked at the tools and started to shake. She could take pain if it pleased her master, but if she was here, it would be because she had displeased him. But if her master enjoyed punishing her, if he did the same things her drill sergeant had done, then she would end up here.
“Onto the training room I think,” said Justin, though she could feel him eyeing her curiously.
This room was less forbidding, the lighting was softer and warmer, but the contents were much the same. The connection between pleasure and pain struck Isabel and she felt herself shake again but she could not articulate why.
Justin took her through the whole expanse of the house, and she learned where people slept, where smaller, more private scenes could happen, where the Esquires managed the running of the place. Finally she was brought to a large classroom.
“In here your status as a slave is lessened somewhat,” said Justin. “Here is where you and the others will study politics and discuss various policies. You’re allowed to argue and debate here, but you must remember that any emotions that are inflamed here must remain here. If you try to continue an argument outside these walls, you will end up in the punishment room.”
Isabel nodded in understanding, feeling slightly ill at the thought of having to debate with her peers, they had all been practising here long before she had arrived and she had never had a very good head for politics. A failing that had always been a great weight on her shoulders.
“Isabel? Are you all right?”
Isabel nodded again, her voice strangled with anxiety but her determination to be good overriding the anxiety enough to conceal it.
“Ok.” Justin did not sound entirely convinced, and Isabel resolved to do better at hiding it. “Normally you will help the other slaves clean up the house, it’s the Esquires’ jobs to organise the slaves’ duties, so look to them for guidance.”
That was something Isabel could do. Every soldier did menial work as a part of their service. Feeling slightly relieved she pressed her brow to the floor,
“Thank you Esquire Justin.”
Justin huffed a laugh,
“I can’t say that I’ve ever had a slave thank me for chores and sound like they mean it that much.”
Isabel chanced a peek up at Justin, who grinned down at her, his dark almond shaped eyes crinkling slightly. She smiled a little and kissed his boot, knowing he would like that. She was right, Justin hummed happily to himself and when she straightened up, he petted her hair like she was a cat.
“You’re a good girl really, aren’t you Isabel?”
“I want to be Esquire Justin,” said Isabel automatically. Justin hummed again, thoughtfully this time, but before he could speak, the door opened and the other slaves came crawling in. Isabel watched as they moved to their desks and then sat down. A desk near the back was left empty, and Isabel took the nudge from Justin as a hint to sit there. It put her near Benjamin, who threw her a covetous look that made her cheeks burn. Isabel had thought she would cease feeling embarrassed and flustered after being so exposed.
Benjamin licked his lower lip, his tongue stud catching the light. Isabel looked at the desk, remembering the feeling of that stud on her nipples.
“How was your first night Isabel?” Benjamin asked. Isabel glanced around, surprised to see that Justin had left. The slaves were alone. She looked back at Benjamin, who was smirking knowingly at her.
“It –it was good?” she said, her tone inflecting a question. She did not really want to give details. Benjamin scoffed,
“Come on Isabel, what did the Grand Duke do with you? He’s never had a slave on their first night before.”
“I… It was a role play, a conquering warrior and his war prize,” she told her desk. It was easier than looking at him.
“Did you suck his cock?”
Her face on fire, Isabel nodded.
“Did he let you come?”
Isabel nodded again, glancing around to find everyone watching her, looking gleeful. It was very like being called upon in school so many years before and Isabel did not like the experience.
“You don’t look very used,” said Rawiya in a scornful tone. “I don’t see more than a hickey on your neck. Can you not handle even a little strength?”
Isabel touched her neck where the hickey was as several of the slaves tittered. She wondered again if Ahmed had gone easy on her.
“I thought being a soldier meant you had to be tough,” Rawiya continued airily. “But I suppose when they realised who you were, they probably just gave you all the easy jobs, so you could just rise in the ranks without even trying.”
Rage cut through Isabel and she slammed her fist on the table. Several of the heirs jumped.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she snarled.
“Don’t I?” purred Rawiya, “Sounds like you’re feeling defensive, Isabel.”
“Grow up Rawiya,” sighed Sander, turning in his seat near the front. “Isabel served, she’s got the scars to prove it-”
“She could have gotten those scars in Bootcamp, she always was clumsy,” said Rawiya, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Isabel’s hand drifted to her arm where the bullet had hit her and she remembered Bootcamp. She shuddered and dug her nails into the desk, her heart pounding like she had been running for miles.
She shifted on her hard chair and wished that she could feel more pain. She wished Ahmed had caned her raw because it would have quieted her mind.
The door opened and Duke Luke came in, a tablet under his arm.
“Settle down,” he said, and the slaves instantly became silent and still. “Today we’re going to be discussing the f
orms of government and compare their benefits and weaknesses.”
Isabel watched as Luke lit up the large electronic white board. Two pictures appeared, one of an Elected Leader from the 21st Century, who Isabel recognised but could not remember the name of, and the other of a stone bust of a Roman, Julius Caesar Isabel thought.
“Now, the concepts we are going to be talking about today are handed down to us from Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome. Democracy means ‘rule of the people’ in its original Greek, while Dictator comes from the Latin “one who gives orders”. Democracy is relatively self-explanatory, but let us consider the history of the term Dictator. After all, a monarchy can easily be viewed as a dictatorship, as can an autocracy, depending on how the leader, i.e. the one who gives orders, behaves.”
It was an interesting class, and a few times Isabel found herself wanting to question or argue a point, but she kept quiet. The rest of the class was apparently happy to argue with Luke and each other, but Isabel had never liked to talk in class years before, and that did not seem to have changed. Once or twice she thought Luke eyed her expectantly, but the sensation came and went in seconds.
After three hours, Luke called an end to the class and dismissed them all. At once the slaves dropped to their knees and crawled out of the room. Isabel copied them, wondering where she was to go, but Luke called her back. She crawled to where he was standing at the top of the room and sat back on her heels.
“Well Isabel, what did you think of your first class?”
“It was very interesting Duke Luke, I know I will learn a lot from you.” Isabel swallowed and then said in a quieter voice, “I need a lot of teaching. I’m wholly unprepared for my future role.”
“Is that so?” asked Luke, his tone unreadable. “I would have expected time in the military would have given you some working knowledge in good social order.”
“The military is a unique place, it’s not the same as the real world,” said Isabel honestly. “You’re not meant to question orders, you just obey. But in politics, you must question everything to be sure you’re doing the best thing for your people, and if you’re the Commanding Officer, you must be willing to be questioned.”
