THE TAMING OF JAELLE'N

by Deidre O'Dare

  His skin there felt satiny-smooth and yet almost plush as if it were sueded leather or velvet. Beneath that covering, steely heat pulsed with his blood. In her clasp, she felt him grow even harder and thicker. Slowly, she stroked her hand along his length. So hot he felt that she marveled her hand did not burn from the contact. And he was so big! Although she felt a hollow hungry ache inside, he would never fit there. It was not possible.

  With a sharp hiss, he drew in a breath between his teeth as he straightened. He'd been leaning slightly back, supporting himself with extended arms, hands flat on the tiles. Now he leaned forward and settled his hands on her shoulders. Still holding his shaft, she looked up at him. His face was so close. She could see the golden flecks in his deep brown eyes, each individual curling dark eyelash, the elegant lines of his angular yet full lips, gold tinted with russet, darker than his beardless cheeks and smoother in texture. His breath whispered across her face, sweetly scented with mint.

  Her lungs felt depleted of air. She opened her mouth to gasp for breath just as his lips settled over hers. He brushed a series of soft nibbling kisses across her mouth, then sucked her lower lip between his and traced his tongue across it. Then his tongue probed the hollows inside first her lower, then her upper lip, swept slowly along her teeth, and finally thrust into her mouth in a demanding stroke, slipping across her tongue as he thoroughly tasted her.

  Had the pool suddenly become boiling hot or was it only the blaze of her aroused flesh, the ardent friction of her blood surging through her body and heating her to the skin? Sparks of energy danced along her nerves from his hands, from his lips, from the hot hunger that appeared in his eyes, turning them molten as he gazed down at her.

  Fire swept through her, awakening an ache in the depth of her body. Surely his powerful tool would never fit within her, but she knew an emptiness that longed to be filled, a hollow seeking sensation that had her hips rocking, reaching for him as he slid from the wall to stand before her, even closer now.

  His hands swept in a smooth stroke from her shoulders down to her buttocks. He cupped them in a firm clasp, lifted her and brought her against him. Her feet left the solid bottom of the pool, and acting purely on instinct, she lifted her legs and clasped them around his hips. This brought her still closer to the urgent probing of his cock. It moved against her belly, tracing the painted pattern and brushing into the tangle of coppery curls below the design.

  She squirmed in his grip, rocking back to tilt her pelvis forward. Off balance and dizzy, she clutched at his shoulders, but her hands found little purchase on his slick wet skin, still slippery with soap. He pulled his mouth free of hers and laughed.

  "Give o'er the death grip, Jayla, and move with me. It will be easier for us both."

  Perhaps he can fit, at least he has started to. The tip of him was there, pushing past her pouting nether lips to the slick hot passage between them. He shifted, his thigh muscles bunching in the grip of her legs. That thrust took him deeper. For an instant she felt a tearing pain, a pain which had her inner muscles clenching as she tensed, but it passed in less than a heartbeat. Then with a strong thrust, he entered her fully, sheathed himself to the hilt.

  There was no more emptiness as her body stretched to accommodate him, giving and yielding, yet clutching as they rocked, a motion which caused him to withdraw to her brink and thrust inward again, each time seeming to go deeper than before. At the very nexus of her being, a circle of rippling sensation began. Like waves it moved outward, growing stronger and deeper until her whole body shuddered and flexed, every muscle taut and stretched, reaching and waiting.

  Her body arched as she keened out a wild cry, hardly recognizing the sound came from her own throat as the waves crested and erupted from her in a spasm of release. Moments later, with a final fierce thrust, she felt him spurt inside her, then the subtle relaxation of his body, so close now she scarcely knew where she ended and he began.

  For a long moment he held her, still locked closely together. Her legs trembled, feeling as limp as soaked parchment. She loosed their clasp around him and let her limbs slide down his body until her feet met the pool bottom. He eased his grasp on her butt and shifted his hands back to her waist, holding on until she found her balance and could support her own weight. He studied her in silence, his dark eyes again opaque, no discernible expression on his face.

  Her hands fell away from his shoulders and dropped to her sides. She waited, looking up at him, wondering what happened now, where they would next go. Had he been pleased with her? Had she responded well, or committed some unknown transgression?

  At last he smiled, a teasing sparkle brightening his eyes. "The slave Jayla is no longer a virgin."

  She felt herself blush scarlet as the truth of his statement swept over her. The act had happened almost too quickly, after the seemingly endless hours and days of anticipation. In the afterglow, she felt wonderful, weak and shaken, but wonderful. She'd like to do it again, soon, slowly...so that she could extract every subtle nuance of sensation and--

  Aguilar startled her when he ducked into the water, splashing around to make the waves remove the residue of soap from his skin. He came up spluttering and shook like a dog, sending sheets and splatters of water flying everywhere from his head and body. He laughed aloud at her squeak of surprise as she scuttled to one side.

  "Does the slave fear to get wet?"

  He started for the steps, but paused to cool the water until it was almost chilly against her heated skin before he climbed out.

  With a wave of his hand, he indicated a shelf heaped high with fluffy towels. "Hurry slave, and dry me."

  Jaelle'n hastened to obey. Her euphoria faded with the realization that she was still merely a slave, still subject to her master's whim, to his command and desire, without recourse. For a few moments she had pretended it was like a wedding night, a happy joining built on love. How foolish she had been. Jayla the slave was no longer a virgin. A pleasure slave, of course, could not be a virgin.

  That much he had accomplished in a few short, hectic moments. As she patted and rubbed to remove the water from Aguilar's strong sleek body, she pondered. If she could undo the last hour, would she do so?

  She mentally counted the days she had spent here, the days she had been on the road from her capture to the block in Challabadur. This was high summer--the day she would have been wed, the night she would have...

  How would her wedding night have been, had she been joined to a man of her father's choosing?

  He might have been old. Well, perhaps not old but certainly not a youth, handsome and virile. The tried war leaders who had served beneath her father's command were all mature, now valued more for wisdom and experience than merely their prowess with weapons. Such a man would not likely have been as deft and powerful in her deflowering as Aguilar. Could he, that faceless husband, have made her body sing in the same way? Somehow she could not imagine anyone else could or would. Nay, given the choice, she would change none of it at all.

  When she finished drying him, Aguilar took the towel from her and briskly rubbed it over her body. He dried her thoroughly, missing no part that had become wet in the pool. Her flesh still tingled with the remnants of her arousal, quivered at the stroke of the fabric across each sensitive place, but he might as well have been rubbing down a weary horse. He gave no notice to her tension. Once done, he tossed aside the towel, turned and strode into his bedchamber. Jaelle'n followed, her steps slowing as uncertainty seized her.

  Had fear not stilled her tongue, she would have babbled foolishness. Perhaps tried to tease love words or at least a few kind ones from Aguilar, but she did not dare. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective panel across the room, and saw the henna-painted pattern had not washed off, nor could she detect any change in her appearance. How could that be? She had been changed in a monumental way, and yet there was no overt sign.

  Still, given the choice, she would undo none of it.

  Chapter 6


  Closer Still To Aguilar

  * * *

  Aguilar strode directly to the bed and flopped down on the satiny coverlet. The fact that he was totally nude did not seem to disturb him at all. Jaelle'n halted, giving herself a moment to enjoy his masculine beauty. Her first impression yet remained--he truly was magnificent. Many big men were either over-muscled or simply tall and skinny, all knobby limbs like a young pine tree.

  Not Aguilar. He had the sleek athletic form of a more compact man, perfectly proportioned to his height. His long-fingered hands, folded for the moment on his bare golden chest, were those of an artist, a musician. Yet he had told her he'd been a warrior and he had scars to prove it, no horrible gaudy scars, but white lines marring the smooth skin here and there. All that besides the network of flogging marks upon his back. The way he lay now, those scars were out of sight.

  A master sculptor had graven his face--its strong clean lines unmarred by the bearded style favored by the Cymryddan men. His hairless lean cheeks and firm jaw line had seemed exotic at first, but now Jaelle'n preferred that to hairy faces. Aye, he was an altogether beautiful male specimen, and for the moment he was hers.

  "What are you waiting for, Slave?"

  His sharply spoken question jolted her out of her contemplation of his esthetic perfection. "Your wishes, Master. I know not what you desire."

  For several heartbeats he continued to look at her, his face still, his eyes revealing nothing. Tension tickled along her nerves. Without intending to, she began to move and found herself dancing. Perhaps not strictly dancing, since there was no music to which she could move, but a rhythm built itself in her mind and her feet and body followed it.

  She glided and twisted, bending and swooping, tracing her hands along her body. One hand moved down the opposite arm and paused just short of her breast. Then the other slipped down her side and across her belly, fingertips skimming the edge of the coppery thatch between her thighs. She arched and tossed her head, flinging her hair in a flaming swirl across her shoulders. The golden wristlets and ankle bands gleamed and flashed in the soft light as she moved. She clashed her wrists lightly together and the bands rang like small brass bells.

  Daring a quick glance at Aguilar, she saw him smile and noted his shaft begin to stir from its dark nest. The night was far from over. She had rested most of the day and was more than ready and able to continue her lessons in pleasure. It seemed he would soon be ready to give them.

  She briefly danced faster, then began to slow into a series of sinuous, languid movements that brought her to the side of the bed, left her with her thighs against the edge of the silken coverlet. The fabric felt smooth and cool against her skin.

  In a single swift and powerful twist, Aguilar sat up, swung his legs off the bed and caught her shoulders in his hands. In an instant, he brought her between his knees, and with a gentle push, dropped her to hers on the plush rug. This brought her face-to-face with his rod, now beginning to stiffen and pulse as she watched.

  He took his tarse in one hand and put his other hand behind her head, steadying her. Then he brushed the tip of his shaft across her lips. She inhaled the musky scent he exuded as his silken softness brushed her face. She wondered how something so forceful could yet feel so magically gentle. The skin seemed as tender as that of a wee bairn, yet this short sword of his had pierced her with the power of a battering ram!

  There was no end of wonders about this Aguilar, this golden master of hers. He teased her until her lips opened of their own volition to encompass the head of his cock. He gave her time to grow accustomed to the pressure as he slowly eased more of his length into her mouth. For a moment she felt a stir of panic as the tip hit the back of her throat. She gasped to try to draw air past the barrier.

  "Easy, Jayla. I'll not hurt you, not choke you on this your first time. Simply taste and feel me. It is a method of pleasuring that many masters enjoy. Relax your neck, your throat and let me move a little."

  When she did as he bade, she quickly found the panic abated. The silken slide of his shaft in and out of her mouth was not unpleasant, nor was the slightly salty flavor of his skin. She felt a stir of regret when he pulled free, recognizing that he was not yet satisfied.

  "There is no need to hurry," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "Drawing out the pleasure as long as possible simply heightens the ultimate thrill."

  He showed her how to run her tongue along his length, how to hold him in her hand and slide the skin along his shaft with a gentle drawing tug, how to tickle the taut sacs beneath it in a way that made his rod tighten and quiver. As she followed Aguilar's instructions in ministering to him, Jaelle'n felt herself growing more and more aroused.

  Her breasts tingled and an itchy pressure built within her body. She shifted slightly, rubbing her thighs together as she toyed with Aguilar, feeling the little bud at the front of her slit quiver and harden, almost as his shaft did.

  Finally, he reached again for her shoulders and pushed her back on her heels. "Enough," he said, almost in a growl. "Are you too sore to take me again? I know I broke your passage for the first time, and for some, it is painful. I do not want to cause you needless anguish, but you seem to be eager again."

  How she hated that tendency to blush. By now there should be no shred of modesty or timidity left, but she felt her cheeks heat as a wash of fire poured over her face and throat. "Aye," she whispered. "This slave is again eager, ready, or so she feels. The hurt will not be that unbearable. The need is greater."

  Seemingly without effort, he lifted her to straddle his lap. She rested one knee on the bed outside each of his sleek thighs, her bottom coming to rest on his hard legs. At that intimate touch, a flare of urgency poured over her. She wriggled, seeking to open herself to him. Feeling a sting with the first probing thrust, she nibbled her lip, drew in a breath as tender flesh stretched tight and a flicker of pain danced along her nerves. He hesitated.

  She shook her head. "No, 'tis all right. Do not stop. It only took me a moment to make room for you."

  He laughed softly. "There is more elasticity in your passage than you imagine, Jayla. Remember, it must stretch enough to let a babe come forth to birth. Though that will not be necessary for some time yet. With herbs and spells, Tanaya has ensured that no man's seed would take root in any of you while you are here."

  She nodded, mesmerized by the sensations as he rocked her, stroking in and out again. The tenderness eased as the pleasant sensations built ever higher and her body quickened with growing eagerness, tension spiraling into a wild rising spin like a waterspout at sea or a whirlwind on land.

  When she was sure the feelings could not get any more intense, Aquilar paused in his gradually accelerating thrusts. Holding her by the hips, he lifted her until only the tip of his cock remained within her. As if she hung in space, she waited, almost unable to breathe as she looked down into his face, avid now with passion, eyes dark and deeper than a seemingly bottomless mountain tarn in her homeland. He gave a wolfish smile, then brought her down sharply, thrusting into her even deeper than he had gone before.

  She cried out, caught by surprise and expecting pain that did not come. Instead her senses exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns that swirled in her eyes, blinding her to all except awareness of the frantic spasms of her body. From the womb outward, she felt the convulsive writhing of her inner muscles, so savage in their force she thought she would be turned inside out, and yet the feelings were incredibly pleasurable, for all their intensity. Surging into her one final fierce time, Aguilar gave a soft grunting moan as she felt his explosion within her.

  Exhaustion washed over her as suddenly as a tidal wave. She slumped forward to rest on Aguilar's heaving chest. His arms folded around her in an embrace that felt curiously tender, and he allowed her to rest for long moments. They had both fallen back to breathing in a normal pattern, and the beat of his heart beneath her ear had slowed to a steady, even rhythm. She was near to drifting off to sleep before he stirred a
nd spoke.

  Rolling, he set her aside and leaned up on one elbow beside her. "You prove an apt pupil, Jayla. I expected as much, but you almost exceed my expectations. The moment I sighted you in the square at the Challabah, I saw in you the qualities that could make an equally great mistress or slave. In truth, the line between is not as sharp and clear as one might expect. But for fate, it could be you who was the owner with a male crawling at your feet to be tamed by your lash and your wiles." His tone held a musing quality, almost wistful.

  She turned to look at him, unsure just what he was about with such remarks. "The Master finds the slave Jayla pleasing?"

  He shrugged one shoulder in a negligent fashion. "Of course. I would not waste time on one I felt had no great promise. You will leave here fit for any prince or pasha, a prize worthy of a royal ransom. The skills you will learn here coupled with your beauty and rare coloring will work in our favor. You should find a master who will cherish you, while I will add much gold to the coffers of the House of Aguilar."

  His tone had turned smug and arrogant. The dreamy pleasant sense of security that had come over her while she rested in Aguilar's embrace vanished like a wisp of fog before the sun's heat. In its place, a mixture of bitter anger and dejection poured over her. Once again she had been coldly reminded of her status and the fact that she as a person had no value, only the monetary gain that could be found through her worth as chattel. She clenched her fists in futile wrath, fighting down the betraying sting of tears in her eyes.

  It seemed that Aguilar's eyes now held amusement, and even a touch of scorn. That she meant so little to him hurt more than she wished to admit. Weary and sore though she was, her body still hummed with awareness of him, with an unsated desire to touch him, taste and smell him, whether she groveled at his feet or lavished erotic attentions over his beautiful form. While she hated the fact he had such hold over her, she admitted privately that she had no defense against this peculiar inclination. Why did she feel this need and urgency that brought her to a new and unexpected state of defenselessness? Although she liked it not, she was powerless to resist. She exhaled a slight sigh.