by Sierra Dafoe
“You escaped?” Soleyla was painfully aware of the rock at her back, the massive man before her. Heat radiated off his body, warm and distinct in the cool night. Stars sparkled over the line of his shoulder, high and far away. A wave of desire flowed through her at his nearness, and she closed her eyes to conceal it. To respond so to a man, a slave! She should be mortified at her body’s response.
But she wasn’t.
And he was no slave.
She felt, rather than saw, him nod. If he moved any closer, she’d be pressed against him, able to feel his massive chest against her cheek. But the sword still lay between them, the cold steel hardening her nipples.
“I escaped. And I saw what they did to my men.”
Sixty Guardians of the rank and file, women who could never afford, as she had, to bring a pleasure-slave with them. Sixty Guardians and three men like this one? It took no great imagination for Soleyla to picture what had happened.
The man’s grip tightened on her arm. “They used them unmercifully, until my men begged for death. Their screams haunt me, even now.”
“I’m sorry,” Soleyla whispered, realizing even as she said the words that they were true. What had been done to those men was as bad as what her mother had done to Kantou. Worse, even. They’d used the men’s own bodies against them, forcing their captives to betray themselves on the most fundamental level.
Yes, she could imagine what that might be like.
“Sorry?” He spat into the dark. “I saw you! You and your pleasure-pet. I saw how you watched him, knowing you could have him whenever you wanted.” His hand on her arm was painfully tight, and the flat of the sword dug into her breasts. “Why didn’t you, Guardian? Why didn’t you order him to his knees like the dog he is and make him service you?”
Soleyla shifted, trying to ease the pinch of his grip -- and her thigh brushed against him. She froze in shock. This unknown barbarian was almost painfully erect! She could feel his cock straining at his breechclout.
“Answer me!” he commanded.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
He glared down at her. “Answer.” The sword pressed harder, and slid toward her throat.
“I wouldn’t have him unwilling!” she shouted, suddenly furious, daring him to disbelieve her. All her patience, all her self-control, and this was where it had gotten her? How dare this man accuse her! She returned his glare, seeing moonlight limn the curve of his heavy cheekbone. He was grinning, a hard, angry grin that made her blood run suddenly cold.
“No,” he said, and Soleyla’s throat went dry. “No more unwilling than you’ll be, I’m sure.”
He ran his free hand up her, feeling the generous weight of her breasts. The sword tangled between them and he threw it aside.
“There’s only one blade I need with a woman,” he murmured, and pulled her roughly against him.
What an odd joke. Soleyla had never heard a penis compared to a sword before. But as she felt his erection digging into the curve of her belly, she understood the comparison. It throbbed against her, eager to pierce her flesh. Arousal wrestled with her offended pride as he clamped his hands in her shirt and ripped it open. Her breasts tumbled out into the moonlight, their curves exposed fully to his view. She heard him groan with pleasure as his gaze locked firmly on her full, round orbs and he closed his hands around them.
Involuntarily, she gasped, and he peered down at her.
“Do you like that, then?” He drew back, letting his fingers trail across her rock-hard nipples, then pinched them tightly between thumb and forefingers. Soleyla felt her knees turn to water as waves of sharp anticipation spread from her aching nipples to her groin.
He shoved her back against the cliff, trapping both her wrists in one hand and holding them far above her head. He thrust the other into her pants, grazing it against her clit, then dipping lower to probe her wet hole.
“Ah, I see you do. Can barely wait for it, can you?” Cruelly, he closed his fingers on her clit -- hard -- and she bit off a shriek. She would not, she swore, give him the satisfaction of making her come.
He yanked his hand from her pants and ran it back over her breasts, squeezing first one, then the other, watching the nipples tighten further as he played with them roughly. His breath grew deeper, the muscles of his jaw relaxing in arousal. His eyes grew softer, darker, and he rocked his hips forward, pressing his cock against her. She could feel it, nudging against her clit, and closed her eyes in mingled shame and desire.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was not the one taken, but the taker! Yet every fiber in her yearned for his rough touch, ached to have him spread her wide and pierce her with his hardness, press her down into the rocky soil and savage her with his cock, his hands…
He yanked her downward, so quickly she hadn’t time to even try to resist, and stretched her flat on the ground, her breasts pressing into his chest. He lowered his head, nipped sharply at them. The stimulus was almost more than she could bear, but Soleyla gritted her teeth and stiffened her spine against the sensations pulsing through her.
No man, she swore, would have the last word here.
Her arms lay flat at her sides, trapped under his heavy weight. With her fingertips she could feel the edge of a rock, sharp and hard and the size of her fist. She stroked one finger lovingly against it as he tugged at her belt, opening her pants and dragging them off. When he thrust his tongue between her damp, swollen lips, Soleyla forgot all about the rock.
He clamped his mouth around her pulsing clit, rubbing his tongue over it again and again. He moaned at the taste of her -- and Soleyla felt the vibration of that deep, humming sigh straight through her bones. Against her conscious will, her hands came up, burying themselves in his thick, sooty hair, drawing his mouth tighter against her as her hips pressed upward, urging him on.
He seized her hands, shoved them down at her sides. “Oh no, you League bitch. You don’t rule here yet.” Grabbing her thighs, he yanked them apart, exposing the warm, wet lips of her pussy to the cool night air. She gasped as a breeze played between them, stroking her sweaty body, licking at her nipples. Then it was gone, replaced by a hot, demanding cock pressing at her opening.
No. No, he would not have her so easily, no matter how she hungered for it. Soleyla tightened the muscles of her abdomen, rocking her hips back and making herself as inaccessible as possible. Still he pressed at her, his slick, velvety head bumping lightly at her clit. God, it felt so good!
“You want it like that, then?” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “You want me to take you, hard? For I will take you, Guardian.”
His shaft slid back and forth over her swollen, aching nub. Soleyla tossed her head mindlessly, caught in the sensation between her legs. He lowered his head to one breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. His tongue flicked against it, over and over, and to her horror, she heard herself panting, “Yes. Oh please, yes!”
She tilted her pelvis back further, making him fight to enter her. Her juices trickled freely between her thighs as he drove his shaft up into her. She felt his groan more than heard it, the vibration of his deep voice traveling straight through his chest and into hers. Wrapping her arms around him, she trailed her hands down his back, cupping his muscular ass and drawing him more tightly into her. He shoved himself up onto his arms and rocked, his pelvic bone pressed firmly against hers, his head thrown back as the ecstasy took him, plunging into her faster and faster. She grabbed his ass-cheeks, spreading them slightly, hearing him gasp as the cool air tickled his balls.
Soleyla gripped him inside her, thrusting her hips upward, and worked one strong finger between his cheeks and down to his hole, tickling the tight rim. He plunged into her, hard, his breath a ragged moan in the night.
“Ah, God, woman!”
Soleyla pressed against the muscle, feeling the resistance. No one had ever entered him before, she could tell. The thought sent a fresh wave of desire through her. But she had other reasons for making him wan
t to lose all control.
Swiftly, she twisted under him, rolling him to one side. Before he could shove her back, she straddled him, seized his cock in one firm hand and shoved it back inside her. His neck extended as he tilted his head back, and his hands came up to cup her breasts.
“Oh God, yes,” he breathed. “Ride me, woman.”
She raised herself high above him, feeling his cock slide almost out of her, until the meaty lip of his head dragged at her dripping folds. Then she plunged down, driving him into her, feeling the curls of his pubic hair tangle with her own as she rocked against him, completely impaled.
Again, she lifted slowly, teasing the full length of him. His head tossed with delirium. His hands pulled at her breasts. She could feel his shaft swelling, aching for release, and she slid herself down, gripping him inside her. His jaw gaped wide as he howled in pleasure, and Soleyla could feel his hot cum spurting, wave after wave of it, deep into her. His back arched as he pumped, drawing out every drop, and Soleyla smiled down at him as a satiated grin spread over his face.
That was when she hit him with the rock.
Chapter Seven
Kantou scrambled to the crest of the rise, and froze.
Moonlight bathed the outcropping, spilling down from the heights of the peak onto the two bodies writhing before his eyes. He watched Soleyla arch her hips up even as the enormous man pressed downward, groaning with desire. Dimly, he wondered where the man had come from, but the question fled, unanswered, as Soleyla matched the stranger stroke for stroke.
She rolled the man over, straddling him, her high firm breasts gleaming in the moonlight. The man reached up to cup them even as she rocked down on his shaft, sending him deep into her. Kantou’s own cock sprang fully erect. He watched, gnawing at his lip, as the man squeezed and stroked her beautiful breasts, throwing his head back in an excess of lust.
Unable to watch any longer, Kantou retreated into the darkness, pursued by the sounds of their coupling.
Blindly, he stumbled back down the ridge, feeling loose stones and scree bounce away beneath his heedless descent. His erection throbbed in his pants, but the strange burning in his chest outweighed it. He felt tears straining at his throat, and a black, bitter self-hatred welling up inside him.
How stupid could he be? She had wanted him -- him! -- for weeks, had waited patiently, showing a kindness no slave had a right to expect. And he had flinched away from her, from the touch that he secretly craved. It was no wonder, he thought, his inner vision blacker than the night around him, that she’d found relief with some other slave -- wherever he had come from.
The tears spilled over, blurring his sight as he stumbled back to the campsite. The fire had burned low and dully he gathered wood, built it back up. At least she would have a light to guide her return.
If she returned. If she still wanted him.
Kantou remembered the man below her, gripped between her strong, slender thighs. He was massive, ruggedly handsome. Kantou bit his lip again, bitterly aware of his own slender build, his long, soft hair, his more delicate features. What had he to offer that could compete with that?
Woodenly, he moved about the circle of firelight, belatedly preparing the meal she’d commanded and setting the camp to rights. Then he heated water over the blazing fire and slowly, carefully, bathed himself. His cock throbbed as he washed it, but he ignored its demands. He was determined that everything would be perfect, waiting for her, when she returned.
If she returned.
A stab of anticipatory grief shot through him. Ruthlessly, he suppressed it. If he’d lost her…
If he’d lost her, what was left for him?
But if he hadn’t, he swore to himself, he would do all in his power to win her attentions back.
Naked, dripping, fully erect, he knelt in the firelight, facing the path she was most likely to come. He bent his head, and waited.
* * *
Soleyla checked the man’s pulse. He was still breathing. The cut on his head trickled blood, but not much. She stared down at him, feeling his cock still inside her, soft now. What was she to do with him?
She moved, and a painful throb of unreleased tension shot through her pussy as she felt him slide out. Well, she had won, for all the good it had done her. She hadn’t let him make her come. Now she was paying the price of her victory. Damn him!
Roughly, she used her sword-belt to bind his wrists. He was too huge to move, so she left him lying there as she picked up his sword and threw it, whistling, over the edge of the outcropping. It spun through the air and disappeared into the darkness. Far below, she heard a soft clang and nodded, satisfied.
Pulling her pants back on and tugging her clothes into some semblance of order, she started down the slope, pausing only to retrieve her sword. The cloth of her pants rubbed irritatingly against her swollen mons, so that the hike down merely exacerbated her frustration rather than dispelling it as she’d hoped.
Her rage, too, had not diminished. For all that she had craved the encounter, nevertheless it rankled that he’d beaten her. And, she admitted, he would have taken her, would have used her as a woman uses a pleasure-slave, if she hadn’t been willing. She had said “yes,” but “no” would have been meaningless. It would not have stopped him.
The admission sickened her, made her skin crawl. Outrage welled through her, and she felt a sudden desire to do the same to him, have him at her mercy, unwilling, screaming in pain. Rage throbbed in her temples. That someone could do that to her, Soleyla Devarian, daughter of --
Soleyla froze.
Daughter of Rachel Devarian, Regent of Argulus.
Rachel Devarian, who would not hesitate to use a man far worse than this man had used her daughter. Rachel Devarian, whom Soleyla could so easily picture among those sixty Guardians, raping a man until he begged to die.
Rachel Devarian, senior Senator of the Nine-Star League. The woman who, Soleyla had sworn, she was nothing like.
Soleyla’s hands flew to her mouth. Then she vomited into a clump of bushes.
* * *
It was much, much later when she stumbled into the camp, her sword dangling from her exhausted grip. She paid no attention to Kantou as she staggered past him to her bedroll, aching in every fiber of her body.
Soleyla lay on her back, her muscles slack and unresponsive. But her mind was whirling too fast for sleep. Who, she wondered, was she? Daughter of a regent who’d tried to have her killed, Guardian of a League which had sent her, and others, to conquer a planet.
Evidence of native populace -- suppress or exterminate.
Was that what she’d fought for, sworn to uphold?
They used them unmercifully, until my men begged for death.
Because they were men. And men were slaves, nothing more. To be used for their bodies until they died.
That was how it was. That was how it was supposed to be. Wasn’t it?
Soleyla’s head ached.
She heard a harsh noise, and lifted her head, feeling a fresh throb at her temples as she did so. Squinting her eyes against the pain, she made out Kantou, squatting near the fire where he’d been when she returned. He was, she realized belatedly, naked.
And he was crying.
“Kantou.”
He raised his head. Tears coated his cheeks. A poignant vulnerability shone in his eyes.
“Kantou, what…”
She dropped her head back, too tired even for that exertion, and gestured weakly. Immediately, he was beside her, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “My lady?”
She shook her head wearily. “No. Just Soleyla.” He stared at her, uncomprehending. She sighed, and reached out her hand. He took it, almost reverently, stroked his long, clever fingers along it. His touch was so soothing. She felt him turn her hand over and kiss the palm lightly. He moved down to her feet, gently removing her boots, pulled one foot onto his lap and began rubbing it.
“Mmm,” she murmured, and relaxed into his touch, floating on the
waves of sensation as he pressed his thumbs into her arch, kneading away the tight bands of tension.
She shouldn’t let him do this, she thought, half-asleep. It was wrong, something about the very fabric of their society was very, very wrong. But she was so tired, she couldn’t puzzle it out and his hands felt so good…
Distantly, she felt him tugging off her pants, digging his fingers into her sore calves. Then her thighs. A warm, delicious languorousness spread through her belly, making her vaguely horny. A wet, gentle pressure built in her groin as his tongue lapped softly against her exposed clit…
Soleyla sat up abruptly. “Kantou, no!”
He cowered back, quivering. Soleyla cursed again, long and loud. She was so fucking tired, but sleep had fled, leaving her nerves jangling, stretched to a breaking point. She stared down at Kantou, breathing heavily, willing her rage back.
Then she squatted by him, gently lifted his chin so his eyes gazed into hers. She smiled softly. “Kantou, no. You don’t need to do that.”
“But, my lady, you said --”
“I know what I said.” Where, when, and as I like. Her arrogant words rang in her memory, and Soleyla scowled blackly. Then quickly wiped the expression away as she saw him flinch back. “I know what I said, Kantou, but that’s not what I want.”
Tears welled up in his eyes. Damn it all! What had she said to upset him now? “What is it?”
He glanced away. His voice was a whisper, so soft she had to bend close to hear it. “I know, my lady.”
“Know what?”
“That you don’t want me any more.” His voice ached with grief.
Soleyla stared at him, dumbfounded. What? She didn’t want him? Horrified, she felt a giggle rising through her, surprised out of her by exhaustion and the absurdity of the situation.
And why should he care, anyway? He was a slave, constrained to obey her, whether he wanted to or not. She’d assumed it would be a relief to be freed of that.
He turned his face toward her, his cheeks damp with tears. “It’s all right, my lady. I know you don’t want me. I saw you, before --”
