by Sierra Dafoe
Soleyla’s eyes widened. “You followed me?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“Because,” he stammered, “because I denied you. I offered my body but my heart… Oh, my lady, I was so afraid. And now that I’ve lost you…”
“Lost me?” Shock made her tone sharp, and he cringed. “Kantou! You’re a slave! Why should you care if I want you or not?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking like a child. Moved by his distress, Soleyla reached out and drew him against her. He cowered against her breast, shuddering, and she stroked him, murmuring sounds that were barely words, low and soothing as she stroked his hair.
Eventually, his shudders eased, and Soleyla lifted her head. Above the mountains, the sky had faded to a soft, hazy purple as dawn drew near. What a strange, unexpected night it had been. She looked down at Kantou, sure he was asleep, and was surprised to find his gray eyes open, staring up at her.
“I don’t know,” he repeated in a whisper. “All I know is I can’t live without you.”
She felt her throat tighten at the raw need in those words, a need that ran deeper than anything she’d ever imagined. Something in her breast ached, almost like the grief she’d felt at the loss of Danel. Losing him had felt like losing a part of herself.
How had Kantou come to feel such need for her?
The question was unimportant. What was important was that he was hers, beyond any binding of law or purchase. He was hers because she’d made him so, because she’d demanded no less than the full gift of his soul.
Now she had it -- and it humbled her.
She stroked his long hair back from that high, smooth forehead, studying the beautiful, chiseled planes of his face. At her touch, his eyes closed in an ecstasy which had nothing to do with lust. His face turned toward her, his cheek grazing her breast and softly, delicately, he nuzzled at its fullness. His lips closed around her nipple, pulling it into his mouth and Soleyla watched, feeling a gentle heat build through her, as he suckled greedily, his jaw working, his head resting against her arm. He glanced up at her once, as if for reassurance, and she closed her eyes for a moment, giving herself over to the sensation. His hand came up, cupped her other breast, and she arched her back, pressing herself into his touch.
Emboldened, he squeezed harder, drawing his fingers across the silken curve to her other nipple, teasing it between his fingers, flicking them across its nubbly surface, sending small electric shocks coursing through her. Mindlessly, she tilted her head back, let him lower her down onto her mat as his head moved, his tongue caressing her belly, her thighs…
Like a snake it darted between her legs, and she felt him lapping her, tasting her juices -- and, she remembered suddenly, the stranger’s juices as well. She started to sit up, and was amazed when he pushed her gently back.
“No,” he breathed, his lips tickling her lightly. “Let me eat him out of you, my lady. Please.”
“Are you sure this is what you want, Kantou?” She felt his rough nod, then was aware of nothing but his tongue darting into her fiercely, lapping all traces of the other man’s cum from her. She moaned as he spread her legs further, sent his tongue thrusting deeper, and then slid it lower until it prodded at the small, tight hole she’d allowed no one to touch. Soleyla gasped at the sensation, and raised her hips.
Kantou cupped his hands under them, lifting her to him, and drove his tongue against her asshole again and again. A strange, yearning ache built up inside her, and she shoved herself against him, wanting him to pierce her, to shove his tongue past that tight ring of muscle… When she felt his finger moving beside his tongue she moaned like a wild animal.
Gently, slowly, he worked his finger inside her, sliding his tongue constantly around her stretched skin. Lubricated with his spit, his finger slid easily, deeper and deeper. She could feel it pressing nerves she’d never been aware of, building the ache inside her to a hot, ravenous hunger. Her hips moved of their own accord, urging him on, and he slicked his finger back and forth, stretching the muscle, waiting till it relaxed, opening fully to him.
“Oh, more,” she gasped, and squirmed with pleasure as she felt a second finger join the first, spreading her wider. It stung, but only briefly, and then his fingers were pumping deliriously as his tongue danced over her throbbing clit.
“God,” she breathed, rocked by the sensation. She could come right now, if she let herself. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to tease this out, stretch him to the very limits of his endurance, dominate his every nerve and fiber -- for both their sakes.
Softly, she pulled herself away, and he slid his fingers out of her slowly and sat back, kneeling between her thighs. She looked up, reveling in the sight of him, poised beneath the lightening sky, his enormous cock hard and jutting in the soft morning air. She could barely wait to have that massive, throbbing shaft inside her. She wanted him to fuck her until there was nothing in the galaxy but the pounding of his cock inside her cunt. But first…
First she would fuck him.
Soleyla smiled. “All right,” she said. “You got my attention.”
The smile that spread over his features at her words made her heart clench again in a sharp, almost painful wave of emotion. Hers, she thought fiercely with a deep, possessive pride as she watched her beautiful, needy, loving Kantou.
Hers.
Chapter Eight
The emotion that suffused him was almost religious in its intensity. She wanted him. Kantou sighed to himself. She wanted him.
The desire that glowed in her eyes ignited his own. She was so stunning, stretched out before him, her hair tousled in the soft morning light. He could still taste the salty-sweet tang of her. He licked his lips, savoring every last trace. The aftertaste of semen only heightened her own flavor. He felt his cock pulsing between his legs, but made no move to touch it. Not until she told him to.
She wanted him.
That realization alone made his balls ache with pleasure. He could come, he thought, for hours, just so she could watch. He would do anything for her.
Anything, and everything. His cock twitched at the idea.
She watched it, an amused smile playing about her lips. Her eyes sparkled speculatively, and he felt his breath go short in anticipation.
“Turn around,” she said, and his throat clenched at her low, commanding murmur, like the purr of a tiger. “Turn around, Kantou, and kneel before me.”
He did, feeling the skin on his back twitch, waiting for her touch. She trailed her fingers slowly down his spine, curving her hands over the cheeks of his ass. He shivered, and felt his sphincter throb hopefully.
“Do you like that, Kantou?”
“Oh yes, my lady.”
Laying her palm flat between his shoulder blades, she pushed him forward onto all fours, then down, so that his chest pressed the ground. Shoving her knee between his thighs, she forced his legs further apart. He felt the tendons running up the inside of his thighs stretch, and pictured himself as he must appear to her -- legs spread, ass pointed at the sky, wide open and inviting. He whimpered lightly, feeling his cock press against his belly.
She started with his thighs, running her hands up the delicate inner skin with a feathery touch, then down again. Over and over until he quivered and shook, his breath hissing through his teeth in short, eager gasps. Then she moved to his balls, batting them playfully like a kitten, cupping their weight in her strong, limber fingers. They were so tight, so full of cum they dragged at his cock, tugging it lightly each time she squeezed them.
Surreptitiously, he slid his hands to his nipples, pinched them lightly, then twisted them as she slid her hands up his ass, spreading it wider, and pressed her mons hard against his hole. Kantou arched his back, rubbing himself back against her, aching to be taken, to be split apart under her loving touch. He would be her wanton, her slave, her toy to break and trample -- anything she wanted. However she used him was pleasure
to him.
“Kantou?” she breathed, her voice deep and smoky.
“Yes, my lady.”
“What do you want, Kantou?”
“Whatever will please you.”
“No!” A sharp smack, and his ass stung beneath her slap. His skin twitched, burning with sensation, and he felt his cock jerk, spilling the first beads of cum. He felt them drip from the head to fall into the dirt. He moaned, pistoning his ass higher.
“Try it again. What do you want, Kantou?” Her voice was low, erotically dangerous. Kantou swallowed in a very dry throat.
“I want you to fuck me,” he whispered into the dirt, shivering as she spanked him again.
“What was that? I can’t hear you.”
“I want you to fuck me, my lady.”
“Say my name,” she hissed.
His heart bucked, thundering in his ears, driving a fresh wave of blood through his body. His cock swelled still further, brushing his navel. “Soleyla.”
How sweet her name felt on his tongue. As smooth and delicious as her huge, stunning breasts. “Soleyla,” he whispered again, tasting the sounds, rolling them between his full, throbbing lips.
“Tell me again.”
“Fuck me, Soleyla. I want you to fuck me.”
“More,” she commanded tersely, and Kantou felt something inside him let go with a snap. He rubbed his cheek against the dirt, murmuring deliriously, “I want you to fuck my ass. Split me open. Make me hurt, make me scream. Oh please, please, Soleyla!”
“Very touching, to be sure,” said a deep, mocking voice, and Kantou felt his lady’s hands freeze on his ass. “But I’m afraid I really don’t see how she can.”
Kantou looked up to see the stranger sitting on a rock, watching them with a derisive smile. A shadow flickered, off to the right.
Kantou scrambled to his feet as another man -- blond, this one, but as large as the first -- stepped into the clearing. Three more followed. Soleyla sprang up and swept up her sword, placing herself between Kantou and their adversaries. The dark-haired one laughed at that, and nodded to the others.
Soleyla swung wildly as they rushed her, but there were too many. They pinioned her sword arm, wrenched away the blade, and grabbed her. Desperately, Kantou sprang at them, and one man thrust him, sprawling, in the dirt.
“Kantou!” Soleyla screamed, and he struggled to reach her as they dragged her away. Then a heavy boot connected with his forehead, and he knew no more.
* * *
He awoke hours later, struggling. His hands were bound behind his back. Harsh fibers gritted under his cheek. He was lying on a rug, on the floor of a tent. Slowly, his eyes focused.
The tent was large, dim, with only a trickle of sunlight around the edges of the flap. There was a bed made of heaped skins on one side, a table, two low carved chairs. Someone sat in one of them.
Kantou sat up carefully, his head pounding with agony. The shape spoke, and he recognized that same deep, mocking voice.
“There’s water, if you want it.” The man nodded at a low table. Awkwardly, Kantou crawled to it, lowered his face to the shallow basin and gulped greedily.
“Where is she?” he demanded as soon as he raised his head.
The man quirked a dark, heavy eyebrow. He was dressed, Kantou saw, in nothing but a clout and some sort of fur thrown over his huge, broad shoulders. Kantou raged inwardly against the man’s sheer mass. How could he fight a giant like that?
He crouched, glaring, demanded again, “Where is she?”
The man merely watched him.
Anger flared through Kantou, and he lunged at the man. Contemptuously, the stranger stuck out a foot, tumbling him back to the rug.
“Don’t worry, little slave. Your mistress is perfectly safe -- and more comfortable, I’m certain, than how she left me.”
Kantou’s gaze flicked to the man’s wrists, noted the red, angry welts there.
“Take me to her,” he demanded.
His opponent chuckled. “Spoken almost like a man, little slave. What’s your name?”
Kantou clenched his jaw. The man smiled, flashing his teeth. They were strong and white, large like all the rest of him. Kantou felt despair trickling into his belly.
“I already know hers, if that helps free your tongue.”
Kantou remained mute.
The man shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He lounged back in his seat as a woman -- Kantou stared -- entered quietly, set a tray with meat and bread and a small pitcher of oil on the table, and withdrew.
Like a servant, Kantou thought. Like a slave. “What have you done with her?” he demanded.
“Ah, the slave speaks.”
He drew himself up -- as well as he could, with his bonds. “My name is Kantou.”
The man smiled. “But still a slave, for all that. I am Rolen, since you refuse to ask.”
Kantou watched him stonily. “I am Soleyla’s, yes, if that’s what you mean.”
The man -- Rolen -- stared. “Are you so broken that you’re proud of that?”
Proud? It was something Kantou had never considered. But yes, remembering the light in his lady’s eyes, the possessive hunger in them. Yes. But how could he explain that to this huge, caustic man?
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.”
Rolen studied him narrowly. He seemed to Kantou almost feminine in his fierceness. Those sharp blue eyes shone with piercing intelligence. Kantou held himself stiff under that scrutiny, refusing to move. Outside he could hear voices in the distance, the sound of people walking past the tent.
Rolen watched him, puzzled. How could a man bend himself to a woman so? He remembered the sight of this slave, this Kantou, on his knees, his ass displayed like a wanton’s, begging her to fuck him. Could the slave really be so meek as he seemed?
No. There was nothing meek about Kantou now. There was a fire in him, clear to anyone with eyes to see. And he was no weakling, Rolen could see that. Strong as the woman was, he could likely take her -- no, he corrected himself, remembering her swordplay. The bitch knew how to fight. And he was quite certain this overhung lapdog -- bred for that enormous cock, most like -- couldn’t.
Still, he could hardly love the feel of his face in the dirt, eating dust at her command. Forced to spread himself wide for her, making him beg her for the most demeaning act a man could suffer… Rolen’s balls still tingled at the memory of the sight.
How could any living man not long to be free?
Yet here was Kantou, bristling before him, clothed in nothing but a dignity beyond Rolen’s comprehension. Kantou with his luminous gray eyes and terrible scars on his back. Rolen had almost spitted the woman where she lay trussed on the ground when he first saw those scars.
Yet Kantou’s first question had been to ask where she was.
* * *
She was, in fact, very close by, though Soleyla had no way of knowing that. She held her eyes closed to a slit, feigning sleep as the tent-flap opened and a small, roughly garbed woman entered. But the smell of food rising from the tray the woman carried roused Soleyla’s hunger, and her stomach growled, betraying her.
“Ah, you’re awake, right enough. No use pretending.”
Discarding the deception, Soleyla pulled herself into a sitting position. The woman squatted before her, dressed in dun-colored skirts. She herself was naked -- and trussed, hand and foot.
The woman held out food for her and she bent to it hungrily. “There you go. Slowly. You’ve slept the day through.”
Soleyla could feel the woman studying her curiously, dwelling on the broad, heavy muscles of her shoulders, the old scar from a training fight across her upper thigh. But she was a woman, like Soleyla. Surely she would help her.
“Release me,” she whispered, bending close.
“Ah.” The woman chuckled. “It’d be more than I’m good for, setting you free. Rolen’d have no end of grief to give me.”
“Rolen
?” That was his name, then, the man who’d abducted her. “Is he your -- I mean…” She stopped, confused. What sort of relations did men and women have on this planet? No slaves, no owners. She couldn’t picture it.
But the woman seized her meaning anyway, and laughed merrily. “Rolen? No. It’d take more than I’m up for to be his woman. I’m Jerril’s.”
“His slave, you mean?”
“Heavens, no.” The woman looked shocked.
“But… Who gives the orders? Who decides what is to be done?”
“Ah,” the woman nodded. “As far as that, it’s Rolen. He leads us now, since his father was slain.”
A man? She remembered the set of his jaw, the sense of responsibility no man should have to carry. Remembered, too, the anguished catch in his voice as he’d spoken of his men.
“What does he want of me?”
The woman shook her head. “Information, likely. He’ll not harm you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She wasn’t, particularly. But she was still a captive. And more than that… “Where’s Kantou?”
“The one they brought with you?”
Soleyla nodded, her jaw tightening. If they’d dared to hurt him…
“With Rolen. He’s fine. In more than one sense, I must say.” The woman gave her a broad, lascivious grin. “I’m Maris,” she added.
“Soleyla.” Instinctively, she liked this woman, strange as Maris seemed to her. She was so playful, her smile so lighthearted. She seemed almost childlike to Soleyla, for all she must be a good eight years older, free of the responsibilities that every woman of the League carried as her natural burden.
But whether she liked Maris or not, Soleyla was bound, and needed to be free. She leaned forward, as if requesting more food. When Maris bent down to her, Soleyla slammed her head against the other woman’s. Maris collapsed with a grunt.
Quickly, Soleyla rolled, bringing her hands into contact with Maris’s belt-knife. Carefully, she slit her bonds and stood, working blood back into her cramped feet. She was naked, but there was no help for that. She didn’t dare pause to strip Maris of her clothing -- which would be an ill fit anyway, she mused, regarding the smaller woman.
