by Colette Gale
As her mistress’s pleasure eased, Jane settled back on her heels and waited nervously for her next order. She firmly ignored the indignant throb of her little pip and tried not to think about the heat coiling in her belly.
“Very good, slave.” Zenovia stood, the golden chain attached to Jane’s collar still wrapped around her fist. “Now, you will dress me, Jane.”
With trembling knees and a pulsing, needy body, Jane did as she was bid. She draped the toga-like black gown over her mistress, fastening the brooch at one shoulder. As she reached up to do so, Zenovia slid one hand under her breast and began to stroke her thumb over the raging nipple. Jane couldn’t control a shiver, and she bit her lips to hold back a soft groan as that insistent thumb circled and teased.
“If you were my concubine,” murmured Zenovia, “and not my slave, I would lay you on the bed there and eat your pussy until you screamed. And I would lick you and suck on you and make you come and come and come.” She tweaked the nipple hard, and her hand fell away. “But you’ve made your decision.”
Jane avoided looking at her mistress, and, miserable in her state of arousal that seemed to have no chance of being sated, bowed her head and waited for her next order.
“Come. You will walk politely just so behind me.” Zenovia pointed to a general area just behind and to the right of her foot.
Her knees still trembling, her nipples thrusting desperately, Jane obeyed, and Zenovia led her out of the chamber as if she were a pet on a leash.
Jane was wearing nothing but the chains and her collar, and the delicate ones that held her chastity belt in place shifted and swung against the insides of her thighs. Her unfettered breasts bobbed and swayed as they made their way down a corridor, past servants and guards until they reached the same vast chamber in which Jane had first set her eyes on Zenovia.
The chieftain walked through the doorway, leading Jane, greeting some of her guards and others—all women, of course—who appeared to be advisors or members of whatever sort of peerage was in place in Amazonia. Jane felt countless eyes on her, stroking over her bare skin, lingering on her high, generous breasts, and settling at the gold-plated contraption that covered her labia.
Once on the dais, Zenovia seated herself on the massive throne and directed Jane to remain next to her, kneeling upright so that her shoulders were about the same height as the arms of her chair. Jane was able to rest on her haunches as long as she kept her back straight. This position left her with her breasts quite boldly on display, thrusting out and up. Zenovia arranged the golden leash so it hung down between them, then curved beneath one breast toward the throne, where she kept the leash in her hand.
And then commenced Zenovia’s day of governing. Jane remained silent and immobile while the chieftain met with her advisors, made judgments, and settled disputes. During this time, Jane could neither move nor speak or slump. Her legs and buttocks ached from holding the same position for so long.
And to make matters worse, Zenovia often stroked her hair absently, as if she were a dog sitting at attention next to its master. Her hands would filter down over the long curls, petting and stroking as she asked questions and listened to the answers given by her subjects. Jane felt every touch like a burning brand, heavy and hot, and knew it was meant to display her subservience to everyone.
At last, there was a moment when no one waited to see the chieftain. A double row of guards stood at attention on either side of the chamber, and several pages awaited their orders. Zenovia turned to Jane, and, gathering up the leash, began to draw it around toward the front of her chair. Jane followed, scooting along on her knees, until she was close to the throne.
“Come here,” Zenovia said, and gave a sharp yank on the chain, directing Jane toward her lap.
Mortified, for she felt every eye in the room fixated on her, Jane obeyed and climbed onto Zenovia’s sturdy thighs. Her mistress settled her in place as if she were a small cat or child…but when her palm closed around her breast and she began to idly stroke Jane’s nipples, her position became much less innocent.
Jane tried to control a shiver of lust as the light, teasing fingers played with her. But her body, which had been full and tight, ready to explode only a short time ago, eagerly surged back to arousal. She felt the telltale insistent throbbing of her tiny clit tucked safely behind its golden cup, and tried very hard not to think about it.
But she couldn’t keep from squirming a little, trying to find some sort of relief. Zenovia chuckled softly and kissed her ear, then bit her lobe gently, sliding her tongue around and inside her ear. Jane shuddered and stifled a soft moan as spikes of arousal stabbed her at every touch. Knowing she had no chance of easing it made things even worse.
“You are so delicious,” Zenovia murmured into her ear. “I can feel you quivering with lust…and it’s so unfortunate you made the choice you did. For there is no pleasure for slaves. You shall simply have to stew in your own lovely juices.” With that, she gave one last nip at Jane’s earlobe. Then she clapped her hands together sharply, drawing the attention of everyone in the chamber. “Bring in the possible studs.”
The double doors opened a moment later, and in marched two tall, broad, and muscular female guards. Behind them were two columns of men, lined up side by side, and linked by manacles on their wrists and ankles.
They were naked.
Jane’s breath caught as she recognized Captain Holt and one of his men from the ship. The others—of which there were fewer than a dozen—were unknown to her.
But each of them was a fine specimen of masculinity. All were muscular and handsome, with clear eyes, thick hair, and powerful legs and arms. They carried themselves well, though most of them sported bruises or wounds of some nature. It was clear they’d each been physically subdued, but only after fighting back.
She caught Holt looking at her, and she gave him a cold, lethal look that clearly denoted her disgust with him. He appeared miserable—but surely not as miserable as she. This mess was of his making, not hers—and yet here she was, imprisoned and enslaved with no release in sight…and aroused beyond belief. As if to punctuate this thought, her little pearl gave an insistent pulse that made Jane bite her lip in frustration.
As she watched, the men were paraded past the dais, pausing so Zenovia could take a close look at each one.
“It’s such a difficult decision,” said the chieftain. “They all seem as if they could perform accordingly, but I have no desire to determine their capabilities.” She gave a little shudder that appeared to be completely genuine. “Only five are needed to add to our breeding crew, and they must be excellent specimens of the male sex. We want only the best to continue our race. What do you think, slave?” She tugged on Jane’s leash. “How does one choose a man for breeding?”
Pulled out of her frustrated, aroused haze, Jane blinked and discovered Zenovia was truly curious and seemed to want her response. Then, in the next instant, the full realization of the situation dawned on her.
“Do you mean…you use the men to father children? On—with whom?”
Zenovia laughed. “I see you are horrified, my little slave. But for what other reason do we require the male species here in Amazonia? We certainly are far from wanting or needing any males to tell us what to do, how to act, or what we can own—as is the case in your England, is it not? We are fully capable of doing everything necessary—including giving and receiving pleasure—except continuing our race. The breeding process is an undignified and unpleasant necessity, but a necessity nevertheless.”
Jane pursed her lips, struck just for an instant about the truth of that matter—except, of course, for the part about the breeding process being unpleasant. But Zenovia was right—even in a queen-ruled England, men had all the power. Yet she knew firsthand how delightful pleasure could be with a man…and the depth of emotion and physical connection there could be when “breeding.”
“And so, my little slave who has a mind of her own, I would very much like your opinio
ns on the matter. How would you pick the five studs we will add to our breeding program for the next several years?”
“But what happens to them after that? And surely…well, you must have more than five men, or there would be quite a lot of inbreeding.” Even as Jane spoke the words, she was aware of the utter absurdity of the situation—that she was actually discussing using free men as brood mares (or, more accurately, stallions), and that she was having the conversation with her mistress.
“We have only room for five more studs in our stables at this time. Every year we retire some of them of them, or they become ill or injured or otherwise unacceptable breeding partners, and we replace them as needed.”
“And what happens to the ones you—er—put out to pasture?” Jane couldn’t quite keep the horror from her voice.
Zenovia shrugged. “They are put to work in the heather-hash fields and gold mines, as well as doing other menial labor.” Her eyes glinted as she saw the shock in Jane’s eyes. “The same will happen to the ones not chosen to be the five.”
“I see.”
“Now, I have asked for your opinion—something I do not do lightly, especially with a slave, and my patience begins to end.”
Duly chastised, Jane turned her attention to the columns of men. Had they heard the conversation? Did they know what was to befall them? Was there any way to help them?
But if she could not help herself, how could she help them?
She drew in a deep breath. Perhaps the best option was to look at the situation from the Amazonian perspective and be honest. What other choice did she have?
But perhaps she could delay the process…
“One would want to select a breeding partner for his physical appearance and strength, as well as for his intelligence and mind. Both are important elements in continuing your race. I don’t suppose you…er…interview any of them?”
Zenovia’s eyes lit with admiration and delight. “Interesting.”
“And perhaps you’d want to interview them not only to discover whether they have intelligence, but also to find out whether his parents and family were weak and sickly, or strong and lived long.”
“Quite excellent thoughts, my darling slave. You are a treasure.” Zenovia’s regard turned warmer, and she stroked Jane’s head. “And I am pleased to inform you that such interviews, as you call them, have already been carried out and these men have been culled from many candidates. All that remains is to determine whether they can perform their duties.” Her eyes darkened and her lips curled in what could only be called a mischievous smile. “And in that regard, I do believe you might be of further assistance, my pet.”
Zenovia stood abruptly, sending Jane tumbling to the ground, bare breasts bouncing and legs splayed crudely. The gold chains and metal cup over her labia jingled and shifted alarmingly, digging into the soft hollows of flesh at the insides of her thighs. But before she recovered from the ignominious fall, she was yanked up by the leash and led off the dais.
The male captives stood silently, their manacled wrists covering the juncture of their thighs. Most of them had downcast eyes, though there were a few bold ones who peeked up at the female ruler and her slave.
“Jane, you will demonstrate the virility of each of our candidates. You may begin with him.” Zenovia placed her in front of the first man, unhooked the leash from Jane’s collar, then turned and climbed back up onto the dais. When she realized Jane hadn’t moved, she made an impatient gesture. “Use those lush lips of yours, and that talented tongue, to bring him to orgasm. Now.”
Jane heard a sort of roaring in her ears that dulled everything around her as she positioned herself in front of the first candidate. He obligingly moved his manacled wrists from where they’d settled over his genitals, though he wore an expression of shock and suspicion.
But his cock was already becoming interested, presented as it was by the naked Jane, who, most likely, smelled of her own arousal, and that of Zenovia’s as well. She swallowed hard and, cupping the man’s ballocks, took his half-flaccid cock in her mouth.
He gave a soft grunt as her lips settled around his member, which began to thicken and lengthen readily. Jane closed her eyes, trying to block out the sensation of the rod surging suggestively in her mouth. But it was a familiar experience, an arousing one, and she found it nearly impossible to keep from reacting to his enthusiastic response: the groans and shivers and the turgid cock filling her mouth.
Nevertheless, she focused on her movements: up and down, nearer and farther away, using her hands to keep his rock-hard member in her mouth. She sucked hard on the knob of his rod, pumping faster and faster, praying this would end quickly and easily, all the while trying to ignore the stabs of lust shooting from her belly down to her protected quim.
Mercifully, it was a very short time before he arched and grunted and shot his seed into the back of her throat. Jane swallowed the salty wad and backed away quickly, settling on her haunches as she tried to cool down her own body’s demands. She happened to glance up at the man, and he had a loopy, sated smile on his face that made her even more frustrated.
“What are you waiting for, slave? There are fifteen other men waiting for you.”
She obeyed, moving to the man next to the one whom she’d just sucked off. He was already hard, and his cock, though not as long, was thick and ready for her lips. She slid down over him, tasting the saltiness of the little droplet at the tip of his rod, and used her tongue to lick it away. He shivered and shifted himself deeper into her mouth.
Jane held his hips and began to work her puffy, swollen lips over him, over and over. He was ready and shot hard and fast into the back of her throat, nearly choking her.
This time, she didn’t wait. She finished, swallowed, and moved on to the second row of men. By now each of them had erections of some sort—from anticipation as well as from watching and hearing her pleasure the others. She took them each deep and hard into her mouth, pumping and sucking until she thought her jaw would never close again.
Each one was new torture—the scent, taste, feel of hard cock in her mouth, the noises each man made: groans and grunts and sighs. And then there were the hands. Somehow, though manacled, they found her breasts, fondling them, teasing her already raw, red nipples until she wanted to scream around the rod in her mouth.
Jane felt her own juices, and she felt as if her labia were about to burst free, she was so swollen. One man found the most sensitive part of her nipples and stroked her, faster and harder—just as she stroked up and down on him—until she felt the shock of an orgasm shoot through her in soft, pulsing waves. She couldn’t hold back a groan of her own, sighing around his thick cock as her body shook and shivered.
He came at that moment, bursting into the back of her throat with a hot, hard wad. She took him all, swallowing and licking the tip of his cock with a little thank-you for the bit of pleasure he’d given her.
Then she rose to her feet and stumbled to the next man. It was Captain Holt, and it was all Jane could do to keep from biting down on the massive hard-on that waited for her.
“Guess I should have taken you when I had the chance,” he muttered as she dutifully closed her mouth around him. “But this will do…” His words ended in a soft grunt and he shuddered gently against her as she slid down to the root.
Jane’s body was on fire, only half satisfied from the soft, superficial orgasm. She wanted more. She needed more. She sucked on his cock, licking and stroking with fervor, hoping he’d find a way to touch her…to bring her along with him. Her lips were so swollen and her jaw so tight she could hardly move, and she was becoming dizzy from lack of food and drink as well as the up-and-down motion…over and over and over….
She sighed and sucked and licked, her eyes closed, focusing on her own pleasure—as if she could will herself to orgasm. She gripped his taut buttocks, working her mouth around the head of his rod, playing, teasing, allowing herself to enjoy—
“Enough!”
All
at once, Jane felt herself flying through the air. She landed on the ground a few feet from the two columns of men—half of whom had already been serviced by her.
Zenovia stood where Jane had been only a moment before. “You!” she said, leaning in toward Holt. “She is my slave. How dare you touch my property! How dare you presume!”
She turned in a whirlwind of barely controlled fury. “Out. Everyone out of here. All of you.”
— VII —
As Jane lay there on the ground, panting, throbbing, confused, and more than a little frightened, the entire chamber was vacated more rapidly than she could have imagined.
When they were alone, Zenovia turned upon her, yanking Jane to her feet with a painful grip. She braced herself for a blow, to be shaken or thrown…something…
But to her surprise, Zenovia began to unlock the chains around her waist, and those that threaded through the metal cup covering her quim. She tore them away, and the next thing Jane knew, she was dragged up onto the top of the dais and shoved onto the floor. Her legs trailed awkwardly down the steps, her thighs splayed wide and her red, ready quim fully exposed.
Zenovia followed, her body pressing Jane into the ground as her mouth covered hers. Tongue thrusting deep, she devoured Jane roughly, sending even more lust and arousal spiking through her sensitive body.
A powerful thigh slid between Jane’s, and she felt the hot wetness of the other woman’s quim sliding against her thigh as Zenovia straddled her, moving her toga out of the way. Panting and confused, Jane could hardly breathe as her mistress kissed her passionately, pressing her steaming self down against Jane’s leg, then pulled her mouth away.
“You,” Zenovia muttered into her ear as she covered one of Jane’s breasts with her palm, “may not find pleasure with anyone except me. Especially a man. You are my slave.”
