by Aran Ashe
"There - and you may moisten my bedsheet with your seepings, that even in my dreaming, I may smell your heat upon it."
Anya was filled with lewd and lustful feelings at these words; she pressed her openness more firmly to the sheet. Now Ildren's hands were against her buttocks, spreading them more widely. Anya felt something cool and heavy weigh against her groove, and then she heard a clink as Ildren's body brushed against her. She understood then, with a frightened sinking pleasure which contracted her sex and weighted in her bottom, what this chilling sound must be - a chain, attached to Ildren, in between her legs. A chain - Anya shivered at the thought - which passed up inside her and was rooted deep in Ildren's body. Anya raised her eyes to look upon the portrait on the wall, with that image of the chain; the vision of that intimate attachment made another, deeper shiver ripple through her womb.
Ildren's curly bush was tickling up against her; the metal links collapsed and shifted as they heaped, in moving pads of pressure and illicit pleasure, against that tautened skin within her groove and then back and forth against that inner mouth. Ildren lowered her full weight upon Anya, and seemed to concentrate it in that place, then moved her hips and pressed Anya's unfurled sex into the bed, so Anya's flesh nub slid in pressured circles up against the silk. And Ildren worked Anya's nipples, exactly as she'd promised. She pulled them - tugged them down as if she were milking a cow, then twisted them and pinched the flesh below them whilst she flicked them with her finger, then she wet them and massaged them, stretched them, even tried to curl them - until she had them soft and pliant, like very well-worked dough. All this time, her hips were circling, or sometimes even thrusting, as if she wished to push, and force the heaped-up chain links into Anya's body. Anya was beside herself with the strong, insistent pleasuring of her nubbin, over which she had no control at all for Ildren's hips, and Ildren's hips alone, dictated pressure, pace and movement. Ildren would stop, and lift herself, if she thought that pleasure welled too freely, and dangle the tantalising chain against that bottom groove, and then would press again, and roll those nipples in her fingers with a hesitant, nervous action, until Anya gasped and gulped the air, and stiffened at the very brink of pleasure, whereupon Ildren acted very quickly, but with consideration for her slave.
Gently, she broke Anya's contact with the silk, amidst her soft sweet moans of protest, and turned her bondslave over on her back - with Ildren underneath. She twined her legs about Anya's and locked them wide apart, so Anya's hips were at her mercy; they could not move at all. Anya felt Ildren's heat burning up against her backbone, and then the cool smoothness of that thing - that white thing - which Ildren pushed inside her, so very, very slowly. Anya's sex pulsated as she took the cockstem in, that perfect white and polished marble cockstem.
"Pulse, my sweet and watch; draw this pleasure fully to your body." Anya looked down between her thighs, held fast apart by Ildren's legs, and watched helplessly, defencelessly, as her pulsing body swallowed. The cool thickness of the stem distended her, seduced her and made that pleasure so much sweeter. Her body drew it to herself, right up to its marbled bumps, and held it, whilst she squeezed against it tightly. Then Ildren's lips pressed to her neck and gently sucked upon her trembling vein, and two of Ildren's fingers stretched her hood and held it back whilst, with a third, she tapped her. The fingerpad kept tapping at her nubbin, not altering the pressure or timing of that tapping one iota, regardless of the moans and murmurs, the jerks and shaking tremors, or the tightness in that pushed out bursting belly, as Anya, in trying to focus pressure in that place, arched her back and bucked against that constant delicious palpitating pleasure-ache of tapping, until she spasmed tight against that cock, and screamed and bit her lip, and blacked out with delight.
11
The Trap
From her vantage point, Anya looked out across the sunlit snow-clad countryside of Lidir - the black-latticed, blue-white forests and the pure white distant hills, the pale blue skyline and the weak November sun, which softly struck through Ildren's window and bathed Anya's skin in a gentle warmth and turned her flesh to gold. A golden woman, mounted on a horse, a wooden horse with a padded back - a solid horse that did not move.
The bondslave had found this view to be preferable to the one which would have confronted her if she had chosen to turn her head the other way and look again into the room, Ildren's sitting-room, which, although of quite innocent aspect in most respects - with that fur-strewn, comfortable-looking couch by the fire, for example - now had one or two additional features which were a cause for mild concern. There were a number of items on the table - a bowl and jug, some fruit, rope, pieces of material, lengths of polished wood of a type which had looked suspiciously familiar to the slave, and several other implements which Anya did not even recognise. But it was an object sitting over in the corner which had caused by far the greatest consternation in the slave. It had seemed to be a small square-based tapering tower built of wood, and it was about half as tall as Anya; it sat solidly on the floor; at the top, crowning this strange device, was a smooth and very thick vertical wooden cylinder with a rounded crest and a flared-out base. Worse yet, from one of the hooks in the sitting-room ceiling, a length of rope was dangling down towards the thing. Anya had found herself imagining too many frightening possibilities; her gaze had been drawn back, time after time, to this sinister device, as if its presence had cast a very evil spell, so she preferred instead to stare the other way, out of Ildren's window. Her plight was quite worrying enough, without her thinking about that thing.
Ildren had kept her slave in bed from early dawn till late into the morning, bestowing long and loving womanly pleasure upon this very special creature. And then at last she had allowed her slave to break her fast at Ildren's table, with bread, a mug of milk, dried apple and nuts, of which the slave had partaken under Ildren's constant, loving attentions, sampling morsels of sustenance which Ildren had fed to her in strange and intricate ways. And when at last the slave had suffered adequate refreshment, then Ildren had taken time to stem her unwarranted fears about the wooden beast, and now was taking more time yet to mount the slave in exactly the right position. She had taken care to position first the Horse, and then the slave, in such a way that the slave could admire the view, so Ildren would not be distracted during these protracted and precise - yet necessary - adjustments by constant fidgeting from a slave who might not fully appreciate the virtues of precision, and might perhaps be anxious now for action.
"My dearest, I am almost finished," Ildren reassured the bondslave. Just one more tiny wee adjustment." Ildren pinched Anya's cheek in a very playful manner, and pouted. "You see ... this has not been so bad as you expected."
Anya lay on her front, along the padded beam; her wrists were fastened underneath, but Ildren had carefully drawn them forwards along the underside of the bar before finally securing them, so that Anya's breasts, now unencumbered by proximity to her elbows, were pressed very firmly to the sides, and Anya's acorns pointed up and outwards; Ildren therefore merely had to squat beside her - at whichever side she happened to be - to take her suck, without, for example, first having to reach underneath to collect the nipple on her tongue in an unduly complex manoeuvre. Anya's legs at present dangled downwards from the end of the beam; her head was almost in the centre of the Horse, and her body formed a right-angle, as if, having walked up to the end of the beam, she had simply bent over and along it - except for the facts that her hands were tied, and her feet did not touch the floor. And this was where Ildren's little adjustment was required.
The Taskmistress produced a long band of pure green silk, about a handsbreadth wide, and laid it across Anya's back, above her golden chain, so the ends hung down to either side. Then she lifted each of Anya's legs in turn and bent it, feeding the band down the inside of the thigh and underneath the crook of the knee, then around the outside and up again across her back. Finally, Ildren fastened the ends by means of a slip knot. As she pulled it tight, Anya's knees we
re lifted till they nearly touched her breasts, and her thighs moved upwards towards the horizontal. Anya's bottom, with that black-lipped pouch slung so invitingly below it, projected out beyond the beam. And with each tightening of the knot, the pouch pushed out more prominently, like a large and succulent ripe black plum. Ildren could scarcely dare to look upon that sweet round juicy fruit - the sight of it sent licking shivers up her body.
Anya was apprehensive about the tightness of this trussing; which left her feeling very exposed indeed.
The Taskmistress held in front of Anya a wooden bowl of water; in her other hand she held a cloth. "Your Taskmistress will wash you now ... refresh you after your sweet exertions." The water smelled of cloves. Ildren placed the bowl on Anya's back, immersed the cloth, then squeezed it. Anya felt the weighted bowl of liquid sway against her; the tinkling droplets, falling back, sent a shiver down her spine. The freezing wetness of the cloth touched her in her armpit; the water felt like melted ice and made her jerk; the bowl heaved, the liquid swelled, and Anya knew - in that cruelly endless second before it finally happened - that the water would well over. She had to gasp for breath; it cut her like a freezing knife across her back, then trickled into the furrow of her spine.
"I see you find its coolness suitably uplifting. But my dear, you must keep still." Anya had to grit her teeth.
The Taskmistress washed downwards and over the first of Anya's breasts, then moving round, she attended to the other, but this time only squeezed the cloth out lightly before moulding it around the breast, exactly to its swollen form, so the acorn pointed through it. The icy coldness there took Anya's breath away, but the Taskmistress held it still in place until the dripping had subsided. Ildren then removed the cloth and pressed the backs of her fingers against the frozen breast. "Mmm ..." she said. "Your bosom is so tight and hard - like a marble sculpture." Ildren moved around and stood at Anya's bottom. Anya closed her eyes so very tight and tensed up every muscle, and then the bowl was lifted from her back and placed above her bottom, at the tail of Anya's spine. It balanced very uncertainly.
"Do not jerk, my darling, for if it should tip, I fear it might fully overturn." Ildren's tone suggested that she wanted this to happen, so Anya kept as still as she was able, against her shaking and her shivers. She heard the Taskmistress dip and squeeze the cloth again. She bit her lip. "Now, we will refresh you in that very special place ..." Anya waited for the icy touch; it did not come. At last, she opened her eyes - and jumped. Ildren was in front of her. And then she cried out with the shock of coldness, as the bowl overflowed and the splash of water dribbled down her groove. Ildren, smiling very sweetly, merely shook her finger. "Now, don't say I didn't warn you. You must keep very still." And then she moved up very close to Anya's face. Anya tried to pull away, for she had noticed, with anxiety, that the pupils of Ildren's eyes had shrunk to tiny points.
"Do you know, I think you moved deliberately ... you very naughty thing!" Ildren said, and tugged at Anya's ear. Even though such a thing quite clearly was not true, still Anya's neck and cheeks were burning with embarrassment. This woman took delight in trying to degrade her. "If you like, I can pour it down that sweet and tender parting - if that would bring you pleasure. No? But my dear, you should never be ashamed to take pleasure, if you wish it, in these perverse little ways," she gloated, making Anya even more ashamed than ever. Ildren pulled away, and held up the cloth; she stretched it to a very tight straight edge. "And now," she whispered, "we will draw this cool delight up and down your parting - but very lightly. Would you like that - that tickling in that very special, very blackened place? Hmm?" Anya looked away. "Does your blackness like such naughtiness and tickling?"
Anya's cheeks were burning bright; she hated this woman's words, but even more than that, she hated what those suggestive words were doing to her body, against her will, forcing that delicious sinking feeling deep within her belly. The Taskmistress tightened the silken knot across Anya's back, which lifted her thighs and concentrated the pressure there between her legs, and spread her buttocks even tighter, and then Ildren's fingertip seduced the slave, by stroking gently back and forth across the very tip of Anya's spine. "There ... does that feel nice? Now push that bottom out ... pout that tiny mouth ... Mmmm, that looks so delicious."
Now Ildren was back again at Anya's head, kissing her fully on the lips, and teasing at her acorns. The Taskmistress was shaking. "You sweet and luscious thing," she said. "Now place your head like this - lie upon your cheek, and turn a little, like this - good - so I may look upon your face whilst I tickle you there ..."
From the corner of her eye, Anya could see the Taskmistress standing behind her - she could see her place the cloth into the bowl to cool it once again, then wring it very deliberately, then hold it up and draw it out very tightly, and then Anya had to watch it disappear from view. "Now you shall pout for me - turn your face and pout your lips and ..." Ildren's very deep and husky voice had momentarily failed her, "and pout that bottom ... now." And then a sweetly rasping line of ice was drawn across Anya's tender rim of pushed-out flesh; it vibrated up inside her; it made her suck her breath in sharply. The gentle rasping stopped. "Your lips must remain at all times pouted - I wish to look upon your lewdness, as I brush you in your puckering. Now, wet your lips and do it very nicely. Good ... and push that other little mouth out very rudely." The bowstring pulled across again, and Anya's hips and belly quaked with pure sweet delectation; it felt as if a silken thread of pleasure, rolled up inside her body, was being drawn very slowly out of Anya's bottom. "My dear - you naughty thing - your bottom is pulsating. I shall smack it. No, keep still, or you shall spill the bowl. I shall smack it - for its rudeness - with my finger."
Ildren was well aware that this style of discipline was so important for a slave, for it served, not as a punishment - though certainly it could constitute an embarrassment for any slave to have to suffer such chastisement. No, it was designed by Ildren specifically to excite a slave to the ways of lustful sensuality and, in this respect, Ildren had never known this peculiarly intimate lash to fail.
Ildren dipped her middle finger in the bowl of water, saying, "Pout that secret mouth for me ... Do not be so shy. Your secret mouth will love it." Anya was so ashamed at what the Taskmistress was forcing her to do, but she was also frightened that Ildren would want to hurt her there, in that very tender place. Now Ildren sounded very much more firm. "I expect to be obeyed," she growled. "Do it now!" Anya hated and despised this woman for making her do these things with such abasement. "That is better. Push out further. And now, for your stubbornness, you shall count for me the measure of your chastisement." The Taskmistress forced Anya to count out loud her smacks. Anya had to fight back the tears of shame. The cold wet pad of Ildren's finger struck her with a sudden snap, precisely in that spot; it made her jerk; her bottom mouth contracted. Ildren waited patiently, but Anya could not bring herself to collude in this, her degradation. At length, the Taskmistress gave up waiting for her slave to speak, and simply took the tender rim of flesh between her finger and her thumb. She pinched it hard, until Anya wailed for her to stop. "Do I take it that you wish to co-operate, my dear?" Anya bit her lip and nodded. That tender flesh within her groove was throbbing very gently.
This time, as Ildren's moistened finger smacked, and she watched that mouth pulsate, she was pleased to hear the slave count, "One," and to do so very promptly.
"Good," Ildren said, and reaching underneath to cup that ripe black fruit within her palm, she smacked her once again. Ildren loved that resilient slap of finger-end against that knot of black-brown flesh, that luscious palpitation, and now, that pulsing in her palm that signalled - regardless of the sobs and murmured protestations - the first uncertain stirrings of pleasure in her slave. Ildren's fingers split that fruit and delved within its moist warm flesh, amid the little gasps - those more definite pleasurable assertions - and searched out and closed around that hard little pip of lust. So now, each time she smacked that bott
om mouth, and the slave called out the count, she gave that pip a gentle squeeze, until Anya's hips were shaking, her sex had liquified inside, and the oily, pushed-out pip kept slipping back each time that Ildren pulled it downwards, and the count was twenty-three. Ildren then had Anya open her mouth very wide indeed, while she soaked her middle finger in the water till it went quite numb with coldness, and then she pushed it very slowly into Anya's bottom, which, Ildren insisted, must remain throughout in that pushed-out pouted state, and must not contract, even though the bondslave found this posture so very difficult to maintain.
Anya gasped and could not help but tighten against the shocking coldness slipping up against her delicate inner warmth, and the simultaneous pleasure of that other finger circling round her nubbin.
"Open, my sweet; let your body reach to take this pleasure." Anya felt as if an icicle had been pushed into her person. Ildren released the pip and pressed Anya's leaves together, then gently drew the finger out and dipped it back into the water. "No ... no, my darling," she instructed Anya, whilst she waited for her finger to go sufficiently cold, "keep your mouth wide open. We have not finished yet. Now this time, push your tongue out very slowly, as I enter you ... hold still ... pout out that little mouth ... Good ... Mmm ... Does that feel very nice? Keep pushing out that delicious tongue until my finger is right in ... Good!" Anya's tongue was pushed out very far indeed, and Ildren was regretful that with the slave in this position she could not reach that tongue to close her lips around it. She made a mental note that she should think about some readjustment to the slave's position before she tried this game in future. For the present, she contented herself by spreading Anya's flesh leaves, and exposing Anya's pearly bud, then pressing the tip of her little finger against it and rotating very lightly, whilst she continued slowly pulling her finger out of Anya's body, and pushing it in again. She watched the slave's tongue mirror that penetration and retraction, more lewdly still with each occurrence, until her head arched back as if her tongue were reaching out to touch someone, and her breathing seemed to snag on something hard. Ildren understood that signal very well; straight away, she stopped moving her little finger, and gently, she removed it, and - very lightly - pressed those leaves together, which evoked a murmur of delicious protest. Then more carefully still, she removed the finger from that gently pulsing bottom, and patted it softly on the cheeks.
