An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Beastmistress
ISBN # 1-4199-0652-6
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Beastmistress Copyright© 2006 Virginia Reede
Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication: June 2006
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Beastmistress
Virginia Reede
Chapter One
The Palace
How did a nice Irish girl end up naked—or nearly so—in the court of an Indian rajah?
Leandre contemplated the convoluted path she had traveled to find herself in this predicament. It was better than thinking about what was happening around her. The bright colors, the noise, the very smells of this place made her head swim. Also, the ridiculous bit of transparent cloth she had been given to conceal her nakedness seemed to do precisely the opposite. The tickle of the fabric against her nipples caused them to grow hard and, she was sure, rosy. She tried to ignore the way the eyes of the men and some of the women strayed to her breasts, everyone except the rajah himself, who was making a great show of not noticing her.
Sukumar—the name meant “handsome” in Sanskrit, according to Phanishwar—was probably used to receiving lavish gifts. Nevertheless, Leandre would have thought a European woman would have been enough of a novelty to capture his attention for at least a short while. Phanishwar had certainly hoped to impress the powerful rajah when he’d had her bathed, perfumed, bedecked with jewels and dressed like a…like a…
Actually, Leandre had never seen anyone dressed this way. The other women in the court—she supposed it was sort of a royal court, bizarre as that seemed—wore garments that she would have considered immodest, had she not her own nakedness to compare them to. And she had thought the dazzling pearls and jewels draped around her to be lavish, until she saw the way Sukumar himself was adorned. If he stood in bright sunlight, it would dazzle the eye, she thought.
If Sukumar ignored her, the other men in the court did not. Even if she didn’t understand all the languages being spoken, their hungry eyes and lascivious expressions made their meaning clear. And Leandre had picked up quite a bit of the local dialect from Phanishwar, who originated from this area, even if his business travels took him afar. Her childhood and adolescence in her father’s house, where Romans, Celts, Saxons, Gauls and every other manner of traveler in the northern isles eventually passed through, had given her an ear for tongues—and intent.
The men hoped Sukumar would not reject his newest gift outright, but accept her as a palace ornament only and not take her into his…zuddhanta, did they call it? The palace women apparently included those who were exclusively for Sukumar’s use, and those who could be claimed by anyone enough in his favor to be welcomed as a guest. One swarthy man caught her eye and moved his hand to his groin, pulling back the loose fabric of his robes so she could see his cock swelling against the silky folds of his trousers.
Leandre held his eye for a moment, unwilling to show fear or shame. Instead, she let her gaze travel down to the bulge that was probably supposed to impress her. She made a sharp exhalation of breath through her nostrils, as if what she had seen was hardly worth looking at. The man’s change of expression told her he had received her message, as had several of his friends who, seeing the exchange, erupted in laughter. The object of her ridicule seemed less amused.
She tossed her head and looked away. That was probably a bad idea. Her pride had always gotten her into trouble, even as a girl. Her mother had died during Leandre’s infancy, and her father had indulged this reminder of his one true love. He had tried to discipline her but his attempts had been halfhearted.
“You must be polite to Utha, my girl. His father is a king,” he had chided gently, when the crybaby had run to complain that the golden-haired devil had pushed him into the pigsty.
“I do not like Utha. He is bossy and he smells.” Somewhat worse, actually, after the incident with the pigs. “Besides Father, you are a king as well.”
Leandre remembered how her father’s eyes had twinkled with amusement before he hid the expression with a frown. “Ah, well yes, my lass, I am indeed. But there are kings and kings, you know. And I am not a very important one.”
“You are the most important king in the world.”
That time Father had laughed outright, unable to resist the seven-year-old’s naïve notion about her parent.
“Far from it, my darling girl. But I am the luckiest king in the world, and that is what counts.”
Leandre felt tears fill her eyes at the memory. Her father had done his best for her, and even though the marriage he had arranged was intended to forge a political alliance, he had chosen a man he believed would suit her well. And he had been right.
The sounds and the colors of the court faded as her mind drifted back to her wedding night, as it had so many times lately.
* * * * *
It had been a day of revelry. Since the hours before dawn, when servants had first drawn Leandre’s bath and laid out her mother’s wedding dress, altered to fit her taller form, the day had whirled by in a maelstrom of music, gifts, laughter and wine. And Leandre had been at the center of it, being congratulated and kissed and petted, showered with gold and flattery. She had danced with tiny children and ancient men, been fed delicacies and had drunk countless toasts.
Now, her cheeks flushed with wine and, to some degree, terror, she was finally alone with Duncan.
The nightdress given to Leandre by the ladies of her father’s court was doubtless modest enough, but it seemed shameless to a girl accustomed to layers of underskirts and long wool underwear, and she was terribly conscious of her nakedness underneath. Duncan had entered the room wearing a rich robe that ended just below his knees, showing bare legs and feet. Was he wearing anything under it? The thought had heightened Leandre’s color.
She was sitting in the center of his great bed, where it had been her intention to loll languidly against the heaps of pillows like a wanton. Once Leandre had climbed onto the covers, however, she had caught his scent among the bedclothes and had been unable to sustain the illusion that she was anything other than an eighteen-year-old virgin with little idea of what was in store.
Had Leandre’s mother been alive, she would no doubt have told her what to expect. Her maidservant had told her to “be brave” and that it would “not be too bad”. She had even ventured to add that once Leandre got used to it, she might like it well enough.
Swallowing convulsively, Leandre looked up into Duncan’s face and tried to smile. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed some hair away from her face.
“I am a little nervous,” he said, and Leandre’s astonishment must have been obvious because he laughed. “Yes, my darling girl, I am a bit apprehensive about our wedding night.”
“But you have been with hundreds of women,” she blurted.
“Hundreds?” He raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Perhaps not so many as all that. But it has not been since my first wedding night that I bedded a virgin.”
Leandre looked into the kindly face, trusting him completely. “Tell me about your first wedding night.”
He laughed. “Not many wives would wish to hear such a story from their new husbands, with their marriage not yet consummated.” His eyes darkened an
d he caressed her hip through the linen. “And I may not be in a mood to tell it.”
She swallowed again, feeling something other than nervousness begin to bloom in her belly. “I just want to know what it is like for a virgin,” she admitted. “Did she…like it?”
This time his laugh was rueful. “She said so. But I was a virgin myself, you know. Sióban and I were children together, and had known we were to be wed from the time we began to talk. We had learned everything together—to ride, to do our letters, to dance. It was just one more thing to learn, but we didn’t have any tutors. Neither of us really knew how it was supposed to be.”
“At least this time one of us knows.”
“Yes, my love, one of us knows.” He moved farther onto the bed and took Leandre’s face between his hands. “And I will do everything in my power to make this night a good one for you.”
He kissed her then, and although it was not the first time he had done so, tonight was different. Her lips parted and his tongue searched her mouth. She could taste wine and his own special flavor, and she sucked hungrily at it. The heat in her belly grew to something more intense and moved lower, causing a tensing between her legs.
Soon his cock will be pushing at this very place. It wasn’t the first time Leandre had had this thought, but it was the first time it had seemed like a good thing. She suddenly wanted to feel his cock in that special place very, very much.
Boldly, she reached for it, fumbling at the folds of his robe. He chuckled and pulled his mouth from hers.
“Not yet, my dove. I must ready you for what is to come.” He reached for the linen shift and she raised my arms so he could lift it over her head. Naked before him, her self-consciousness returned and she covered her breasts with her hands.
“No my love, let me see them. I have wanted to so much for these many months.” He took one breast in each hand and lifted them, weighing them. Leandre watched her nipples harden under his caresses, and he rubbed his thumbs over them.
“That feels good.” She wanted him to know she enjoyed his caresses.
“I can see that.” He bent his head and took one erect point between his lips and sucked. Leandre had been touching her own breasts for years, squeezing and pinching them, but the sensation that rolled through her as his tongue teased and lapped and pushed the tender flesh against the edge of his teeth was one for which she was unprepared. She gasped.
“Oh! Duncan, that is wonderful.”
“I am glad you think so,” he purred, switching to the other nipple and lavishing similar attention on it. The tingling between her legs grew to an ache. He released her breasts for a moment. “There are many places on a woman’s body that can make her soul sing, my love.”
“There are?” It was growing difficult to speak.
“Yes, my love. And we will find them all tonight.”
* * * * *
“Look, she cries!” A female voice spoke in a tongue Leandre understood. Annoyed, she wiped the tears from her face and searched for the person who made the comment. It was one of the women who Phanishwar had identified as being an official consort of the rajah.
“Be cautious, Poornima. She may be your new sister.” The consort’s plump companion’s tone was teasing.
Poornima’s snort was derisive. “Sukumar would not bed such a cow. She is enormous. Her tardana is probably as big as a cavern.”
Leandre was not familiar with the word, but she had a good idea what it meant. She glared at the woman who obviously considered her a rival. She did not want to become a member of Sukumar’s zuddhanta, but would that not be preferable to being available to any man who chose to bed her? Purposely disregarding the gossiping women, Leandre took the opportunity to surreptitiously examine the rajah. Sukumar sat enthroned on a dais much larger than the platform where Leandre stood. His name fit him well enough, but there was a glint of cruelty in his eyes that made Leandre uncomfortable. She tried to imagine his jeweled hands on her white flesh and suppressed a shudder.
A chittering sound startled Leandre and she looked up at the top of the curtained wall behind the platform. One of the ubiquitous monkeys was staring at her, and she smiled at his little-old-man face. “So, come on down and see me if that is what you want,” she said, and the beast scampered down and sat on her shoulder.
“Hello, friend. Do you have a name?” Some of the monkeys in the palace were obviously pets, with jeweled collars and even little jackets and turbans, but this one was unadorned. The monkey chattered happily and tugged gently at her hair, and she laughed. “Thank you for giving me something to smile about on this day.”
Turning back to the crowd, she noticed another man looking at her. Meeting her gaze, he nodded almost imperceptibly before returning his attention to the elderly man who was speaking to him. Now that was a man she could imagine making love with.
Milk and honey. Bhavesh tried to concentrate on what the old man was saying. He focused on a conveniently placed mole just above the bridge of the man’s nose, in order to prevent his eyes from straying back to the white and gold woman on the platform. Staring at his host’s newest possession would not be a good political move. Particularly since she seemed to be staring back. Who is she? He felt his face color and wondered if she noticed.
“Of course it is the tigers he cares most about,” the old man was saying, and Bhavesh realized he had lost the thread of the conversation.
“The tigers?” Had he missed something important? Bhavesh’s family had sent him to Sukumar’s court to improve his political skills and gain the rajah’s favor. So far he hadn’t made much progress—he despised the court and the constant posturing of its many inhabitants. His quarters were opulent but confining, and he longed for the freedom of his home to the south. And he had yet to have a personal conversation with Sukumar, who was perpetually surrounded by toadying nobles and tittering women.
“Oh yes! Sukumar’s family did not always live in the city.” The old man—what was his name?—lowered his voice confidentially. “He may not like to remind people his family is from the Sundarban, but they are.”
Bhavesh nodded—Sukumar’s history was well known to him. But the tigers…
“Surely Sukumar does not worship them—they are merely palace pets.” Bhavesh’s village was in the Sundarban, but even in that region the worship of tigers had become very rare and was only practiced openly in the most remote sections of the swampy forest.
“Perhaps, perhaps.” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “But few pets live so luxuriously, would you not agree?”
Leandre could not take her eyes off the tall man who had stared at her. He was not dressed as richly as most others, nor bejeweled so ostentatiously, but this did not have the effect of making him appear poorer or subordinate to the others—quite the opposite. Even though Leandre’s understanding of dress came from a different world, she could sense that his garments were understated rather than simple, and of fine quality.
He listened politely to the elderly man who clutched his arm and tilted his head in the mock-confidential pose of the perpetual gossip. Yet, Leandre could feel his awareness of her gaze. His eyes flickered toward her again and she felt her lips curve in a tiny smile. Had he seen it before he turned away? She hoped so, although it was probably a dangerous thing to be flirting in her already precarious situation.
Or maybe not. If Sukumar did not choose to make her part of his zuddhanta, she would be available to his guests. Perhaps she would have some choice in the matter of her…clients? Visitors? Probably not. Thinking of the disgusting man who had shown her his swelling erection, she shuddered.
Yet she wanted to feel a man’s touch again, needed to. Duncan had given her the gift of a healthy woman’s lust that first night, and she had never again been without it.
* * * * *
“Pay attention, darling girl, for here is the secret to a woman’s desire.”
They were both naked now, Leandre reclining on the bed, but Duncan had not yet let her take his cock in her
hand. He said he did not want to be finished too soon.
He had kissed the back of Leandre’s neck, run his tongue along the contours of her ears, and lavished kisses and nips on the curve of her belly and thighs. The place between her legs had first begun to throb and then to grow wet, but still Duncan had not touched her there.
As his lips touched the line where the inside of her thigh met her belly, Leandre shuddered with need. “Duncan, you must…you must…” Leandre realized she did not know how to finish the sentence. She did not know what he must do, only that it must happen soon.
He looked up at her and smiled. “Give me your hand, my love.”
“My hand?” Leandre felt her brow wrinkle with confusion, but she reached down to place her fingers into the palm he extended. He folded her fingers, except for the first, and pulled her hand to the cleft between her legs.
“I am wetting your finger,” he told her, and Leandre felt him place it between the swollen lips that ached to be touched. She felt the silky wetness as he directed her to stroke along the opening between them. She shivered and would have rubbed harder, but his hand prevented her.
“Now, I want you to run your finger very slowly and gently toward the front until you feel the place where the lips join. Slowly,” he directed, and although he loosened his grip enough so that Leandre could move at her own pace, his gentle hand still led her.
She did as he bade and felt the tip of her finger reach the place of union. She started and made a light gasp. This spot was more sensitive even than the silky folds surrounding it. Leandre had touched herself here before, rubbing vigorously, but Duncan restrained her from more forceful attention.
“Ah, yes, that is the place. Now, pull against it every so gently.” He watched her face as he guided her. “Do you feel the bud?”
Leandre tugged lightly and felt her hand tremble as the tiny nub of flesh responded. “Oh! Yes, Duncan. It is moving of its own accord!”
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