by Candy Nicks
"This isn't fair. You know I can't resist you."
"Then why are you even trying?” Vaguely, she heard two raps on the bedroom door. Time to bring out the big guns. Make him tremble some more. She shuffled into him, causing him to step back against the wall. Poor Ancel, whose efforts to be noble would only be laughed at by their cynical captors. She smiled, overwhelmed by a pang of tenderness for this Eagle warrior, who tried so hard to do the right thing. Letting him go wouldn't be easy.
His struggle was already a lost cause. With, or without the drugs, the symbols would not be denied. One day, when he was free to hate her again, he would wonder at this momentary madness, but not this day. He neither helped, nor resisted. She smoothed the soft leather, skimming the lacings with her fingernails. Genuinely fascinated by his lusty warrior's body. Her need of him was shameful. He gave a soft cry, almost of despair, when she pulled at the laces to release his rigid cock into her hands. Put out a hand to stop her, which she patted away with ease.
"Don't fight me,” she said, echoing his own words back. “I want to touch you. Let me.” Reaching up, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants and pulled them over his hips, down over his calves.
Ancel groaned again and slid down the wall, hands fisted, as if fighting a battle with himself. He watched her through half-closed eyes. Abdicating responsibility, or finally coming round to her way of thinking? She didn't stop to worry about it. The symbols urged her on. Taste him. Now, while you have him. Can't you see he's yours to command?
"Forgive me,” she said and touched him with her tongue, tasting his desire. Feeling the power she had over him. She sat back and met his heavy-lidded gaze. The Bonding made her feel like a woman, in every sense of the word. Taking the hem of her dress, she pulled it over her head and draped the slinky material over his impressive erection, pulling it slowly back and forth. Rubbed it over his balls, his stomach. Then she threw it across the bathing-room with an abandon that was real, not feigned. She was wet, and as hungry for him as he was for her. His eyes were wide open now, taking in every inch of her. His breathing short and quick.
She wanted to kiss his mouth, but that seemed more intimate an act than this. Instinctively she knew it was something to be kept between themselves, not shared with the decadent voyeurs behind the camera. Instead, she bent her head and pressed her lips to his stomach, moving them back and forth over the line of fair hair, which ran downwards to his groin. The thick curls surrounding his cock brushed against her breasts, hardening her nipples and stealing her breath. She moved lower, praying that he would allow her to continue. Desperately wanting his hands on her.
He was large, as befitted a man of his stature and she was but a novice at this. The Marriage Book, over which she'd spent many a late night giggling with her sisters, had indicated that men liked a woman's mouth on them, but the words had given no real indication as to how it should be done. Help me, she thought, and gave a grateful smile when he moved his hips.
Vin had asked for a show. Would this be enough? Her mouth sliding over his hard silken flesh. Her naked back and gently swinging breasts. Ancel resolutely refusing to give them anything other than this stony-faced acceptance. Had they heard the frantic thumping of his heart as she'd made him come? Or seen the blaze of lust in his eyes when she'd swallowed, reflexively?
After such an act there should be intimacy, soft words and gentle caresses. Instead, she felt bereft. Carine knelt before him, hands covering her breasts, while Ancel straightened himself up, jerking at the lacings of his pants with angry movements. She was desperate for reassurance; to know that the anger wasn't directed at her. He moved away and refused to catch her eye.
"Dress yourself,” he said, throwing the discarded gown to her. She gathered it up and pressed it to her breasts, biting back the tears. Not wanting the camera to witness her shame. Turning to the door, she listened for the knocks which would signal the end of this particular ordeal. They didn't come. Were their captors now relishing the painful aftermath? If so, she refused to give them that. She'd done enough.
Behind her, water splashed into the sink. Ancel spluttered and reached for a towel. She slipped the dress over her head, glad to be covered again. Embarrassed at her display. No. She raised her head. No room for pride, or self indulgent thoughts. Let Ancel blame her; she'd done what he wouldn't and he should thank her for it.
All she got was a glare. Best leave him to simmer. She needed to talk to Vin. See if he'd considered her proposal. And she needed to make sense of this new stage in her relationship with Ancel. Each passing moment pulled them deeper into the Bonding. Yet, the deeper they got, the more she loved him and the more she wanted to set him free.
Love? Or just magic? She rubbed her temples, feeling the thrum of a headache behind her eyes. Life had always been so simple, charmed even. To live out her days in the calm serenity of the Temple, or perhaps find a life partner and serve the community was all she'd ever asked for. Now she was burdened with the responsibility of keeping Ancel alive. Faced with the possibility of losing her soul.
And despite the Bonding, feeling terribly alone. She squared her shoulders, hoping they'd take the weight of the burdens ahead. She could only try and hope it would be enough to save Ancel, in the very least.
Chapter 7
The days began to blur, each into the other. Every night, in front of a packed house of leering faces, he saved her. Every morning, he prayed for the strength to do it again. He'd got the measure of Rock, early on and the subsequent pathetic string of contenders for Carine's virtue had almost been an insult to his prowess as a warrior. Having spent this year's budget on himself and Carine, it seemed the O had few resources left to purchase a worthy match for him.
But still, he did not let down his guard. One day Rock would have luck on his side. A slip, a momentary lapse of concentration; that's all it took to lose a battle.
Ancel slammed the heavy sword into the iron bar welded to the floor of the training room, sweeping it back with a screech and shower of sparks. Changed hands and thrust it into the sawdust-filled bag hanging from the ceiling. Being able to wield a weapon equally well with both right and left hands was a useful gift, although the symbols made their dislike of the sword's metal hilt very plain. He closed his eyes and threw the sword to spin over his head, raising his right arm to snatch it as the hilt came down. The training ritual at least grounded him in something of his old life. Helped him to exorcise some of the frustrations of captivity. It did nothing, though, to lessen his impatience with Carine. Every night, in the relative peace of their bed, they had the same argument. To run now, or wait for a better time. And every night, it ended in the same way. He'd turn his back, she'd touch him ... He was going soft.
"Get me some proper competition,” he called to the figure standing watching him, arms folded, at the edge of the room. “Rock's a has-been. And the rest are barely out of swaddling bands. You heard the crowd last night."
"Ahh, yes.” Vin crossed the room to stand, as usual too close. Ancel stepped away, as he always did. Without touching him, Vin had him by the balls. Whenever he trained, Carine went to the harem, as Vin called it; basically a room where the women could meet and talk. Women needed to talk, he'd say, with an exaggerated eye-roll. Effectively, Carine was hostage to his good behaviour. He was a good boy—he got to see her again. He wasn't—she disappeared for good.
Ancel emptied his mind as best he could. Filled it again with images of a travelling show that had tumbled through his township many years ago. Blocking Vin was difficult, but not impossible.
"You're good, have to give you that.” Vin nodded his appreciation. “Not many who can block me, but you give me quite a run.” He adjusted his yellow wig and pursed his blackened lips. “You want me to find you a challenger who will take you to the edge. Scare Carine into thinking you've reached your limit and she's going to get raped by some outlander with two dicks. “Ancel darling, take me away from all this ... Is that how it goes?"
&nbs
p; Ancel clenched his fists to stop himself decking Vin. Patience—a lesson he was learning. “You insult me with those puny excuses for warriors,” he replied evenly. “Most of them haven't even started shaving yet."
"You don't like killing them. I can understand that. But it's not as easy these days.” Vin smirked and stepped closer, pushing his advantage to the limit. “You savages are getting organised. The outlying tribes have better defences. It's rare to snag a prize like you. You were very careless."
Didn't he know it? The shame of his capture still stung. Ancel's fists trembled.
"Go ahead,” Vin said casually. “I'm always up for a bit of BDSM."
"In your dreams."
"You don't want to know what goes on in my dreams, Ancel my dear. You want to ram that sword up my butt? Delicious symbolism, darling. The Z's offering a minimum of five deaths a night, so count yourself lucky, warrior. You have it easier than you could ever imagine."
Ancel sidestepped, avoiding Vin's roving hand. They both knew where they stood. Vin reached for him again, sliding his palm against the symbols. He squeezed and held on.
"You could give a little, you know,” Vin said, with a sigh. “Earn yourself a few perks."
"Fuck off.” Ancel kept his tone neutral. Vin's pining for him was laughable, but very real. And though it un-manned him to play along, he could, to a point. For Carine, he would play this subtle trump card. As long as hand-holding was as far as it went. He shook Vin off and threw down the sword. “Take me back, I'm finished here."
"My place, or yours?” Vin winked at him, only half joking.
The sword was back in Ancel's hand before Vin could draw breath. Twirling, he clutched it two handed, swung it over his head and stopped the blade just short of Vin's skull. A droplet of blood trickled down Vin's forehead and meandered into his eye. Vin's face blanched, the only colour remaining, the crimson blood and two bright spots of face-paint on his cheeks.
"Well, fuck you too,” he said wiping at his eye. “Look what you did to my wig! I want you, I'll have you, willing or not. Maybe we should change the game. Chain you up and make Carine fight for you. Do you think she could take me?"
Ancel lowered the sword and wiped it casually on Vin's sleeve. “Leave her out of it. This is between me and you."
"You think there are rules, now? This isn't warrior-school, with all its fancy notions of honour and chivalry. It's kill or be killed here. Survival of the fittest. She understands. She'd do anything for you, have you got that into your thick skull yet? While you stand there, oh so noble, clinging to your useless honour, she's the one keeping you both alive."
"I would die for her."
"That's the whole point. She doesn't want you to die for her, you prat. What use is that to a Bonded pair? You die, she dies, isn't that how it goes? She would get down on her hands and knees and let me fuck her here and now, if she thought it would keep you alive. Would you do the same for her?"
The air was suddenly too thick to breath. Vin's eyes darkened with malevolent intent. His hand slid to Ancel's crotch. “Would you?” he said, squeezing lightly.
By the Gods, he thought he'd been tested. Fighting for her. Risking his life for her. He felt Vin plucking idly at the lacings of his pants.
"Ask her where she goes of an evening. What does she tell you? To talk to Jana? Exchange pleasantries with mad old Martha? She does what you refuse to, and that makes her the better person.” Vin's hand shook now. He jerked the lacings aside. “Hell on earth, you're a bloody stallion,” he said licking his black lips. “The videos don't nearly do it justice."
After their nightly show, Carine would usually clean up, then visit Jana, the poor young slave who was slowly being beaten to death by Rock's brutality. After life in the Temple, Ancel understood her need to connect with female company. Occasionally she'd return and vomit into the toilet bowl, claiming a stomach ailment.
"Exactly,” Vin crooned. “You are oh-so-dim. Let me suck you off and I'll give you both a couple of day's vacation. You're looking stressed. I can help with that."
The symbols prickled anxiously. Don't be cross, they pleaded. She's doing it for you.
Ancel imagined his hands circling Vin's neck. Squeezing until his eyes bulged. It would take but seconds to kill the man, even though it would mean the end for himself and Carine. From somewhere he found the restraint to stop himself.
Vin gave him a cold stare. “Don't be hard on her, Ancel. She's still your best chance."
Ancel shoved him aside and strode to the door. “Guard,” he bellowed, lacing himself up. “I'm done here. Take me back, I'm done."
* * * *
She couldn't see their faces, only a sea of dark shapes moving through the smoke beyond the pool of red light illuminating the stage area. Nervous energy filled the room. The audience hushed and stilled, all attention on the two figures cowering before her. A leather whip trembled in her hand, matching the shaking of her knees. Carine cracked it, whipping it between the two kneeling women, almost catching Jana on the backswing. The girl didn't notice. Eyes glazed over, movements mechanical, she went into the routine with the enthusiasm of a zombie. A woman on the edge and about to jump off. Carine's heart bled for her.
Each performance earned Ancel a night off, and potentially an extra day alive. This made four and Ancel had yet to query her disappearances. Lifting one spike-heeled shoe, Carine then brought it down on the older woman's hand, her face contorted in what she hoped was a sadistic leer. The woman screamed theatrically and clutched at Carine's bare thigh. Jana latched onto the other. Voices called, over the thumping music. Crude suggestions, invitations, commands. A gold credit hit her leg, others rained onto the stage, clinking and rolling around them.
Carine closed her eyes and threw back her head. No buzz tonight; usually she'd be as out of it as Jana by now. Desperately, she tried to replace the feel of hands pulling at her clothes with thoughts of home, her childhood. Mouths sliding over her skin, with the cool tug of the breezes in spring.
"Moan louder, will you?” The older woman pinched the inside of Carine's thigh. “Can't you feel how restless they're getting?"
She duly moaned, and made the mistake of opening her eyes. On the edge of the stage, one of the guards rubbed the front of his pants, his gaze firmly on her. Another blatantly caressed the barrel of his blast-gun, tongue between his lips. She closed them again, grateful to feel the soft tingling of the drug entering her bloodstream. The hands and lips turned into a blur of sensation, the audience into a black void. Later would come the shame but for now, her over-sensitised skin latched onto the pleasure and rejected the rest. If Ancel was willing to lay his life on the line for her, then she could do this.
Restrained applause rippled through the fog. A shape jumped onto the stage and lunged for her. A guard threw him off and pulled at her arm, dragging her behind the scenery. She didn't have the will to push off his roving hands while she lay recovering her breath on the dirty backstage floor. Jana slumped, face down, resting where she'd fallen. The older woman stood, casually fastening her clothing, slapping away the groping guards.
"Ten credits,” she said, without looking up. “I'll do you both for fifteen."
Through the haze, Carine saw the flash of gold coins, the three figures moving to a dark corner behind the curtain. She staggered upright and spotted Vin herding the next batch of unfortunates onto the stage.
"Well,” he said when he returned. “Dominating the dominatrix, that wasn't. Absolutely pathetic, darling. Your heart's just not in it, sweetie. And it shows."
"Then give me something stronger,” she said, leaning back against a post. “I can still feel it all. I don't want to feel."
"No can do, baby. Got to get into these things gradually, or you'll be no use to anyone. You want him to find out?"
"No, no, I don't. Vin, have you thought about my proposal?"
"I might have,” he said, one eye on the stage. “God on the cross, it's a bear-pit tonight. And she doesn't have much left i
n her.” He toed Jana disdainfully with his boot.
"Leave her alone, Vin. You're killing her."
"And I should care because?” He picked up a microphone and strode onto the stage to introduce the act. Carine moved to crouch beside Jana and gently turned her over. The girl stank of vomit and stale sweat. A string of saliva hung from her lips. Weakly, she clawed at Carine's arm.
"I'll get you out.” Carine smoothed back Jana's tangled hair, touched the dark bruise under her eye, wiped at her mouth. “Just hold on. We won't leave you behind. Got that?"
"Don't leave me,” she pleaded. “Don't leave me behind."
"We won't leave you to Rock."
"He loves me."
Carine's heart constricted. Jana squeezed briefly and flopped back down. Love? Whatever it was, Rock certainly seemed to be completely obsessed with the young slave.
Vin returned, looking unnaturally flushed under the dim backstage lights. “Hybrid's don't feel much, but he'll cry real tears when he finally kills her. She's the only one who can control him. Shame. Rock's a big draw, but we'll probably have to have him destroyed when she's gone."
Carine swallowed down the sick feeling souring her throat. “How did you get so cold?"
"Same way as you will,” Vin said. “Bit by bit, without even noticing. Every day you'll crash one more barrier, breach another taboo. Until that's your life. I can't feel sorry for every slave who comes through here."
"Is there anything left in there?” She pointed to his heart.
Vin plucked a robe from a peg and threw it down. “Cover up. You're getting Brynn horny as hell."
Carine glanced at the leering guard who had reappeared from behind the curtain, fastening his pants. He returned her a wink and a wide toothy grin. She picked up the robe and pulled it over her shoulders, glad to be covered again. The effects of the drug were quick, but short-lived. Enough to get her through, but not enough to make her forget.
"Give her a night off, Vin. Can't you see how close to the edge she is?” Jana shook now, with violent spasms of withdrawal.
