The slavemaster’s behavior confused her. One moment he treated her as if she were the most precious woman he’d ever had in his life. The next…he was either tormenting her or putting distance between them. “Part of my training, isn’t it, Tarken?” Cushla murmured sullenly. “You get more bizzles with sweetness than you do with bitterjuice?”
What in hell stars did she expect, that he was falling for her? No, it was just the opposite. Cushla concluded that he was attempting to get her to fall in love with him. By doing so, he could manipulate her better, using the, ‘if you love me’ ploy to get her to do as he wanted. Tarken obviously played her for a fool if he thought to use that technique on her. “I won’t be charmed by you, master. That I promise.” Stomping from the hygiene chamber, Cushla had every intention of using belligerence to refuse his intentions--whatever in hell holy fires that might be.
She was caught up short when she entered the bed chamber to see Tarken sitting at the table eating. He was eating her rub cherkin--he was devouring it as if it was his last meal. Cushla’s stomach gurgled. She was hungry, but not hungry enough to stare at the platter longingly. Let him eat it!
“Sit, Cushla.” Tarken indicated the seat across from him at the table.
“You’re letting me sit eye level to you, slavemaster?” Cushla stalked across the room, sat in the chair opposite him and glared at him.
His expression was vague and unreadable. “You’re dinner, mistress.” Tarken reached for the pitcher atop the table and angled it over a glass to fill it with water. He picked up the glass and then set in front of her before stabbing his fork into the next chunk of rub cherkin he’d forbidden her to eat.
Cushla refused to watch him put the tender delicacy into his mouth. Instead, she took a sip of her water and pretended to be unaffected by the slavemaster’s punishment. “Does it taste as good as it smells, my master?” She stared at him blankly.
“I’ll bet you taste as good as you smell, mistress.” Tarken stopped eating. He picked up the platter and returned it to the ion bag that would keep it fresh and warm. He patted the area of the tabletop in front of him while giving Cushla a licentious look. “Come put your ass up here. I’m in the mood for dessert.”
A shudder rippled through Cushla and her flesh heated. Squirming in her chair, she imagined what it would be like to have his mouth sucking on her down there.
“Cushla.”
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of Tarken’s deep, commanding voice. She lifted her gaze to him.
He was grinning at her, and his eyes shimmered with what could only be described as lust.
Her breathing was uneven, Cushla realized, and for once words evaded her.
Lifting his hand, Tarken crooked a finger, beckoning her to come to him.
Without hesitation, Cushla stood and made her way to the other side of the table.
Tarken snatched the edge of the towel she wore and yanked it from her body, tossing it aside. He stood while lifting her and then seated her on the table. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her mons, causing Cushla to quake, but he went no further.
Instead, he leaned away from her and loosened his trousers, releasing his already rigid cock. Tarken then took her hand and pulled it to his member.
She leaned downward her other hand coming up, her palm flattening against his chest to brace herself from slipping from the table. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft, Cushla, began to stroke it. This was nothing foreign to her, having done the act so many times before she’d lost count. She was indifferent to it most times, though she was having some trouble ignoring how much she enjoyed his hands, which were now roaming all over her body.
It didn’t surprise her that Tarken, as all others before him, would likely care only for his pleasure. It would be as such from now on. She resigned herself to believing the orgasm she had with him would be single event. Bringing her to climax had been a challenge for the slavemaster, and she was sure he was quite smug that he’d succeeded. Cushla scoffed inwardly. So what, I didn’t want to have one anyway.
Now that he’d given her one, perhaps he would just fuck her quickly from here on in and then go away. The thought depressed Cushla. It was difficult to deny that she actually enjoyed coming with him, and that truth be told she wanted to come again…and again.
“Enough.” Tarken stilled her hand.
She gaped at him with bewilderment. “But you haven’t—?”
“Your skill is sufficient. It’s all I needed to know.” Removing her hand from his erection, Tarken stuffed it back into his trousers and sat down. “Though it would be more pleasurable if you showed a bit more enthusiasm.”
Cushla’s brows lifted, her head tilted and her eyeballs rolled upward. The slavemaster was obviously snorting cosmic dust. Nevertheless, her sarcastic nature reacted and she angled her head, looking Tarken squarely in the face. Drawing air into her lungs she allowed her chest to slowly rise, the motion causing her breast to jut forward with every intake of air. She repeated the action a couple of more times, before moaning out an exaggerated O-o-h-h. “Yes my master. You are so hard…” O-o-h-h. She moaned seductively again, this time leaning seductively toward Tarken, planting her palms one on each of his shoulders, knowing her breasts were dangling just in front of his face. She then panted a couple of times as if she were aroused.
Tarken chuckled. Saying nothing, he continued to watch her demonstration.
“I’m so horny, master.” Cushla flashed a seductive smile. “And you’re so big. However will it fit inside of me? I’m so frightened, master. Please, oh please don’t hurt me.”
Tarken burst out laughing. “Cushla, you’re a gem.”
“Is that compliant enough for you my master?” She slid from the table and stood fully upright, no longer caring she was still completely naked. It was then that she realized something for the first time. Being naked in front of a trainer or owner was something she’d grown used to, but it did bother her when she was naked in front of total strangers…like the server who came to the door earlier. It pissed her off that Tarken seemed to know that. With an inward groan, Cushla realized it was another thing he could use against her.
“Go look on the bed.”
She gazed at Tarken curiously for a moment, but then did what he asked her to do, walking toward the bed. A beautiful flowing dress with matching slippers was spread across the mattress. Cushla fingered the material. It was a formal dress, cerulean blue with fine silver threads laced through it. The color would match well with her crystal clear eyes and her lustrous, white hair.
“Do you like it?” Tarken came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“It is very beautiful,” she answered before asking, “Who’s it for?”
“It is for you to wear.”
Turning to face him, Cushla gave him a puzzled look.
“I couldn’t very well parade you around the galaxy wearing the garment you came in, could I?” He smiled. “The king prefers his concubine wearing finery.”
“It’s such an extravagance for a slave when something much less attractive would suffice.” Cushla suppressed a grin. “I could wear your shirt.”
“You would have difficulty wearing my shirt all dawning, Cushla.” Tarken skimmed his palms down the sides of her arms. “Whether attractive or not, my scent on it would put you in a constant state of frenzied arousal.”
“You’re arrogant, slavemaster,” Cushla retorted. “To think a single incident would be an ongoing conclusion.”
“Considering you’ll be confined to the ship for leaving this room…” His grin widened. “I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to find out.”
Chapter Eleven
“What is she doing here?” Tarken eyed Ayia and she eyed him back. He glanced at Cushla who was tugging and shifting the gown she was wearing, obviously uncomfortable with being so fully clothed. “Stop fidgeting, Cushla.”
“Ayia has quit her services here and needs passage to the Wind Drift Point
,” Scoac answered as he swiveled in his chair, putting his back to the ship’s controls. “We’re just giving her a little lift.”
“A little lift with your cock,” Tarken mumbled. “Do you invite trouble, royal?”
Scoac snorted “How can one, skinny pleasure servant cause trouble?”
“We’re traveling in a royal vessel that has the king’s crest clearly plastered to the sides of this ship. And if that isn’t bad enough the two of you seem to think it’s acceptable to flaunt your presence all over the place.” Crossing one arm over the other, Tarken glared. “If she decides to earn commodities by selling her own female wares, we have no guarantee she’ll keep her yap shut about traveling with royals, further risking our safety.”
“Rest assured, m’lord, I am very trustworthy.” Ayia flashed a sultry expression and took a couple steps toward him but halted when Cushla blocked her way. Their eyes met in a competitive lock.
This reaction peaked Tarken’s amusement. He was sure that Cushla didn’t even realize what she’d done.
“We’re paying her for her services, slavemaster,” Rube added. “She’ll do as we say, when we say it.”
“No need to explain ourselves, Rube,” Scoac asserted. “We have the authority here.”
“You’re blatant demonstration of authority is going to draw the attention of thieves and other criminals likewise.” Tarken scowled. “Are the two of you so high and mighty that you want all and sundry to bow at your presence?”
“What we do is none of your concern,” Scoac returned condescendence in the tone of his voice. “Put yourself into the place you belong in…underling.”
The urge to ring the royal’s skinny, pompous neck besieged Tarken, but he reined his irritation. Regardless of station or sense of self-worth, Scoac was correct. He wasn’t a royal. He was nothing more than a paid servant, and had no say in how Scoac or Rube decided to behave. “Then whatever it is you intend to do, so be it. But understand I will protect the king’s possession at all costs. It will be on your heads to explain, should we deliver his purchase in less than perfect condition.”
“The so named possession is standing right here.” Cushla scowled while scratching beneath the shoulder of the dress she was wearing.
“Cushla.” Tarken gave her a stern look. “Would you prefer to be naked?”
“Would you prefer to be castrated?” she shot back.
Tarken forced a cool demeanor, though he wanted to laugh at her comment. “Stop scratching or the dress comes off.”
With a huff, Cushla began smoothing her hands along the gown but ceased and looked up.
Tarken followed the line of her gaze in time to observe Ayia wink and smile at Cushla before moving to take an empty seat. He furled his brow as his attention shifted back toward Cushla.
She too was furling her brow as if to question what that might be all about.
“We’re cleared for departure.” Scoac initiated the launch sequence and the engines hummed to life. He glanced over his shoulder, his sight lecherously wandering the length of Cushla’s body. Turning his head toward Rube, something unspoken passed between them.
Tarken didn’t miss the exchange. He also knew that Cushla hadn’t missed it either.
Her body language revealed her awareness as she shrank slightly away, timidly angling her head downward toward the floor.
Snatching her wrist, the slavemaster turned Cushla to face him.
Her expression hardened when she met his gaze. She continued to scratch her chest vigorously as she stared at him.
“I’ll be in my quarters.” Tugging Cushla behind him, Tarken headed for the access leading from the bridge relenting Ayia’s presence. He preferred the royals use her to satiate their lusts rather than seek to relieve themselves with Cushla. “Let me know when we’re docked on Windrift.”
Tarken led Cushla down the passage toward the sleeping quarters, slowing his pace when her feet faltered. He could hear the sounds of her nails against her skin as she continued to scratch with her free hand.
“Is your intent to strip me from this gown, Tarken?”
“It is.” Tarken continued his forward progress without looking back at her.
“Thank the spirits almighty!” Cushla exclaimed. “Please do it quickly.”
The distress in her voice caused Tarken to pause. Stopping in front of a door in the passageway, he turned to face Cushla, releasing her wrist in the process. Grasping at the neckline of the dress she wore, he tugged the material of the gown aside. “God spirits! Cushla, do you have an allergy to the silk squirmer threads?”
“I’ve worn so little and never such finery over the past two decades as a slave that I wouldn’t know. And I don’t remember wearing garments made from this as a child.”
Turning toward the door, Tarken pressed his index finger against the security tile, and when the door whooshed open, he jerked her inside. The door closed behind him. Turning Cushla to face away from him he opened the fasteners on her dress and stripped it off of her. His mouth twisted to one side as he inspected her body. He then shook his head. Cushla was dotted with thousands of tiny, raised bumps. “You look like a plucked rickster, mistress”
“Guess you won’t be touching me for awhile,” she snickered as she scratched her thigh.
“Don’t bet on it.” Tarken headed toward the door. “I’ll be back shortly.”
* * * *
As soon as he left, Cushla began to briskly scratch herself all over. At the same time, she scanned the area noticing there wasn’t much in the sparsely decorated room. A bed, a table and two chairs, storage compartments, but all made of the most extravagant materials, including the plush cerulean carpet she was standing on. There was also another door, which was probably the entrance to a hygiene chamber. “There has to be a mirror in here somewhere.”
She was just about to start looking when the door opened, and Ayia slipped into the room.
Cushla groaned and then snatched the bedcover, holding it in front of her. “What do you want?” She hoped that by covering herself the woman would understand she wasn’t interested in her physically.
“S-s-h-h.” Ayia held a finger to her lips and walked toward Cushla, attempting to move behind her.
Cushla turned to keep the woman in front of her. Another attempt by the servant had Cushla again, pivoting and then backing away. “Are you trying to get a glimpse of my ass?” What the hell was it with her ass that had everyone kept trying to see it?
“Ah,” Ayia hesitated as if thinking of an answer. “Your rash, I was just trying to see how bad it is. Your slavemaster sent me to examine it.”
It was then that Tarken walked in.
“Well, time to go.” Brushing past him, Ayia quickly exited, ignoring his scrutinizing facade.
After she’d gone, Tarken glared at Cushla. “Why was she in here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you lying to me?” Tarken crossed the room to set the clothes and the vial he’d brought, atop the bed. He then sat in a nearby chair, saying nothing, waiting for her to answer.
Reaching over her left shoulder, Cushla scratched…and scratched—and scratched some more. She released the blanket from her other hand, and then brought that same hand to the opposite shoulder to relieve the itching there before moving both hands to her chest to scratch the sides of her breasts.“I’m not lying,” Cushla’s eyes flicked to the bed “Is that vial for me?”
“It is.”
She stalked toward it.
Just then, Tarken stood. In one step, he was in front of the bed preventing her from reaching the medicine.
“You’ve got to be jesting?” Cushla reached around him.
Tarken clenched her wrist with one hand while snatching up the vial with the other. He held it above her head and out of arm’s reached. “No jest, Cushla. Why was Ayia in here? And how did she get in?”
“I told you I don’t know.” Cushla jumped to reach the vial. “You bastard. Give me that! She just walked in,
you ignoramus!”Again, Cushla jumped.
Tarken laughed. “I like the way your breasts jiggle when you do that.” Releasing her wrist, he cupped her breast.
The horny prickhead! Can’t he see I’m in distress? Disregarding him, Cushla scratched her belly with both hands. “Your balls are going to be jiggling from the next tree branch I see, because I’m going to rip them off and hang them!”
“You’re making matters worse, mistress. Your punishments are tallying.” Tarken returned to sit in the chair. Stretching out his legs, he crossed one ankle over the other, and then folded his arms, vial still in hand. “I want the truth.”
A screech burst from Cushla’s mouth and her entire body shook in frustration. “I think she wanted to look at my ass…you ass! And I still don’t know how she got in.”
“Why in hade’s blaze would Ayia want to look at your ass? What is it about your ass that everyone is trying to look at it?”
“Beats the fuck out of me.” Cushla rarely swore, but the rash was making her irritable enough to swear like a star freight pilot.
Tarken stood and strolled behind her. “Perhaps that’s exactly what they want. I mean it is a nice ass. At the moment a rashy one but still nice.”
“So I’ve been told,” Cushla responded indifferently.
“I’m thoroughly suspicious now.” Tarken moved around to face Cushla. “First, Rube and Scoac, and now Ayia, though they may have put the servicing girl up to it, but why?”
Leaning slightly, Tarken studied Cushla’s distinguishing birthmark. “Tell me something Cushla—”
He didn’t finish his sentence, frowning instead when he saw the tears in her eyes. Her fists were also clenched, and she was close to cuffing him. She needed the medicine, and he was withholding it from her on purpose. If she wasn’t so damn uncomfortable, she’d be furious, but at the moment the torturing itch was overriding her anger.
“I don’t suspect you weep very often, mistress. Is the itching that severe?”
“No. It feels wonderful.” Cushla gritted her teeth. Relief filled her when he took the lid off of the vial. “It’s more than that though, Tarken. My head is now painfully throbbing.” She blew out a gust of air when Tarken began to massage the medicinal oil on her body.
Slavemaster's Woman, The Page 10
