“You get frequent head throbs,” he commented. “This is the fourth one since I’ve taken possession of you. How long have you had them?”
“They started almost immediately after the slave band was placed on my head.” A shudder raced through Cushla as Tarken’s hands smoothed over her bottom and then slipped to the inside of her thighs. “They worsened when I reached puberty.”
A mew escaped Cushla when Tarken slid his finger between her labia. The medicine was relieving the horrible allergy itch but she was now experiencing an itch of another kind.
“Perhaps the slave band is defective.” Tarken slid his finger into her vagina eliciting another shiver from her. “Better make sure you’re not having a reaction in here, mistress.”
“It’s difficult to explain,” Cushla rasped out, gasping in another breath as Tarken began to finger fuck her. “But it sometimes feels as if something is trying break out of my brain. Sometimes...” She snapped her lips shut, deciding to speak no further.
“You say the head throbs started after you were enslaved?” Abruptly, Tarken yanked his finger from her and straightened.
Cushla grunted a protest, but at the moment he seemed more interested in what she was telling him. “Yes,” she answered.
“Not before?”
“No.”
“And they worsened when you reached womanhood?”
“Did I not already tell you this?” She huffed, and then her mood brightened. “Uch! I don’t itch anymore.”
“The rash is gone.” Tarken slipped his hand along her waist and flashed a suggestive grin. “But you’re still oily.” He took a step backwards and began removing his clothing, all the while his attention on Cushla.
She gulped at his naked body, more specifically at his fully hard erection, and her nipples jutted in reaction. Her first instinct was to cover her breasts with her arms to hide her arousal, but it was too late for that. Her pussy was already made wet from his finger, so there was no hiding that she was horny. At the moment she couldn’t care less if he knew.
Walking over to the bed, Tarken picked up the garments he’d brought from the supply room and placed them on the chair. “Do you think Ayia wanted to bed you?” He sat down on the mattress, a wide smirk on his mouth.
“Yes.” Cushla kept still, waiting for Tarken to instruct her. “It’s the only thing I can think of.”
“Perhaps, but we’ll talk more about this later. For now, mistress, come ride me.”
Without hesitation, Cushla moved toward him. She straddled him and eased down on his cock, moaning as he filled her. It amazed her how quickly her body responded to him, maybe a little too quickly even. It was dangerous to her mental and physical well-being to have so little resistance, particularly with a slave trainer. If she wasn’t careful, Tarken might learn all of the internal triggers that Cushla couldn’t help but surrender to. What she found amazing was that every time he touched her the headaches seemed to subside.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, mistress?” Tarken grasped her hips, though he allowed her to direct the motion.
Expelling a sound of satisfaction Cushla ground on him in circular motions taking him deep inside. “Yes,” she gasped out. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. You’re a perfect fit for me, slavemaster. She thought silently, but out loud she said, “The sexing eases the throb in my head.”
“It eases the throb in my head as well, Cushla,” Tarken rasped out as he gripped her hips more tightly while pushing his pelvis upward, embedding his cock deeper inside of her.
She stilled and gazed down at him. “Your head throbs too?”
Tarken chuckled and she realized immediately exactly which head he was talking about. “Oh,” she said and then snorted. Her hips began shifting forward and back on him again and Cushla rode him, rubbed her clitoris on him, grinding, squeezing the hardened shaft penetrating her vagina. In response, his cock thickened further, prompting her to clamp around him.
“Hellfires, mistress,” Tarken rasped out. “You’re so fucking tight.”
“You’re so fucking hard,” Cushla cried out. “Oh, by the stars!” She glided up and down on Tarken’s erection before shifting to cock her hips back and forward again. In rapid motions, she rubbed her pussy against him, finding the perfect pressure for her clit, completely absorbed in the unbelievable stirrings escalating inside of her. She squeezed her vaginal muscles while grinding against him, squeezing as hard as she could around his ever-thickening erection.
“That’s it, mistress,” Tarken urged. “Take what you need.”
“Yes!” Cushla cried, her pelvis rocking more rapidly. She squeezed him even tighter, throwing her head back, her slit swallowing his cock whole, taking, milking, her clit rubbing on his pubic bone in quick thrusts. “O-o-w-w!” She screamed as if in agony, though the sound bursting from her throat was a cry of ecstasy rather than a declaration of pain. Her fingers dug into Tarken’s shoulders as she ascended toward orgasm without reservation.
Chapter Twelve
Tarken grasped her, allowing his hands to move with her rhythm. He just wanted to have his hands on her, to feel the shift of her hips as Cushla rode to the peak of her pleasure. The sight of her was mesmerizing and Tarken watched with amazement, enthralled by the array of passion-filled expressions sweeping across her face. He couldn’t recall a time ever when he’d seen a woman so lost in passion.
Cushla was wild and riding him with untamed abandonment, her body so immersed in sensations it seemed as if she had no cognition of the world around her. She’d completely surrendered her control.
Her nails pierced him but Tarken didn’t care. It aroused him while her channel clung snugly around his cock causing it to throb. And it was no surprise to Tarken when he felt his erection surge near to spewing, despite his lack of movement. Grasping her hips, he thrust upward.
At the same time, Cushla arched backward as she began to peak, her pants a near desperate cry as she frantically pumped, her clit swelling as it rubbed against him.
“Do it mistress, take it all.” Tarken’s body shuddered, his balls tightening, the pressure building, though he struggled to sustain as he focused on Cushla, her body, her beautiful breasts bouncing freely as she humped him.
“Yes…” She gasped, squeezing her vaginal muscles, her body going still. Her arms flailed outward, her body stiffening as climatic pleasure seized her. Cushla then let out a long wail.
Tarken nearly lost it then, but was momentarily transfixed while she was caught amidst her climax.
Cushla’s head tipped forward and crystal, lusty eyes riveted to his. Her expression was lucidly carnal, predatory even, as if she meant to devour him. Drawing up her legs, she planted her feet atop the mattress and then lifted her hips until her channel grasped only the head of his swollen cock.
Tarken’s insides quaked and a jolt rushed through his shaft. His breathing accelerated in eager anticipation.
Cushla slammed down.
“Stars fucking fire!” Tarken rasped out.
Again, she lifted and again slammed, taking his cock deep, swallowing the length. She repeated the motion, plummeting down on him, quickening the pace until she was moaning an ecstatic cry.
“Fuck me, woman!” Over and over, he pumped upward and into her, increasing the speed, feeling her tighten with each penetration as another orgasm caused Cushla to scream. And Tarken joined her, shooting his load, his juices forcefully jetting inside of her in a pulsating stream until every drop was emptied from him, the ripples of sexual climax so intense and explosive that coherent thinking slipped from his mind and he became lost in somatic ecstasy. “I’ll want you forever,” he whispered. His arms wrapped around Cushla when she fell flat against his chest, sinking on top of him. “I don’t want to ever let you go.”
Cushla’s head lifted, her expression questioning.
Tarken stared at her, realizing what he’d just said. He broke eye contact first, turning his head aside. There was a glisten of tears in her eyes that he had n
o wish to ponder.
“I’m a castaway, Tarken,” Cushla responded her head lowering to rest a cheek against his shoulder. “No one has ever wanted me for long.”
Reaching, Tarken caressed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Her skin was soft and radiant. It behooved him why anyone would want to abuse such an exquisite creature as Cushla. If she belonged to him, he would treat her as if she were his finest, most precious gem. He would forever adore her. “No one has ever taken the time to accept and appreciate who you are as a woman.”
Raising her head, Cushla gave him and inquisitive look. “Why would you take the time, slavemaster?”
“Because I believe there are hidden treasures inside of you, Cushla,” Tarken replied. “And I would wish to explore every one of them.”
“I’ll permit you to do that if you let me go.” The earnest expression on her face was nearly believable.
So much so, that for a fleeting moment Tarken actually considered it. “Ach, woman!” He slapped her on the ass as he snorted. He dumped her to the side, onto the mattress and she shrieked. Rolling to a sit, Tarken reached to the floor, snatching up his undergarments and trousers. He stood facing Cushla as he donned them. “As much as I prefer you naked with your legs spread, it is necessary to feed you, though don’t expect much. You’re still on your initial punishment.”
Drawing her legs up and hugging them, Cushla made no attempt to disguise her ire. “I’m quite used to going for dawnings with no food, slavemaster. So rest assured, it’s no punishment.”
“That explains your frail, bony condition,” Tarken commented. “Your quim is fully healthy however. Tell me mistress, does it get worked out often?”
Cushla offered no answer. Instead, she averted her eyes, her expression draining of emotion.
The coldness Tarken saw sent a chill up his spine and he decided promptly that he much preferred Cushla’s playful side. He had no doubt however that the woman was capable of murder. It would come as no surprise to him if she’d committed the act already. “Get dressed Cushla. The fucking you just gave me was a good one and because of that I’ll allow you more than liquid this eve.”
“A wise decision slavemaster.” She scooted to the edge of the mattress. “The women of my race have needle sharp quills in our vaginas. I was considering that I might bear them the next time if you continued to deny me solids.”
“Quills, you say?” Tamping the urge to wince at the thought, Tarken instead picked up her dress and stared at it.
“It’s an inborn defense mechanism, whenever it’s needed for little pricks of course.”
The slavemaster’s head snapped toward her.
An expression of smug confidence spread across Cushla’s face, her eyes becoming an icy glare.
He lifted a brow when she spread her thighs as if daring him to touch. His cock twitched at the sight between her legs. Quills or no quills, he wanted that pussy. Shifting his attention upward, Tarken returned an equally cocky grin. “Then, there’s no need for me to worry since my prick is rather a large thing.”
“More to bite,” Cushla returned.
“You’re bluffing, mistress.” Tarken was sure—relatively sure. The very subtle smirk that quivered on her lips before vanishing told him she was merely toying with him.
“Do you wish to test that, Tarken?” Cushla dared him.
He smiled at her. “Do you wish to eat?”
She seemed to consider that for a moment and then answered, “It appears we are at an impasse.”
“How so mistress?”
“I will refrain from noshing your cock the next time you fuck me and you will feed me.”
“I see,” Tarken returned. “And this bargain to save my manhood would also extend to your teeth?”
“Of course—unless.” Cushla gave his crotch a sidelong glance. “—you happen to enjoy such a thing.”
Tarken chuckled and shook his head at her. She would attempt any method, even the ridiculous to try and get leverage. Still, he couldn’t blame her for trying. “I suppose feeding you would be the better choice then, mistress.”
Tossing the dress he was holding aside, Tarken strolled toward the wardrobe set into the wall of the quarters. He examined the garments inside, choosing an alternative for Cushla to wear. “Here.” He handed her it to her. “This should be gentler on your skin.”
“When did you acquire this?” Cushla stared at the gown he handed her.
“The king paid a ransom in funds for you. Displaying your wears as we travel seemed counterproductive to your safety. I brought it with me.” Tarken donned his shirt, his attention remaining on Cushla, watching her as she dressed.
The possessiveness for the feisty, little slave that he felt stirring inside of him was disturbing. Although he was capable of caring with sincerity, rarely if ever did the slavemaster become attached, particularly to someone who might be easily sold or traded away. He didn’t allow love into his heart, not anymore. The fires of love for him had long ago gone cold.
“Something bothering you, slavemaster?” Cushla studied him as she closed a side fastener on the gown’s waistband.
“Why do you ask, mistress?” Immediately, Tarken became aware of his despondent expression. With well-practiced skill he shifted his mood, concentrating instead on the woman in front of him.
“You seemed, forlorn a moment ago—pensive.” With an easy sashay, Cushla arced around the front of him, scrutinizing his face and smirking as if she’d just been given the upper hand.
“You mistake my thoughts, mistress.” Tarken eyed her lecherously. “I was merely thinking about spreading your thighs again.”
She looked exquisite in the gown. Two slits ran the length of the lacey, tawny skirt revealing her legs to mid-thigh. The remainder of the stretchy material hugged her hips, spreading across her belly and just below her naval. The matching, camisole top did the same, perfectly molding her supple breasts, both clothing pieces revealing skin but designed in a manner to conceal the details, the thicker mesh masking her dusky nipples and tender labia.
A subtle, almost imperceptible smile appeared on her lips and then faded quickly. But there was a gleam in her eyes that Tarken failed to notice before. Tipping his head askew, he moved closer to inspect them. Her crystal clear irises were sparkling. And they were reflecting speckles of silver, matching the material of the garment she wore.
“It intrigues most,” Cushla answered his speculative gaze, seeming to understand what he was observing.
Tarken turned from her and retrieved the cerulean gown he’d given her earlier. Holding it in front of her, careful to prevent it from touching her skin he watched the blue color seep into her eyes. “I didn’t notice your eyes when you wore this.” He tossed it to the chair.
“You were occupied with the ass wipe royals at the time and then my dilemma with the rash.”
He nodded in agreement. “It’s an interesting trait, Cushla”
“Does it please you, master?” She asked enticingly. “I’ll be sure to wear your favorite colors if you wish it.”
Finding humor in her comment, Tarken grinned. She was attempting to turn his tables and use sex against him. “It would please me if you did so, Cushla, but my personal wishes are irrelevant. You do not belong to me. You’re the property of the king. It is he, whom you will learn to please.”
His answer received the desired response. She dropped the seductive façade. Puckering her lips, Cushla exhaled through her nostrils in sulky defeat. “Are we going to stand here all evening or will you let me eat?”
“We should’ve docked on Windrift by now. I think, mistress we’ll eat at port. The food there is very good, not that you’ll sample the best of it.”
“And you expect they’ll be serving Durgin tea and cadia?”
After walking toward the door, Tarken turned and eyed her with amusement. He reached and pressed the wall switch without looking at it. The door slid open. “They keep rations for slaves in supply. It won’t be a problem.”
“It might be a problem when I vomit on your plate!”
He heard her comment loudly, sardonically behind him as he departed from the room. “Then it would be wise of me to seat you on the floor.”
Silence followed, and Tarken was more than half way down the passage leading to the bridge when he realized Cushla failed to follow. Returning to his quarters he heard a strained groan before reaching the door. Once inside, he found her kneeling and doubled over on the floor. She was pressing her palms to her forehead. “Cushla.” He knelt next to her, checking the control device to be assured he hadn’t accidentally activated her slave band. “Another head throb?”
“No, Tarken I’m singing,” she grunted.
Rubbing his jaw, he attempted to make light of her quandary. “Then I suggest you cease. It sounds rather horrendous.”
Her head snapped up and the discomfort she was feeling was apparent in her strained expression.
“So much for the pain easing with the sexing,” Tarken quipped, though he was concerned about the head throbs.
Cushla blinked a few times, and then jerked her head as if attempting to shake off the affliction. “We could do it again.”
Tarken fixed his gaze on her eyes. The silver flecks had vanished and instead was replaced by a vortex of color that seemed to vanish into her pupils. Reaching, he took Cushla’s arm and helped her stand.
“It happens all of the time.” She told him as she rose to her feet. “The varying eye color that is. And the spectrum that is there now always coincides with the head pains.”
Tarken frowned, watching as the colors faded and the crystal clear gaze in her irises that he’d become accustomed to returned. “It might be a side effect of some disorder, Cushla. I’ll have a medic examine you when we disembark on Wind Drift.”
“Why do you care, slavemaster?” Cushla glared at him. “No one before you ever seemed to care.”
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