Savage Surrender

by Deanna Ashford

  ‘Please,’ she moaned, in eager longing.

  As he parted the lips of her labia and slid his fingers inside, the sudden rush of pleasure Rianna experienced was astounding. She had never know such bliss. Tarn moved his fingers smoothly along the rosy divide to her kernel of delight. First he circled the throbbing root, then rubbed and squeezed it gently. The power of her response made her realise the best was yet to come. She trembled, overcome with emotion, as Tarn caressed her bud of pleasure until it expanded and grew into the ultimate focus of her existence. Nothing else mattered but the feel of his fingers on her most intimate flesh as he drew her closer and closer to her climax.

  Just when Rianna thought she could take no more of the pleasure, Tarn slowly slid one finger into her womanly sheath. He stroked the silken walls, careful always not to probe too deeply.

  Rianna moaned, wanting to be stretched and filled by Tarn’s flesh. Well aware what she desired, he thrust another finger inside her. But when she lifted her hips, trying to force him to venture deeper, he held back. ‘No,’ he said huskily. ‘I’ll not be the one to destroy the proof of your virginity.’

  With care and precision he thrust his bunched fingers in and out of her vagina, all the while continuing to stroke her pleasure pearl with the pad of his thumb. Rianna was beyond ecstasy. She clutched agitatedly at Tarn’s back, heedless of any discomfort it caused him, as he stimulated her to the ultimate peak of arousal. She reached the summit, her body tensing while her inner flesh pulsed. Consumed by the wrenching bliss she gave a muffled moan.

  The spasms peaked and slowly died away, leaving her replete and exhausted. She laid her head against Tarn’s chest as tears slid silently down her cheeks.

  ‘I sought only to give you pleasure,’ Tarn said worriedly. ‘Now I’ve made you unhappy.’

  ‘No, you have not.’ She smiled tremulously. ‘I never knew it could be so wonderful.’

  Tarn pulled her skirt down over her legs and began to refasten the row of tiny buttons down the front of her gown. ‘If only life were different,’ he said sadly. ‘You could have been travelling to Kabra to become my bride. I would have been the happiest man alive if that were so.’

  ‘Life is cruel, is it not?’ she replied shakily, still overcome by the strength of her climax.

  ‘Our fate is set. It appears there is nothing we can do to change it.’ He smiled tenderly at her. ‘You should leave now, the guards may become curious if you linger too long.’

  A few drops of rain spattered on the canvas above them. ‘I have no wish to be drenched,’ she said, attempting to lighten the mood. Rianna felt almost too weak to walk. She did not want to leave, her only desire was to remain with Tarn. ‘I’ll leave my bag here for when I return in the morning.’

  Still feeling unsteady on her feet, she clambered to the back of the wagon and climbed down the wooden steps the soldiers had provided for her comfort. Before she departed, she allowed herself one long lingering look at Tarn. He was staring at her, his expression a mixture of longing and undisguised despair.

  After Rianna’s departure, Tarn sighed heavily and lay back on the straw-filled sacks. His penis was engorged, throbbing for a release that was denied him. He longed to plunge it deep inside sweet Rianna’s feminine sheath and feel the velvety flesh close around him, then watch her face wracked by pleasure as his thrusting cock brought her once again to the peak of fulfilment.

  Never before had he desired a woman so much. Rianna was beautiful, the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on, but there was a tenderness and compassion within her that moved him even more completely. He recalled the delicious scent of her, the smooth softness of her ivory skin, the round lushness of her breasts and the sweet fiery heat of her sex.

  Tarn’s erect penis jumped at the thought and there was an unbearable pressure in his scrotum. However, he had no wish to bring himself to a brief, unsatisfactory climax with his own hands. He wanted to feel Rianna’s gentle intoxicating fingers caressing his aroused flesh.

  He did not know how long Lesand would allow Rianna to tend him, or how many more opportunities there would be for them to be together. Each meeting would bring him exquisite pleasure, but also unbearable pain. Rianna, the woman he wanted and desired above all others, was destined to wed his greatest enemy, Sarin. Up to the moment Tarn had first set eyes on Rianna, he’d almost come to accept his fate, well aware that he might be put to death, or worse still, be forced to become Sarin’s slave. Sarin was a clever but selfish man, obsessed with sensuality and carnal pleasure. Tarn knew that Sarin secretly desired him, and now he would be taken before Sarin in chains, totally at his mercy; forced to genuflect before him and accept whatever punishment Sarin’s devious mind could contrive.

  Tarn did not fear pain or death, but he feared Sarin. The noble lord knew him too well. Sarin was well aware of Tarn’s weaknesses and he would enjoy humbling and degrading him. However, Tarn was more concerned for Rianna. The brave, beautiful lady deserved a husband who would love and cherish her, treat her with honour and respect. She knew little of the licentious life that awaited her at Sarin’s court. Sarin would lure her into his web of carnal sensuality, entrap her and devour her completely. Sarin surrounded himself with acolytes, both male and female; some were slaves, others were there because of circumstance, or of their own choosing. But they all found pleasure in the decadent sensuality of their existence.

  Pressing his hands to his throbbing cock, Tarn tried to ignore his unfulfilled desires. He closed his eyes, but visions of Rianna invaded his mind. How could the Protector of Harn allow his daughter to wed Lord Sarin? Sadly, it was not unusual for a royal maiden to be used as a pawn to ensure peace between two opposing lands.

  Pain knifed through Tarn’s heart; if only his bid to free Kabra had not failed. His father, weakened by old age and remorse, had become Sarin’s puppet king, no longer able to make decisions for himself. Fearful of Sarin, the king had refused to let his personal guard or any of his soldiers fight in the rebellion. Tarn’s army had not been strong enough to defeat the superior forces of Percheron, and many good men of Kabra had died in the ensuing battle. If they had won, Tarn could have asked for Rianna’s hand in marriage.

  Filled with despair, Tarn rolled on to his side. The delicious scent of Rianna still clung to his flesh. He lifted his hand close to his face and inhaled deeply.

  Never-ending rain drummed noisily down on the wooden roof of Rianna’s wagon. Large pools of water covered the grass at the sides of the road, and the wagons sloshed uncomfortably through the steadily thickening mud. If it rained much longer, Rianna feared the roads would become impassable and they would be unable to continue their journey. By nightfall the downpour had lessened a little, but not enough to allow Rianna to make her way to the other camp to visit Tarn.

  The rain died away just after midnight, and in the morning the ground had dried out enough for the caravan to proceed. Lesand issued orders for the caravan to set out earlier than usual, so Rianna found the opportunity to visit Tarn only briefly. However, she contented herself with the thought that she could spend more time with him that evening.

  Because of the sodden ground, the horses and wagons moved slowly, and it was almost dark by the time they stopped for the night. ‘I’m going to see Tarn,’ Rianna announced after swiftly eating her meal. Swinging a cloak around her shoulders, she picked up a lantern.

  ‘It’s very dark for you to be walking about alone,’ Jenna pointed out. ‘Someone should accompany you. Mircon is waiting for me, at least allow us to walk with you to the other encampment.’

  ‘If that is your wish.’ Rianna was secretly relieved to have an escort.

  She accompanied Jenna outside. Mircon bowed politely, a little overcome by Rianna’s presence. He said nothing, staying totally silent as he walked with Rianna and Jenna to the other encampment.

  ‘Be sure you get someone to walk you back,’ Jenna fussed. ‘It’s rumoured that a group of strange warriors has been sighted in the vicinity. The l
ocal peasants think they are bandits.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ Rianna replied with a smile. She watched Jenna and Mircon walk away then strode into the soldiers’ encampment. The first person she saw was the sergeant who had so cruelly beaten Tarn.

  ‘My lady.’ He approached her and bowed ingratiatingly. ‘I have a favour to ask.’

  ‘A favour?’ she queried, wanting to get away from this unpleasant oaf.

  ‘I’m told you are a skilled healer. The prisoner appears to be greatly improving under your care. Could I therefore trouble you to examine one of my men?’

  ‘If you wish,’ she agreed, hiding her impatience.

  ‘Come here,’ the sergeant shouted to a soldier lurking in the shadows of a nearby baggage wagon. In the dim light Rianna could not see the man’s face, but as he stepped forward she recognised him at once. It was Rorg. She wanted to turn away in disgust but she managed to conceal her loathing. ‘What is wrong with the man?’

  ‘During a struggle with the prisoner, Rorg was badly hurt. Even now, he can barely manage to walk, my lady. The damage is centred in a most sensitive part of his anatomy,’ the sergeant explained, awkwardly.

  ‘I think I have a potion that might aide him, and an ointment of arnica to help heal the bruising,’ she replied, thinking swiftly. ‘I’ll have my maid prepare them in the morning.’

  ‘I would be most grateful,’ Rorg stuttered.

  ‘The potion tastes most unpalatable,’ she warned him. ‘But it will work swiftly, ensuring that you completely forget your present discomfort.’

  ‘My thanks, Lady Rianna,’ the two men echoed.

  ‘My pleasure. Now I must go and dress the prisoner’s wounds. Please see that I am not disturbed.’

  She walked swiftly away from then, and climbed into Tarn’s wagon. With the canvas still draped over the wagon, the interior was dark and gloomy.

  ‘I feared you were not coming,’ Tarn said, as she hooked her lantern on to one of the bars supporting the canvas.

  She smiled. ‘I would not forget you, Tarn.’

  ‘You appear light-hearted,’ he said, smiling adoringly at her.

  ‘No wonder.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘The sergeant who whipped you just stopped me and begged me to tend Rorg’s injury. It appears he still suffers great pain.’

  ‘He deserves every moment of his agony,’ Tarn replied venomously. He then frowned. ‘Why does this amuse you so? I thought you too hated Rorg.’

  ‘Mightily.’ She knelt at Tarn’s side and kissed his cheek. ‘The potion I intend to give him will be the strongest purgative in existence. Rorg will be forced to take refuge behind every tree and bush on the road to Aguilar. He’ll be in such distress, he’ll forget all about the wound you gave him,’ she said, with immense satisfaction.

  ‘Rianna, I never believed you to be so cruel,’ he teased.

  ‘Oh, I am cruel.’ She ran her hands slowly over his chest, pausing to pull and squeeze at his copper-coloured nipples. Then she leant forward and nibbled at them with her teeth.

  ‘Most cruel,’ he agreed with a moan of longing.

  ‘Last night my maid spent the evening instructing me in matters of the flesh,’ she purred. ‘I’m most eager to put what I’ve learnt into practice.’ She slid her hands under the top of his silk trousers and stroked his firm stomach.

  ‘What pray has she been teaching you?’ he asked huskily.

  She trailed her fingers over his sex, feeling his belly tremble and his penis jerk excitedly. ‘How to pleasure a man . . . in the most intimate of manners.’ Rianna conquered her shyness, urged on by her desire for Tarn. ‘With my mouth,’ she added as her fingers closed around the stem of his manhood and began to stroke it softly.

  ‘Perhaps this is not wise,’ Tarn said with a groan of pleasure. ‘You’re promised to another.’

  ‘Then let me enjoy being with you while I can,’ she insisted. ‘This is what I want, Tarn.’

  ‘How can the gods have punished me, yet allowed me to taste such bliss in your arms,’ he groaned.

  Rianna unfastened the tie of his trousers and pulled the fabric down his body, pooling it on his thighs. She cupped the loose flesh of his testicles, caressing them gently, then she stroked the sensitive ridge of skin behind them. Tarn shuddered, reduced to helplessness by the arousing touch of her fingers.

  Boldly grasping his cock stem, Rianna milked the shaft with long smooth strokes, watching it harden until the foreskin rolled back to reveal the luscious plum hidden beneath. Increasing the pressure of her fingers, she intensified the pace of her movements until his rod hardened even more, turning into a rigid inflexible stem. The collar of skin ringing the head tightened, forcing the bulb to grow even more in size. It became taut and shiny, and a tiny bead of moisture seeped from the mouth at the tip, trembling like a tear on the summit. She scooped it up with her finger and placed it on the tip of her tongue.

  The juice of Tarn’s body tasted salty, with a faintly musky tang. Wanting to savour more, she milked the shaft harder. Tarn gave a groan as more liquid seeped from the tiny mouth. This time she captured the dewdrop with her tongue. She lapped at his sex head, licking it with long tantalising strokes.

  Tarn shuddered. ‘Rianna,’ he murmured.

  She tipped her head forward and silken strands of her hair tumbled across Tarn’s stomach and thighs, stroking his aroused flesh. Sliding her lips over the glans of his penis, she pulled the entire head into her mouth. She ran her tongue around the ridge of flesh collaring the rim, savouring the taste of the salty emanations which seeped from his body.

  Tarn made an entreating sound from deep in his throat, wanting her to take more of his penis inside her mouth. She slipped her lips lower, acutely aware of the throbbing heat in her own sex. The pulsing hardness of Tarn’s manhood pressed against the soft interior of her mouth, as she accommodated as much of the shaft as she could, feeling the tip hit the back of her throat. Knowing she was not yet skilful enough to swallow the rest of his sex without gagging, she began to squeeze and stroke the base of the long, thick rod with her fingertips. She cupped the swollen sac of his balls, feeling them contract into two firm stones.

  Tarn arched his back, thrusting his hips upwards as she moved her tongue sensuously up and down his manly shaft. Rianna slid her lips smoothly upwards, until she held only his cock head in her mouth. Then she slid her lips downwards again, gradually increasing the speed of her movement until she was milking the stem with her mouth.

  Defenceless in his bliss, Tarn moaned. She felt his penis jerk as the pressure built inside him. The strength and power of his orgasm surprised her; as he climaxed, the seed spurted deep inside her throat. She swallowed, fascinated by the taste and texture of the creamy substance. Squeezing her legs tightly together, she ignored her own desire, gaining pleasure from Tarn’s joyous release.

  As the intense climax died away, she felt his organ soften and his body grow limp and relaxed. Releasing her hold on him, she raised her head.

  ‘My sweet.’ Tarn pulled her into his arms, kissing her long and deeply. ‘I love you, Rianna,’ he murmured as he cradled her lovingly in his arms.

  Chapter Five

  RIANNA WANTED TO remain with Tarn all night, but she knew she could not afford to tarry too long. She pulled herself from his embrace and with swift precision tended and redressed his wounds. Then she bade him a reluctant farewell, promising to return early the following morning.

  She took little notice of the soldier who escorted her back to the other encampment. She was engrossed by her thoughts of Tarn, and all too aware of the taste of his sex still lingering in her mouth.

  Rianna was just about to enter her wagon when she heard Lesand call to her. Turning, she waited for him to approach. ‘How fares the prisoner?’ Lesand asked as he joined her.

  ‘He is slowly improving,’ she replied with caution. ‘But his head wound still troubles me. It is not unknown for warriors with such wounds to appear to recover, then suddenly relapse.’

/>   ‘Quite so,’ Lesand said gravely, staring at Rianna very intently. ‘Baral seems to think you hold great sympathy for the prisoner.’

  ‘He is a gentle and noble warrior,’ she replied. ‘Tarn is the prince of Kabra and deserves to be treated with honour and respect. Do you not agree, Chancellor?’

  ‘My personal opinions are of no consequence,’ he replied brusquely. ‘Lord Sarin had issued certain orders concerning the prisoner’s treatment. I do not question my sovereign and neither should you.’

  ‘You appear to be avoiding a direct answer, Chancellor. This leads me to believe that you too feel some sympathy for Tarn’s sad predicament.’

  Lesand appeared pensive. ‘You have a stubborn streak in your nature that you’d be wise to suppress.’

  ‘I inherited it from my mother, Kitara. She was a warrior princess,’ Rianna said with pride. ‘Tell me, Chancellor, do you think Lord Sarin would be prepared to grant me a boon on the celebration of our marriage?’

  ‘A plea of clemency for Tarn of Kabra, no doubt?’ There was an unreadable expression on Lesand’s face.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘Surely Lord Sarin can understand that it was necessary for Tarn to try and regain what was once destined to be his.’

  ‘You are venturing on very dangerous ground,’ Lesand warned. ‘Such matters are best left alone, and certainly not discussed in public.’

  ‘Then I will stay silent for the moment.’ Some time in the near future, Rianna intended to find the right opportunity to speak to Lesand in private about Tarn.

  ‘There is a matter which concerns me,’ Lesand added. ‘The propriety of your constant visits to Tarn. I hear you have been spending much time alone with him.’

  ‘Only as much is as necessary,’ she argued. ‘He still needs my healing skills.’

  ‘I will allow you to continue tending him, but in future you should be accompanied by your maid or Baral. You cannot be alone again with Tarn.’

  ‘But he can do me no harm. He’s chained hand and foot.’