‘No.’ Yasmin gave a soft laugh. ‘Only a privileged few.’
‘In Harn we bathe alone,’ Rianna said, a little embarrassed by so many women in a state of undress. Some were in the water, while others lazed, indolent and naked, on low couches.
‘Not in so much comfort, I wager,’ Yasmin replied, glancing anxiously towards a naked blonde on one of the couches.
The blonde rose to her feet and walked towards Rianna, never taking her eyes off the new arrivals. She moved with a feline grace that bore an uneasy resemblance to a wild animal stalking its prey.
‘Who is she?’ Rianna asked. The woman’s hair was so fair it appeared to be silver until the light caught it, showing the faintest glint of pale gold.
‘That’s Niska. Beware of her, Rianna, she can be dangerous,’ Yasmin whispered.
Quite how dangerous a lady of the court could be, Rianna didn’t know. Nevertheless, she did feel a little uncomfortable as Niska approached.
Niska’s breasts were small and up-tilted, the nipples almost as pale as her ivory skin. Something flashed, catching the light, and Rianna saw that Niska’s left nipple was pierced, and hung with a teardrop-shaped diamond that shimmered as she moved. Her pubis was totally denuded; it was rounded and quite smooth, with the pouting pink slit of her sex plainly visible.
‘So you are Rianna, the Lady of Harn,’ Niska sneered.
Her eyes were unnaturally pale with glacial-blue irises surrounded by a darker rim. They had a predatory quality, and Rianna shivered, taking an instant and total dislike to Niska.
‘You should show the noble lady respect,’ Yasmin reminded Niska. ‘Lady Rianna’s position is far superior to yours.’
‘I am also Lord Sarin’s wife,’ Niska snapped, pursing her thin lips.
‘You are only a secondary wife.’ Yasmin heard Rianna’s gasp of surprise and turned anxiously towards her charge. ‘You did not know?’
‘I was not aware that my future husband was already married,’ Rianna replied. She recalled that Jenna had learnt from Mircon that it was acceptable in Percheron for a man to take more than one wife. Had her father known she would not be Sarin’s only wife? Somehow she thought not.
‘Do not be concerned, Lady Rianna, Niska’s position is of little importance compared to yours. Lord Sarin wants you at his side, and only you can bear an heir to the throne,’ Yasmin assured her.
‘My blood is as good as hers,’ Niska retorted jealously, as she tossed her head in anger, making the diamond on her nipple tremble enticingly. ‘Just because she’s the daughter of the Protector of Harn.’
‘And you are the result of a hasty coupling between a northern raider and a lowly slave,’ Yasmin mocked. ‘Not quite the bloodline for an heir to the throne of Percheron. Lord Sarin honoured you by bedding you.’
‘He did so because it is I who can pleasure him better than anyone.’ Niska looked Rianna up and down with derision. ‘He’ll soon tire of this mawkish maiden.’
‘Come.’ Yasmin took Rianna’s hand and led her though an open doorway away from Niska. ‘We’ll bathe here in private.’
The room was filed with warm steam and contained a much smaller pool. Four young, bare-breasted female slaves, wearing only short linen skirts to cover their nudity, stepped forward to attend them.
‘I confess I did not find Niska altogether likeable,’ Rianna said haltingly, unsure if she could wholly trust Yasmin.
‘Stay away from her, until you’ve established yourself both in Lord Sarin’s bed and his affections. When that time comes you can have Niska banished to one of the other palaces, far away from the court,’ Yasmin replied, as she removed her slippers and shrugged off her satin robe.
She squatted on one of the low wooden stools, her thighs splayed lewdly apart, quite unconcerned that her pudenda was open and visible to Rianna. Like Niska, she had no body hair. Her mound was naked, and her labia gaped, revealing the moist red interior. Rianna turned her eyes away from her companion as the slaves divested her of the satin robe, and led her to another stool opposite Yasmin. Rianna sat down, making sure her thighs were pressed modestly together.
‘I forgot.’ Yasmin leant towards Rianna and held out her hand. She twisted the gold ring she wore, so that Lesand’s crest, which had been concealed in her palm, was visible to Rianna. ‘I am truly your friend,’ she whispered, quietly enough to ensure the slaves attending them would not hear what she said.
‘Perhaps we should talk later,’ Rianna suggested with a nod of acknowledgement.
‘Later,’ Yasmin agreed.
The slaves poured basins of warm water over the two young women and began to cleanse them with perfumed soap. Rianna heard her companion give a soft sigh as one of the slaves reached between her legs and massaged the sweet-smelling cream into her sex. The slave’s fingers slipped between the fleshy folds, gently caressing the entire length of Yasmin’s vulva. Rianna coloured as she heard her new friend give a soft, breathy moan.
Another slave began to massage the creamy soap over Rianna’s breasts. ‘I’ll wash myself,’ she said, pushing the slave away. She grabbed hold of a sponge and spread the lather over her body, all too conscious that the slave’s hand was still between Yasmin’s thighs, expertly manipulating her to a climax.
Rianna coloured, ignoring the sudden warmth forming in her belly, as she heard Yasmin moan again. She glanced awkwardly in Yasmin’s direction. Yasmin lifted her hips while holding the slave’s hand hard against her pubis as her orgasm came. Determinedly, Rianna concentrated on washing herself, pushing away the constant helping hands of the slaves.
Yasmin, now pink-faced and happy, smiled at Rianna. ‘Your upbringing has clearly denied you much pleasure. Lord Sarin will find your innocence appealing.’
‘Life here is very different,’ Rianna replied, unsure how much Chancellor Lesand had told Yasmin.
Once Rianna and Yasmin were thoroughly cleansed and their hair washed, they spent some time lazing in the pool of perfumed water. Yasmin stayed silent, leaving Rianna alone with her thoughts, most of which were of Tarn. As yet she knew nothing of his fate.
Slaves appeared with linen towels. They were dried and led into an adjoining room. ‘Lie down.’ Yasmin pointed to one of the divans. ‘Now we rest. The slaves will bring refreshment.’
Rianna lay back on a divan covered by a linen towel, and supported by pillows, which slaves rushed to place behind her head. She sipped a cool sherbet while one of the slaves ran a wide-toothed comb through her long, damp hair. Despite having slept less than two hours ago, Rianna began to feel weary. She closed her eyes and relaxed, but was forced into wakefulness when the linen towel was lifted from her body.
‘Leave me be,’ Rianna complained as one slave tried to ease her legs apart and another attempted to stuff a pillow beneath her buttocks.
‘Do not chastise them.’ Yasmin sat up. ‘They have orders to remove your body hair.’ She pointed at her own denuded mound. ‘It is our custom. Did you not notice the other women in the baths?’
‘Yes, but it is not my custom.’ Rianna eyed the steaming bowl, being brought into the room, with suspicion.
‘Lord Sarin wishes you to abide by our customs,’ Yasmin insisted, sounding a little anxious. ‘It would not be wise to resist.’
There was no point in antagonising Sarin, Rianna thought. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to relax, too embarrassed to watch what the slaves intended to do to her. She jumped agitatedly as her thighs were spread wider and her arms lifted above her head.
‘It’s sugar paste,’ Yasmin explained as the hot paste was spread slowly over the red-gold curls nestling in Rianna’s armpits.
She had expected it to be more painful than it was. The heat was uncomfortable for a few seconds, but died swiftly. Gentle fingers glided over her pubic fleece applying the thick, sticky paste, careful to keep it from invading the crack of her sex.
‘It’s not so bad,’ Rianna said through gritted teeth, doing her best not to jump uncontrollably when the nubile fingers strayed to
o close to her most sensitive parts. She was unused to female hands touching her so intimately. The paste itself was warm, but her pudenda was steadily growing hotter, and she felt a film of moisture start to seep along her rosy divide.
‘The next part will hurt a little, but the discomfort will pass swiftly,’ Yasmin warned.
A soft muslin cloth was pressed to the sticky paste just before it hardened. The cloth was held there for a moment, then ripped off with a deft flick of the slave’s wrist. Rianna squealed in pain, but found she was left with only a dull tingling sensation in its wake.
It did prove to be a little more uncomfortable on the most sensitive portions of her sex. She held her breath as one of the slaves held her labial lips together, putting extra pressure on her already throbbing nubbin, while another removed the paste. However, the brief, ripping pain served to increase, not decrease, the lustful fire in her sex.
‘See, it is nearly finished. The next time it is done it will be far less uncomfortable,’ Yasmin assured her, as she climbed off her divan and stared at Rianna’s denuded sex. ‘Your skin is so pale, like thick cream with a swirl of delicate red fruit at its centre.’ She ran her fingertips over the smooth flesh and Rianna shivered, feeling suddenly vulnerable without her red-gold fleece.
‘I’m relieved they have finished.’ She went to press her legs together, but Yasmin held them apart. ‘Just a few stray curls to be removed that the sugaring missed.’
Yasmin stepped aside, and a slave holding a small pair of tweezers stared intently at Rianna’s pubis. Rianna had never felt more exposed and humiliated, yet she was also aroused. She bit her lip, hating the embarrassment as the slave carefully removed the few stray hairs until the entire area was smooth and totally unprotected.
‘The skin will be sore for a short while,’ Yasmin said, examining Rianna’s flesh which had become quite pink in places. ‘This cream will quell any discomfort.’
A small knot of excitement formed in Rianna’s belly as Yasmin spread the thick cream over her denuded flesh. She trembled as Yasmin’s fingers moved caressingly over her sex, desperately wanting them to slip inside the pouting lips and quell the mounting tension in her pudenda.
‘Does that feel better?’ Yasmin asked as she straightened. There was a half-smile on her lips, as if she secretly knew that Rianna was aroused. ‘Now we must return to your rooms and prepare you to go to Lord Sarin.’
Tarn had been bathed and his skin freshly oiled with a sweet-smelling balm that added a soft sheen to his tanned flesh. His hair, washed and perfumed, hung in rich golden strands past his shoulders. He’d rarely looked more handsome, but his eyes were dull, his expression glum. Filled with despair, he sat on a bench in an ante-room leading to Lord Sarin’s quarters.
After he had spoken to Sarin, Tarn had been taken to a secret hatch in a corridor where he could look into an adjoining cell. He had discovered that Sarin spoke the truth; Cador was a prisoner. Chained and confined, Cador looked weary, but appeared physically unharmed and in reasonably good health.
Tarn’s strong will had crumbled. A broken man, he was led back to his cell to face Lord Sarin’s mocking pleasure. Still, it had not been easy for Tarn to fall to his knees in front of Sarin, but he had done so for Cador’s sake. He could not allow his young kinsman to suffer for his crimes.
A slave collar fashioned out of pure gold had been bolted around Tarn’s neck. Around his waist was a thick gold chain, joined at each side by shorter chains which could be clipped to the elaborately fashioned gold bracelets he wore around his wrists. Once confined, he had been obliged to promise to serve and obey Sarin, acknowledging him as his master. Each word of submission seemed a betrayal of everything he stood for.
Tarn glanced up anxiously as Sarin strode into the room wearing a blue velvet robe. His dark hair was loose around his shoulders.
‘Tarn.’ Sarin approached his new slave and fingered the collar around Tarn’s neck. ‘Your nakedness enhances the subtle beauty of your chains,’ he gloated. Looking deep into Tarn’s eyes, he frowned. ‘Why so listless? Is this the way a slave greets his master?’
Swallowing the last remnants of his pride, Tarn sank to his knees, inwardly quailing as he realised that Sarin appeared to be naked under his robe. Tarn had expected it to be some time before he had to face his final and ultimate act of humiliation.
‘My lord.’ Tarn’s voice was low-pitched and husky, wracked by pain.
Sarin stroked Tarn’s golden hair, almost with affection. ‘You’ve visited my private quarters often, Tarn, but never as a pleasure slave. I confess I prefer it this way, but I fear you do not.’ He hesitated and gave a brutal laugh. ‘What, no defiant reply! You’re learning fast, Tarn. Come into the other room.’
Rising smoothly to his feet, Tarn followed Sarin. Some time in the future it was likely he would have to face the members of Sarin’s court in this pitiful state. The thought frightened him, but what terrified Tarn even more now was Sarin. He was filled with apprehension, not that Sarin might punish or hurt him, but that he might eventually come to like what Sarin intended to do to him. Sarin was a clever man, well able to devise many devious ways to cow Tarn’s spirit, and forced him to find joy in absolute submission.
Since arriving in Aguilar, Tarn had not allowed himself to think of Rianna. To dwell on what might have been only heaped coals on the fire of his humiliating agony.
‘I’ve decided to extend you a great honour,’ Sarin smiled at his new pleasure slave.
‘Honour, my lord?’ Tarn said with a wry twist of his lips.
The room they had just entered contained a number of odd-looking contraptions. Tarn was uneasily reminded of a torture chamber. That thought was compounded as he saw the table covered with different restraints fashioned out of metal and leather.
‘I intend to fit you with this myself.’ Sarin picked up an ivory phallus. It was slimmer and shorter than Tarn had expected, but that gave him little relief. However, he managed to hide his concern.
Two muscular Nubian slaves, their dark skins oiled and gleaming, stood in the centre of the room, watching Tarn intently. Clearly Sarin was taking no chances, perhaps not yet able to accept how much Tarn was prepared to sacrifice for the well-being of his kinsman. Sarin did not know that on his death-bed Cador’s father had extracted a promise from Tarn that he would always protect and care for Cador. Tarn did not take such promises lightly.
‘Kneel and bend over that pole.’ Sarin pointed to a thick gilded pole, just above knee height, supported at each end by an ornate stand.
Mutely, Tarn did as he was ordered.
‘Part your knees wide and lean forward so that your belly is supported by the pole,’ Sarin continued.
Stretching forwards, Tarn leant his belly against the gilded pole and waited. The soft, exposed flesh of his scrotum dangled unprotected between his open legs, while his buttocks were open and vulnerable.
One of the Nubians moved forward and Tarn gritted his teeth. The slave anointed the valley between Tarn’s buttocks with oil, forcing open the tight ring of muscle to allow it to dribble inside his nether mouth. With his large hands, the slave held Tarn’s buttock cheeks apart and looked expectantly at Sarin.
‘Ready?’ Sarin asked softly, as he placed the cool tip of the phallus at the entrance to Tarn’s anus. He pushed gently, easing the oil-coated muscles apart to allow the ivory shaft to enter. Tarn could not repress a groan as the phallus slid deeper, stretching the virginal walls. He tried consciously to relax, knowing that if he resisted, the discomfort would be far worse.
His thighs trembled as Sarin inserted the entire phallus, burying it deep in Tarn’s anus. The cool ivory rod seemed to fill him completely. Fighting the desire to bear down and try to force it out, Tarn involuntarily clenched his muscles around the shaft. A wave of something akin to pleasure rippled through his belly, catching him totally by surprise.
The pleasure vanished, to be replaced by an all-encompassing despair as a wide leather belt was buckled around
his waist. A thin padded strap, attached to the centre back, was fed between his buttock cheeks to keep the phallus in place. ‘Move back a little,’ Sarin ordered.
As Tarn straightened, the strap was slipped between his legs. Then his balls and cock were fed through an oval ring that sat flat against his pelvis, while the strap attached to the ring was fastened to the front of the belt. Restrained in the harness, Tarn’s sex was thrust into even greater prominence, the tight leather and metal putting a subtle pressure on the whole of the sensitive area.
Unable to find the strength to look down and see the visible proof of his servitude, Tarn rose to his feet, his gaze fixed straight ahead. The briefest movement caused the restraint to pull against his flesh and emphasise the feeling of fullness inside his anus. What troubled Tarn most was that a part of him found a subtle pleasure in the intrusive distension of his inner flesh and the tight feel of the harness restricting his sex. The leather rubbing against the sensitive ridge of skin between his balls and nether mouth was causing his phallus to visibly harden.
‘Very good, Tarn. It feels most agreeable, does it not?’ Sarin gloated, clearly pleased with Tarn’s unbidden arousal. He stroked the now semi-erect shaft, curiously examining the thick ridge of flesh which still covered the head. ‘Odd that your people do not remove this soon after birth as we do in Percheron. The lack of it makes stimulation even more pleasurable.’
Tarn concentrated on trying to ignore Sarin’s presence, and the gentle stroking motion, as his supposed master caressed his cock shaft.
‘Would you wish it removed, knowing it could enhance sensual pleasure?’ Sarin asked.
‘My wishes are of no importance,’ Tarn replied, looking coldly at Sarin.
‘What of your foolish pride now, Tarn?’ Sarin asked as a faint tremor passed over Tarn’s firm stomach.
By now the padded strap was pressing tightly into the groove of Tarn’s buttocks, adding to the mounting pressure in his groin. His body might be reacting automatically to Sarin’s unwanted attentions, but his mind would not. His humiliation almost complete, Tarn shook his head, unable to answer Sarin. Then the last vestiges of his pride made him lift his head. ‘I do this for Cador. If he were not your prisoner, Lord Sarin, I would deny you constantly and willingly embrace death.’
Savage Surrender Page 13
