Possessing Allura (2 page)

‘Get up,' the princess commanded, lashing the girl furiously. ‘To the columns with you. Show me what a little whore you are.'

Veeta did not need to have the order spelled out. She knew well what it meant to be ordered to the row of fluted marble columns ringing the princess' sunken bathtub. She pressed her body against the first one, grinding as though it was a man. Few punishments were more humiliating to Veeta, or more pleasurable to Allura than this one.

If denying the slave orgasms was one form of torture, so was compelling them. And yet the desperate girl was more than willing to trade her pride for a chance to rub her breasts, belly and cunt against the cool, rounded surface. The first climax was upon her almost as soon as she clutched the column between her thighs. Wrapping her arms tight, she pushed her nipples savagely against it, allowing maximum friction.

In the beginning Veeta had cried and begged not to be forced to do this, especially when ordered to do so in full view of members of the household staff or guests. The whip, however, proved a very persuasive teacher, as did hunger and other tortures, too many to mention. But being a smart girl Veeta learned quickly that humping a column like a dog was by no means the worst thing that could be done to her enslaved flesh.

Sometimes Allura liked to make her hug the column while being whipped. This way Veeta would experience sweet stimulation and agonizing pain. Perhaps now would be such a time. She need only decide on the correct instrument of punishment – one of the snaking whips, perhaps, or the dreaded cane…

The princess' reverie was interrupted by a knock upon the doors of her outer chambers. ‘Who is it?' she raged, determined that someone should pay for this interruption. ‘Who dares disturb me?'

‘Forgive me, princess,' came a voice she knew at once to be that of Meksior, the spineless vizier to her Uncle Fortragian. ‘I have come to inform you that your visitor has arrived.'

‘Visitor? What are you talking about? I am expecting no visitors.'

Veeta continued her heavy breathing as she pushed herself to another humiliating orgasm.

‘Count Raysar, princess. The latest suitor. You recall his appointment?'

The suitor. Yes. One of her uncle's ideas. The grand duke, now regent of the realm, intended to marry Allura off so as to free himself of the problem of royal succession. By law she could not assume the crown herself unless married. It was a ridiculous practice and she intended to alter it at the next convocation of nobles. The princess would marry no one. She would be queen alone. In the mean time, she was humoring the grand duke, interviewing various prospective husbands, each of whom she promptly ran off, tail between his legs.

None were worthy of her, and she was systematically proving her case. This Raysar, whoever he was, would be no exception. In fact, she would see to it his humiliation exceeded that of all the others combined.

‘Very well, Meksior, I shall deign to see him. Send him in to me at once.'

There was a judicious pause, followed by the clearing of the vizier's throat. ‘Princess, I am not sure it would be proper for the prince to meet you here… in your private chambers.'

Allura stormed to the doors and flung them open. ‘Fetch him this instant, you imbecile,' she commanded to his cringing face. ‘Or I shall have you drawn and quartered.'

‘At once, princess.' He cowered behind his purple robes, nearly tripping over himself in his effort to make it back to the stairs. A few moments later he returned with a high-strung young man, about six foot tall, thin and blonde with nice enough features and white teeth. The fact that he was uncomfortable meeting his potential bride in her bedroom was more than a little obvious, and she could hardly wait till he saw Veeta in the next room.

‘Leave us,' the princess said to the vizier, denying him the chance to conduct a proper introduction. Then without further ado she closed the chamber doors, sealing them both inside. Let the games begin, she thought.

‘Princess,' the count bowed awkwardly, ‘if you will allow me the honor of introducing myself, I am—'

‘I know who you are,' she snapped. ‘And we both know why you're here. I'm to evaluate you as a potential husband. In order to do this, I'll need to consider many things. Not least of which, I'll need to know how you fuck.'

His features whitened to the shade of a ghost. ‘B-begging your pardon, princess?'

‘Veeta,' she called out, ‘get out here on the double,' and the girl scurried into the room, falling to her knees before her mistress, then without being told she lowered her head to the marble floor and began to kiss her mistress' slipper.

‘This is my slave girl,' Allura explained, ‘and I would like you to fuck her while I watch.'

Raysar's mouth hung open in shock.

‘Well you can't expect me to lay for you myself. I'm a virgin. So you'll fuck her in place of me and that will give me some sense of your skills. Bearing in mind, of course, that this is an owned bitch whom you may treat with as much brutality as you like whereas I am a princess, whom you will have to worship on bended knee.'

Raysar swallowed hard, sweat beading his forehead. ‘I believe this to have been a mistake, princess. I regret any inconvenience,' he bowed, his retreating back colliding with the door.

‘Count, surely you are not afraid of a mere slave?' A simple snap of her finger was all it took to set the highly trained girl in motion. Without hesitation Veeta lowered herself to her belly and began to crawl to him. Count Raysar, mesmerized by the sight of her undulating, captive flesh, marked as it was with the whip, decided to wait and see what would happen.

‘Master,' said the slave, her face at his feet, ‘the slave Veeta begs to give pleasure.'

Raysar stiffened as she began to kiss and lick his boot, and Allura suppressed a smile as she watched the swell in his breeches, indicating that indeed he was enjoying the servile behavior.

‘On your knees, Veeta,' she ordered. ‘Show our guest what you are good for.'

Veeta knelt up, breasts thrust out, back straight. She was a sex slave, which meant there was no mistaking what she must do. This, too, was an act the noble's daughter had balked at when first she was made Allura's bondservant. Never would the princess forget the look on the sweet girl's face when she was first pushed to her knees in front of their mutual friends, pressed by the princess into service for the occasion.

‘I would rather die!' pretty Saraveeta had screamed.

‘We shall do you one better,' Allura pronounced, sentencing her to a week in the dungeon, a place which makes even the strongest soul beg for death. Chained and naked, the girl was left to lie upon the cold stones in the darkness. Shivering and terrified she could only watch as beady red eyes peered at her, the sharp-toothed rodents waiting for a moment of weakness on her part. There were men in the dark dungeon, too, hungry for bread, and even hungrier for the tight channel between a girl's legs.

For a while Veeta managed to keep herself safe in a corner, out of the range of the shackled prisoners and the rats alike. But then, out of sheer exhaustion, she'd fallen asleep, only to awake feeling something nuzzling between her legs. It was one of the rats, pushing its snout deep inside her sex.

Veeta scurried to the men, begging protection, and knowing that they had her over a barrel, they made her serve them, compelling her to lick clean their filthy feet and cocks before being allowed to lie with them. For the rest of her sentence she was plowed fore and aft, without respite.

Upon being released Veeta showed she had learned her lesson by immediately begging to suck the cock of the young man she'd spurned earlier, but Allura denied her this privilege, compelling her instead to suck the cocks of the stable hands.

‘Princess, I must protest,' Raysar objected, though he seemed in no particular hurry either to continue his exit or to hinder the naked girl from exposing his penis and sucking it between her lips.

‘Feel free to ejaculate in her mouth,' Allura offered graciously. ‘Veeta swallows whatever's she's told.'

‘I… I really can't abide this,' the count stuttered, even as he grasped the girl's face between his hands to increase the friction. ‘By the gods… this isn't right.'

‘Don't tell me you're going to shoot off already?' Allura mocked. ‘Surely if you were loving me you'd have more staying power?'

He flushed red. ‘Get off me,' he said, not too convincingly. ‘Stop this at once.'

‘Down slave,' ordered Allura, and Veeta stopped sucking, released him from her mouth and sat back on her heels, just like the good little animal she was.

‘By the heavens,' he moaned, knees shaking, and just as Allura had hoped it was too late for the young man; he was going to ejaculate.

With both hands gripping his erection the count erupted, the thick stream pelting the tummy, breasts and face of the kneeling slave girl. Veeta made no move to shield herself, nor did she close her eyes as yet more coated her brow.

‘This isn't possible,' he gasped, looking down at the straining tip of his expended organ, but Allura was more interested in the sperm that had dripped onto the floor.

‘Lick it up, slave,' she commanded, and Veeta bowed to all fours, lapping at the sticky discharge. ‘What do you think, slave; would he make a good husband or no?' Veeta continued to lick the floor, the question rhetorical, for she would continue with the task until told explicitly to stop.

‘I do not think you are in need of a husband, princess,' complained the affronted Raysar, ‘but rather a keeper.'

Allura made no effort to hide her contempt, or her amusement. ‘Be gone, little man.' She waved her hand. ‘Before I grow angry with you.'

He left in a huff, not bothering to fasten his trousers. Pity the poor servant who had to point that out to him downstairs.

‘And that, my dear Veeta,' Allura collapsed on her bed, exhausted from her labors, ‘is how you handle a suitor.'

 

 

 

 

‘But uncle,' whined the princess, having been summoned by her uncle to his study, ‘I don't wish to see another suitor today. I am tired.'

The Grand Duke Fortragian fretted visibly behind his thick white mustache and muttonchops, the weight of his responsibilities heavy upon his heart. ‘Grand niece,' he pleaded wearily, ‘must you fight me in everything? Have you not had your way in all things? Even more so now that your dear father is passed?'

Allura pouted sulkily. ‘I haven't gotten my way at all. It's only because of you that I am entertaining these ridiculous suitors in the first place. The least you can do is let me meet them where and when I choose.'

‘And with all the others, yes, that was true. But Baron Montreico must be the exception.'

Allura looked upon the graying, wrinkled man before her, a fraction of what he had once been in his handsome blue uniform. How easy it would be to defeat his will, and yet it was true that as the soon-to-be queen she must learn to be gracious to her subjects. ‘Very well,' she raised her nose haughtily, ‘I shall deign to meet him in the audience hall. He may have ten minutes, no longer.'

‘Ten minutes,' he nodded, obviously relieved. ‘Thank you.'

‘Do not thank me so quickly. I merely said I would meet him. You can rest assured I will scarcely tolerate him, much less allow him to ever take my hand in marriage.'

‘Speak to him,' the duke effused. ‘That is all I ask.'

Allura narrowed her gaze suspiciously. ‘Why is this man so special?' she demanded. ‘What are you hiding from me?'

‘Nothing. Not a thing. Come.' He ushered her towards the audience hall. ‘The baron awaits you.'

She stopped in her tracks. ‘What do you mean,
he
awaits
me
? Do you mean to say he is already in the audience chamber?'

This was indeed an outrage. As princess, she should be allowed to take her place first on the dais, so that he might present himself at the throne and bow to her as was her due.

Fortragian laughed a little nervously as he took her arm. ‘Really, Allura, it is nothing to be concerned about. As you said yourself, you will speak to one another for only a few minutes.'

‘Even a few seconds is too much under such horrid circumstances, uncle, and you know it.'

‘The time will fly,' he promised, as a pair of liveried servants pulled open the doors to the chamber with a crisp flourish.

‘Until later, then,' he bid her farewell, medals jingling on his gold embroidered jacket as he scurried for the cover of his study.

‘Ever the brave one,' she muttered, observing his comical flight from the theatre of battle. She had been prepared for almost anything as she walked into the marble-columned room with vaulted ceilings and ancient hanging tapestries, but what she saw moved her to an unprecedented level of indignation and outrage.

The baron was sitting on the throne. Her father's throne.