Possessing Allura (6 page)

There was a tinge of irony in his voice, enough to give pause to the conversation, and it was resumed again, lightly, only once the soup arrived.

‘Do not close your legs,' the baron warned, and the princess sat open, her every nerve-ending alive, every word, every sound and taste connecting directly to her sex. The laughter of the men jarring her, like tremors threatening to knock her from her chair onto the floor at their feet. The clinking of glasses, the aroma of meat from the kitchens drawing attention to her empty belly, her ravenous need to eat, so easily controlled by a single man.

And worst of all, the metal of the soup spoon on her lips making her think of chains. Veeta was chained at that moment, locked in irons in the dungeon below them, her lithe body covered in filth as the bestial male prisoners pass her back and forth; male beasts sporting with a female beast.

For a second Allura felt the gut-wrenching tear of guilt. Were she and Veeta so very different? Wasn't it Allura who'd wanted that kiss from Porfino so badly? Hadn't she practically thrown herself at the boy not once, but again and again? Had she not offered him everything, the full obedience of her body in a vain effort to distract him from Saraveeta, his true love? And knowing herself second best in the end, had she not falsely accused an innocent girl in order to appease her own bruised ego? It was more than Allura could bear.

‘Is something wrong, princess?'

She was on her feet, bracing herself at the edge of the table. ‘I… I am in need of some air,' she stammered, ‘that is all.'

‘Baron,' the grand duke called from the far end of the table, ‘would you kindly escort the princess to the balcony?'

‘I am fine, uncle,' she declined. ‘I should like to go alone.'

The baron grasped her elbow. ‘I will not be cheated of my end of the bargain, whether or not you leave,' he growled.

‘Of course,' she hissed, ‘being the son of a demon as you are, I fully expect you to try and collect. Only it seems you have failed to honor your end of the bargain; I have been disgraced, after all.'

‘Only if you make a scene now,' he countered. ‘Come quietly and all will be well.'

The man was right and for the moment she had no choice but to cede her arm – and a measure of her pride. So consoling herself with all the nasty things she would do to him when she became queen, she allowed him to lead her from the state dining room out to the balcony overlooking the manicured gardens below.

Allura forced from her mind the feelings of comfort at having someone to lean on – a man to take the reins. She could not entertain such a thought now, for it was enough to confront the weakness in her knees, the heat passing from her body to his, so powerful beside her.

‘You may leave me,' she dismissed him at the balustrade. ‘I am in no mood for company.'

‘I shall wait till I am assured that you are well.'

Well enough to run him through with a blade had she the strength of a man, she thought bitterly. ‘I think you've foisted yourself on me more than sufficiently for—'

The baron helped himself to another kiss, abruptly silencing her, this second even more intoxicating than the first, his hands at her bare back pressing her close, holding her prisoner. She nearly fainted at the feel of his hardness, the man aroused, as he had been with Veeta, only this time he wanted her. Allura felt her resistance ebbing, and as his hands moved down to grasp her buttocks she could muster no objection, no will to oppose him.

Her eyes closed, and the princess forgot for the moment her loathing of the man, praying it would go on, forever.

‘Allura! By the gods and goddesses, what is the meaning of this?'

The princess gasped, panic supplanting her lurid desire. It was the grand duke. ‘Uncle, I… I…'

‘No,' he silenced her spluttering. ‘It is clear enough what has occurred here.'

‘The young lady has compromised my integrity,' declared the baron. ‘I demand satisfaction.'

‘Me?' she shrieked indignantly. ‘But it is you who grabbed me and—'

‘And what, Allura?' he interrupted. ‘Can you prove to your uncle how I forced myself upon you? Or would you rather tell him the truth, how you put yourself upon me, appealing to my natural male desires?'

‘Is this true, Allura?' her uncle quizzed, and her pulse raced. She knew well the laws and customs of her people. Without clear and overwhelming proof of abuse the woman was wrong, guilty no matter what the circumstances. Hadn't she condemned Saraveeta in this very manner having no evidence whatsoever?

It was not a fair system, but it was straightforward. So long as the woman kept her distance she had all the power, but once she allowed the breaching of that barrier, though the touch be slight, everything shifted to the male. Her freedom, her very life was in his hands. ‘Uncle, you must give me a chance, alone, to explain,' she pleaded, seeking to hide her increasing desperation. ‘There is more here than meets the eye.'

‘What could there be to explain?' Montreico argued. ‘The law is clear. Fortragian, do you not side with me?'

The elderly grand duke frowned heavily. ‘The law is the law, Allura,' he decreed. ‘I cannot override it, even for you.'

‘She is spoiled meat,' the baron pointed out, quite unnecessarily, ‘and she has but one chance at redemption; a legitimate union with the offended party.'

Allura's heart seized in her chest. The man couldn't possibly propose marriage, not after all that had taken place between them. ‘Uncle,' she desperately babbled, ‘I will never wed this man, do you hear me?'

‘Allura, the choice is no longer yours. And need I remind you that should the baron refuse you I shall be forced to sentence you to slavery as a harlot?'

‘Me, a slave?' she gasped. ‘But I am crown princess!'

‘If slavery be too good for you there is always the option of death,' reminded the baron. ‘And I would be happy to loan my hangman to your uncle for the occasion.'

‘I hate you!' she screamed, turning on him with fists flying, but the baron made no effort to stop her pounding his chest, an action that only made her look all the weaker and hysterical.

‘I shall have to consider the matter, Fortragian,' he said flatly. ‘In the morning I shall give you my decision as to whether I'll have her or not.'

Allura stopped her useless attack, and burying her head in her hands she reverted to the use of tears. In the past it had helped her win her own way, but not now.

‘I am afraid I have grown quite fatigued, your excellency,' Montreico said. ‘Until tomorrow, then?'

‘Very good, baron.' The duke returned his crisp bow, then turning to his niece he said curtly, ‘Pull yourself together, girl. You got yourself into this mess. You've no one to blame but yourself.'

He left her alone to contemplate her options. He was right; she must pull herself together. What was she going to do? Drawing a deep breath she gazed into the night. She could wait until the baron was asleep and slit his throat; she could hardly imagine anyone missing such a man. But what if she should fail in her attempt? Montreico was obviously a cunning and treacherous man, of the sort not likely to be overtaken even in his sleep.

No, if she was to defeat him she must use her wits. She must beat the man at his own game. To begin with, she could be assured he would want her hand in marriage, which must have been his plan all along, to marry into the royal house, to gain leverage over the crown princess. And therein would lay his undoing. The man's greed would fell him. She would make his life a living hell, removing from him every joy until he either begged her to release him from his vows, or to plunge a dagger into his heart to end his misery. In less than a year's time, she predicted, she would be rid of him and sitting on the throne all by herself. Yes, it was the perfect solution. An immediate marriage would make her uncle happy and she would be one step closer to a life free of men all together.

The only small hitch was her confounded libido. She must in no way succumb to her desires. She must never again give in to his kiss or melt at his touch, and she must never, ever, under any circumstances give herself to the brute physically.

It would be a sexless marriage, and if she had to masturbate a hundred times a day or even give her favors over to some male servant like Willemo to keep her lust at bay, she'd do it; anything to keep her freedom, not to mention her chance of revenge.

In the meantime she had in mind a little game – something to ease the worries on her mind. To this end she would need a few of her special devices as well as the helpless body of Veeta the slave.

 

‘We are going to play princess and robber tonight,' Allura told the girl a short while later, in the privacy of her bedchambers. ‘Aren't you glad I got you out of the mean old dungeon so we can?'

‘Yes, mistress,' said the shivering girl, freshly scrubbed and deloused after her ordeal. ‘Thank you, mistress.'

Allura so enjoyed the expressions on the slave's face. Subtle as they had become, and as many times as they'd played the same games, Allura could still count on provoking reactions; a little sparkle in the eyes indicating fear, a slight furrowing of the brow, and of course the inevitable quaver in the voice. This was a fun game for Allura because she got to play a different role. Naturally she was the predatory robber, while Veeta would be the sleeping princess interrupted by the randy intruder. Allura was quite proud of herself for inventing a device to simulate a male member, which she could attach to herself by means of a harness. Made of smooth metal, the shaft was a silver replica of the cock of her father's favorite horse, making it an especially humiliating thing for the highborn Saraveeta, who was in effect being fucked by a horse-cock.

‘What does it feel like?' Allura would always ask, and then teasing she would add, ‘We should try the real thing, now that we have you stretched so well.'

The silver horse penis was attached to a wide belt, with connecting straps that fitted between the princess' legs, and as an added treat for her she could install various devices that would insure her own continuous arousal while she was fucking the slave girl.

Veeta had been stretched well, indeed, and she could take a substantial amount of the huge cock, in both channels as well as in her mouth.

‘You are sucking a horse cock, Veeta,' Allura would make sure to remind her as she performed on the silver shaft. ‘For the millionth time, aren't you sorry for ever thinking you were more lovely and desirable than me?'

Allura readied herself now for their game. In her guise as robber she would sneak into the bedchamber, the cock firmly in place and assault the defenseless princess. For the occasion Allura would dress her childhood friend in a splendidly sheer and regal nightgown, and even do her hair and make-up. This would make Veeta cry, because it reminded her of all she'd lost.

Allura thought it funny to set up these little contrasts. Certainly Veeta was tortured by them, for it was ever so much crueler to wear finery time and again, only to be stripped and forced to eat on all fours from a bowl.

For the night's game she was spending lots of time with Veeta's hair, making the girl sit in her golden chair while she employed the dreaded silver brush.

‘The Baron Montreico fancies to marry me,' she told her slave girl, as though it was some free offer she was considering. ‘Do you think him a good catch?'

Veeta wore a red negligee, low-cut, barely covering her nipples. The hem rode so far up as she sat that Allura could see her pink lips at the apex of her slightly parted legs. ‘I… I don't know about such things.' She looked anxiously at her mistress, knowing a wrong answer could land her an extra beating.

‘Is he handsome? Does he make you wet?'

The thighs of the girl clamped together abruptly. ‘Please, don't make me answer, mistress.'

‘What? Is this modesty coming from a slave?' Allura aimed the brush at her stomach. ‘Shall I have your belly sliced open to learn your secrets?'

It was an old expression, symbolizing the brutal nature of slave ownership, but Allura liked it for its literal connotations. If she wished she could disembowel her old friend. For that matter, she could also have her impregnated as a breeder; a fat breeding pig to make more stupid slaves like her.

‘No, mistress, forgive me!' She recoiled.

‘Talk,' Allura demanded, seizing a silk-covered nipple and twisting it savagely, the slave whimpering and squirming.

‘The baron is handsome, yes,' she gasped, ‘and he makes me wet, mistress.'

Allura scowled, releasing her. She'd suspected as much. Her worthless slave had a crush. It was no surprise; what other sort of female would want a man of his low caliber? ‘How fitting,' she brushed it off. ‘You are both pigs, after all.'

Nothing more was said, but Allura continued to ruminate on the matter. Why had she felt a slight tremor in her tummy at the idea of another female liking or wanting Montreico? Why wasn't it fun to play her humiliation games with Veeta, using this particular man as the butt of the joke? ‘Get into bed,' she snapped. ‘It's time to start the fun.'