Possessing Allura (7 page)

Veeta bowed her head. ‘Yes, mistress.' The girl knew her part well. Perhaps she even enjoyed some of it. After all, when now did the former Saraveeta get a chance to lie alone and unmolested in a real bed, even for a few minutes? She claimed the huge penis hurt, but Allura thought she was exaggerating. Veeta was spoiled, that was all. Living in the castle was such a soft life for her; she had no idea what other slaves endured.

Allura enjoyed watching her find her place on the bed, crawling so sweetly over the opulent coverings. What a fine little bride she would have been. In many ways she'd even have made a better princess, with her natural grace and ability to charm one and all by her mere presence. Even with Allura's blonde beauty and the servants always creating a fuss about her, there were times when Saraveeta would steal the light from her entirely.

‘Toss and turn, Veeta,' directed Allura, trying to make things as realistic as possible. ‘You are dreaming of your lover; show me how that looks. He is coming and even in your sleep you are waiting.'

Veeta's eyes closed. She was on her left side, and with the delicate fingers of one hand she drew a line up her naked thigh. Her lips were moist, and she let out a small moan. This was no fabrication, Allura realized. The girl really was imagining a dream lover. Did she think herself still worthy of noble men, handsome dukes and princes to fawn over her? Was she thinking of Montreico, even?

‘On your back,' Allura commanded her personal plaything. ‘Open your legs and caress your breasts.' The girl obliged, as manipulative as Allura had forced her to become. ‘Behold the princess,' whispered Allura, playing the part of unseen narrator beside the bed. ‘Imagining sweet bliss. Not knowing the horror approaching.'

The window was open, and a light breeze wafted into the chamber. Allura gazed upon the girl's body bathed in moonlight, transformed into something almost ethereal. ‘Touch yourself, Veeta. Play with your clit.' The slave's pussy was glistening, and silvery liquid anointed her fingertips as she touched that magical bud. ‘Yes, that's it, think about your handsome prince, he is coming to rescue you, to carry you away on wings of love, his cock inside you as you fly, his lips kissing your breasts, giving you orgasm after orgasm…'

Allura stopped her just shy of fulfillment. ‘Enough. Now you are asleep.'

The girl bit her lip. It took all her will power to deny herself, and laying her hands over her face she pretended to be unconscious.

‘Sleep now, my princess.' Allura's voice drifted to nothing, her own sex on fire. She was wearing gloves, boots, and a dagger at her side. She had velvet breeches, the perpetually hard cock strapped into place. Thus would Veeta meet her brigand, again.

First a gloved hand clamped down over the lightly breathing mouth. The slave princess froze and opened her eyes, with genuine disquiet reflected in them.

‘Not a word, bitch.' Allura brandished the knife, her body astride Veeta's. ‘You'll do what I say and you'll live. Nod if you understand.' Veeta did so. There was nothing fake about the blade, anymore than there was about the reality of Allura's intention to dominate and terrorize. ‘Good girl, now lick my knife.'

Allura's insides simmered as the tiny tongue extended to the flat of the blade, dabbing, seeking to appease, seeking to survive.

‘You like cock, girlie?' she growled in a deep voice.

‘I-I'm a virgin, sir,' said the de facto princess.

‘Not for long, eh?'

Veeta grit her teeth as Allura took her breast rudely, twisting the nipple much harder than before.

‘That hurts, sir!' the slave wailed, but the point of the knife pressed into the girl's concave tummy, and Allura's heart quickened as she raised the stakes.

‘I enjoy hurting disrespectful girls like you. Didn't you guess that yet?'

Veeta shook her head, wide-eyed as a kitten, fresh and innocent. One more thing for Allura to hate: the girl's ability to renew herself through playacting.

Using the knife she cut away the girl's silk negligee. ‘Prepare to be fucked.'

‘I submit,' Veeta panted.

‘Beg to be fucked,' Allura urged, her voice tense with arousal.

‘Fuck me, sir,' Veeta sighed. ‘Use me as your whore.'

‘Too easy,' Allura hissed. ‘Resist me.'

The poor slave pushed with her hands at Allura's arms, being careful not to do it too hard, lest she really dislodge and anger her mistress.

‘I am too strong for you, girl. All men are too strong. Isn't that right?'

‘Yes, mistress… I mean, sir.'

‘Open your legs,' the blonde princess ordered, Veeta did so, as wide as she could manage, and Allura pushed the huge phallus home, smooth metal penetrating easily the ripe, ready girl, who took more of it than she ever had before.

‘Who are you thinking about?' Allura demanded. ‘Why are you so aroused all of a sudden?'

‘Please…' Veeta gasped. ‘Please, just let me serve you. Use me as you will.'

‘You're not getting off that easily, bitch.' Allura pushed down, the adrenalin surging her to an unprecedented level of penetration.

‘Mercy,' Veeta gasped.

‘Then tell the truth,' Allura coaxed. ‘You are so wet because of him, the baron. You are wishing it was his cock invading you.'

‘Yes… yes… I crave him, I confess,' Veeta sobbed.

Allura's satisfaction was all too grim. ‘Turn over,' she ordered. ‘Face down, ass in the air, spread yourself wide.'

The girl did not dare delay a single second, and obediently rolled onto her front. ‘I am yours,' she sobbed, no longer sure in what guise to address the princess. ‘I submit to you.'

‘Liar!' Allura smacked her ass, the force of the blow thrusting the slave forward with a guttural moan. It was a cruel and unexpected strike, but such was the lot of a chattel property, a toy for the enjoyment of the free. ‘You pay me lip service. It's that despicable man you want to own you. You want to belong to Montreico.' The princess could not think clearly; was she looking into the soul of the slave or was this about her own secret desires, hidden behind the character Veeta was playing?

‘I want to obey, mistress,' Veeta wailed. ‘I want to be good. Please, let me be good. Let me be what you want me to be.'

Allura realized at once the futility of her actions. Veeta was indeed the perfect slave now, broken to her will and terrified more of disobedience than of losing her identity. She had no truth of her own, only Allura's. If Allura told her she wanted the baron, than she would. Likewise any other master Allura picked for her.

‘There, there,' the princess patted the head of her sobbing pet, ‘come and make your mistress happy. Come and suck your horse dick like a good girl.'

Veeta obeyed again, licking, kissing, then took it deep to the back of her throat, and when she looked up at her mistress, Allura paused from her thoughts to praise her. ‘What a good little cock sucker,' she encouraged. ‘A certain little slut is going to earn a treat at this rate.'

Veeta garbled her thanks as well as her relief. With great passion would she continue to suck and afterward she would beg and sit up panting to take the tiny piece of candy that was the reward for the sexual performance of a slave.

Allura imagined Baron Montreico in the same position; naked and begging to eat from her palm, and the image made her smile. She would conquer the man, just like she'd conquered Veeta, breaking her will and changing her from a proud girl to a cringing slave. Never mind that Montreico was male, twice her strength and hugely more dangerous than Saraveeta. The difference was naught.

Or so she hoped.

 

 

 

 

Princess Allura Alesandra de Triante Volucien stood before the royal court in the finest of her blue velvet gowns. She considered it her best color, drawing out most fully her deep, misty eyes. Her hair was arranged to its greatest advantage, in sensual swirls set with diamonds and sapphires. About her waist she wore a chain of silver and a tiny dagger of state, the jeweled one belonging to her grandmother, Queen Aloethia the Pious.

The neckline plunged just enough to reveal her deep cleavage, also drawing attention to the sapphire and diamond necklace, the gems of which had once ransomed an enemy king in the days of her great great grandfather, King Milasos the Wise.

‘Do I look presentable?' she'd asked Veeta on her way out of her chamber, the naked slave still exhausted from the night's sexual excesses, and the slave wearily assured her mistress that no woman had ever looked lovelier in the history of the kingdom. Allura accused her of lying to ingratiate herself, and promised her punishment later.

That is, after she'd gotten this charade of a ceremony over with. Montreico had already kept them waiting about in the audience hall, and frankly she found it infuriating she should have to be kept hostage like this. What was the point? Obviously he would offer her marriage and the matter would be concluded.

‘Uncle, why do you not send the guards for him?' she asked churlishly. ‘Clap him in irons for insulting my person in this way. And yours.'

The Grand Duke Fortragian gave her a cross look, one she'd never seen before. ‘That will be enough out of you, young lady.'

Allura bit her lip. The man had told her off, like a common serving wench or a child. If she weren't so shocked she might well be indignant.

‘Good morning, grand duke.'

The hair on the back of Allura's neck stood on end. It was him, waltzing into the chamber in one of his absurd hunting outfits, this time a pair of tight buckskin breeches and a loose weave shirt of forest green, the V-neck tied by loose leather strings. He had his sword belt and a medium-sized cutting knife, and clearly he'd been hunting in the early dawn.

‘Baron, we are pleased to receive you.' Fortragian offered a low bow.

‘We would have been more pleased a half hour ago,' snapped the princess.

‘Allura, silence!' snapped her uncle, and the princess, avoiding Montreico's stare as he moved to stand beside her, kept her eyes straight ahead. She swore if she were to see even the slightest trace of his smugness right now she would tear him to shreds with her bare hands.

‘Baron,' continued the grand duke, ‘if it please you, may I offer you welcome into this hall, the home of the family which has offended you, and may I further offer the deepest apology, as that family's senior member for the dishonor done to you and your house?'

‘As the offended party,' Montreico replied, continuing the formal discourse employed in such situations, ‘I accept your family's hospitality and apology, as well as the wisdom you bring as senior member.'

‘With your permission, then, may we proceed with the matter at hand?' asked the grand duke.

The baron inclined his head. He smelled of fresh morning dew and of the forest. The scent of manhood, of conquest and of the kill hung about him in a way that made her weak-kneed and distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I do grant this permission.'

‘Allura, face your accuser.'

She did so, keeping her face a mask. As for Montreico's, why hadn't she remembered it as being quite so handsome, with its etched lines, capable of worry, laughter and, quite likely, deep passion?

‘Do you admit your offense, before these witnesses, that you did soil yourself, yielding to your feminine heat?'

The words rankled unbelievably. ‘Uncle, you don't expect me to—'

The duke threw up his hand to stop her. ‘Enough, niece, my hands are tied. You will do as is required or this matter will be turned over to the magistrate.'

The magistrate; legal redresser for the poor, keeper of the prison court where even an ugly hag could expect abuse not only from her jailors but her defense attorney as well.

‘You wouldn't dare,' she challenged, without real conviction, for one look at his aged face said he would. ‘Very well,' she huffed, ‘I will play your game, but know for the record I think this is all a sham.'

‘I am waiting,' prompted the baron, something in his tone making her react.

She took a deep breath. ‘I, Princess Allura, of the House of—'

‘No title required.' This time it was the baron who interrupted. ‘You will use your given name only.'

‘Very well,' she said. ‘I, Allura, before these witnesses do confess my crime, that I have soiled myself and yielded to… to my…' She balked at the sight of Veeta being led into the chamber on a leash by a man in hunting gear like that of the baron. What was she doing there? ‘To my feminine heat,' she concluded.

‘What are the details of your crime?' asked her uncle, pretending not to know.

Allura's cheeks flushed; this was exactly where Veeta had stood for her own false conviction, when Allura could barely contain her glee as the girl was found guilty and subsequently rejected by Porfino. Openly sweet young Saraveeta had wept at the reading of her sentence. ‘I… I touched this man… Baron Montreico.' She faltered at saying his name, for the shame of arousal being exposed was more than could be borne. ‘I pressed my lips, my body against him.'