The Captive (12 page)

At last he slid into her. She held him to the hilt and he groaned ecstatically. As he promised, he slid his lubricated fingers to the front, to the splayed mound with the soft down of silver fronding. His long fingers massaged the swollen pliancy of her outer lips, spreading them further.

For the moment he was satisfied to let his slickly lubricated penis lie in the tight, dark warmth. And for the moment he was satisfied to simply spread her love lips as far open as he could, feeling their moist velvety softness. The two were fitted together by a willing socket.

Soon his fingers slipped further, entering the depth of her female entrance, slimy with her pearly dew. Two fingers, the deft forefingers of each hand, opened the neglected entrance and he felt her mound bear upon his palms, urging him to open her more. Meanwhile, his thumbs slithered gently from base to tip of her clitoris.

This done, his shaft slid very slowly out of her until she thought that he had withdrawn altogether, but he had not. At the last moment he plunged back into her darkness, making her grunt with the force of the penetration. Several times more he took this action. It was as if he was confirming who was master, but there was no doubt in Zacora’s mind and she soared to a delicious orgasm.

Harold roared his own pleasure, flushing her rear passage with spume after spume of his rich semen. For many moments after orgasm, they stood locked, the hot wetness spilling out along the small of Zacora’s back. She could feel her sex flesh pulsing on his hands, still glued to the heat of that silky skin.

Megan, angry at her second place in the evening’s entertainment, was ushering her callers from her chamber. “Are you going to stay attached to her forever?” she snapped over her shoulder to Harold.

“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely, “that is what I should like when the time is right.”

“She’s a slave girl,” Megan reminded him. “A sex slave, bought only for sexual pleasure.”

Harold stroked the satiny buttocks which he so recently treasured with his sex weapon. “But of noble birth,” he added.

“So she may say,” grunted Megan disbelievingly. “What proof is there?”

“Her finely bred looks,” he said, stepping down from the dais and slipping into his robe.

“Nothing to go by,” sneered Megan. “Do you want her taken down?”

Harold nodded. “And let her sleep on this sofa tonight. No chaining. Her ankles and wrists have taken enough punishment.”

“Not chained? Do you think that’s wise?”

“Are you sure she won’t run?”

Megan frowned at Zacora, twisting her own dark dishevelled hair around nervous fingers.

“I’d feel much happier if she was chained to the bed.” She paused. “Or the wall. Anything solid.” She reached out to stroke Zacora’s arm and narrowed her eyes angrily as she felt the girl flinch. “Are you quite, quite sure?”

“Quite sure,” answered Harold. He cossetted the girl’s breasts, tracing their warm outline, their heaviness, with knowing forefingers. He felt her flesh tremble delightedly. “You won’t run, my dear. Not from me?”

A barely perceptible shudder went through the lovely girl’s frame. She remained still, silent with head bowed in gentle submission. At that very moment she had only one wish: that Harold would take her in his strong arms and hold her, possess her for ever.

But Megan, naked apart from her red garter belt, was quite adamant in her belief. “She should be chained, like any other sex slave.” Her breasts jiggled with rage and she shook a pair of wrist manacles at him. “What’s wrong with you, Nephew? Are you going soft in the head?” A light shone in Megan’s dark eyes. “Are you in love?” she shrieked at last.

Hiding her expression beneath the shimmering thickness of hair, Zacora gasped. She clasped her hands more tightly at the moist swelling of her sex pouch. Her nubbin jerked tightly at Megan’s words, moving slickly in its dripping nest. Could it be that Harold had such regard for her? She wanted to be sure. Ogham had betrayed her so.

“I do not wish her to be fettered,” said Harold sternly. “I wish her to be washed and pampered as a princess.”

He smiled into the liquid depths of the sapphire pools and received a tremulous soft curve of the pouting lips in return.

Zacora felt her full breasts become tender under the touch of his exploring fingers; felt her nipples tauten urgently at his touch. A fresh flow of her sex sap added to the pearly pools which already nestled between her folds. A warm heaviness settled at the pit of her belly, making her whole body lethargic and ready for him. She felt herself swaying towards him.

“Yes, a princess,” Harold went on. “For she looks and acts like a princess.”

The words made Zacora soar with renewed happiness. Did this truly mean that he had regard for her? She felt him stroking the pouting cushions of her buttocks, adoring the smooth curves and spreading them wide to return to the depths of the cleft between them. She felt him probe the moistness of her rear pit, enjoying the slipperiness of his remaining issue.

Megan snorted with disbelief. There was a clatter as she threw down the manacles in disgust. “Well, I’m keeping my eye on her,” she said through gritted teeth. “I don’t intend to let her out of my sight.”

“That goes for me,” added Gareth, her miserable son. His shaft was erect as he watched Harold intimately caress the sex slave.

Surreptitiously, Zacora watched Gareth’s urgent actions. She knew that it was a compliment to herself. His cockstem was bloated, the veins bulging in a tight trail along its length. The end bulb was shiny, purple and slick with a drool of issue. The lad was looking at her hungrily as he stroked the long thickness and cupped the turgid heaviness of his balls.

Harold looked at him with narrowed eyes. “We shall all take it in turn to watch over her,” he said softly. “She is, after all, such a precious creature.”

Restraint, Zacora pleaded with herself. Restraint. She wanted to throw herself into his strength. She felt her skin flutter as she allowed his hands the luxury of touching the slender, but voluptuous, richness of golden flesh. His fingers traced the flare of the tiny waist to the ripe shelves of the hips which swept upwards to the proud mounds of the breasts. She felt him shudder as he handled each valley and hillock of delicious flesh.

Head still bowed with sweet submission, Zacora parted her naked thighs and bore her mound down into Harold’s cupped hands. He sighed in delighted gratitude. She stroked the moistness of her sex pouch over his offered hands and lifted her dainty fingers to the back of her golden mane. In this attitude of complete compliance she gave herself to him.

A flush of heat swelled the petals of her sex. Her nubbin jutted, thick and long, its tip grazing his delighted fingers. Love sap oozed over swollen female folds, pervading him in the rich aroma of wanton-ness. A barely audible mew of ecstasy heralded her orgasm, but she held back, grinding her supple pelvis in an attempt to caress her lord’s shaft inviting it into her heated pouch.

“I still say that she should be shackled,” hissed Megan.

Zacora closed her eyes unhappily. The rasping voice had destroyed the sensual reverie of the moment. Her body ached with the loss of climax; the grinding ache felt in her loins when need is not satisfied.

“And I say she should not,” said Harold firmly.

A servant was called to lead Zacora to be sponged down. The golden haired beauty stood, head meekly bowed, awaiting whatever her owners now wished. The servant, a plain girl modestly dressed in home spun garments, eyed her charge with some distaste. Zacora ignored her stares, thinking only of Harold and the excitement which he elicited in her. It was a delight to feel the sticky heat of his issue trailing over her buttocks, her puffy sex lips, and the fine inner skin of her thighs.

“Take her to be refreshed,” he ordered.

Zacora lifted her golden head as she was led from the games room. She deliberately added a more provocative sway to her walk, swinging the pouting buttocks which she knew were liberally slicked with Harold’s silvery spume. She enjoyed the moistness he had conjured in her sex folds. With a little effort she could massage her nubbin with that copious lubrication. She was beginning to feel that she she had been born to please, yes, but not just men, all men, any man at all: no, she had been born to please Harold, and that is what she would do!

The sapphire eyes smiled secretively as she glided along the stone passage. She could imagine Harold sinking onto his sofa, luxuriating in sensuous dreams of their coupling interrupted by Megan. She knew that she had to find some way of separating him from the influence of this unpleasant and domineering Aunt of his and her obnoxious son. Somehow she must find a way of having Harold to herself.

She let her mind drift to his wonderfully mature body. The broad shoulders tapered to a waist which was firm and not too narrow. His stomach was flat and hard, ridged with bands of muscle. A line of dark curls led from his navel to a crisp triangle. Spearing, always spearing, was his magnificent sex sword. It was dark and smooth, summited by a bursting globe. Below were his male sacs, taut and bursting with life. He kept them smooth of hair as he did the cleft of his firm buttocks.

Zacora knew of his very sensitive place at the rear of the sacs. She would have touched it to enhance his orgasm to yet more glorious heights had Megan not interrupted their play. Her Master in the school room in Lokara taught his girls of the ecstasy to be obtained by a man when this place, hidden behind the heaviness of the sperm sacs and in front of the rear mouth, was pressed gently.

Was the combination of her beauty and her expertise enough to ensure a permanent place at Harold’s side?

The dowdy little servant pushed Zacora through a low door into a dark cavernous room. Tallow sconces guttered in the walls. A perfume hung in the air, sweet and dreamy, making her feel sleepy and heavy limbed. The aroma was carried by wisps of smoke puffed from channels bored deep into the old stone walls. The swirls caressed her body like insubstantial fingers, pampering each tender place until she thought she would swoon with delight.

“Up on the bench,” the servant grated. The woman’s sharp fingers dug cruelly into Zacora’s buttocks parting the twin hillocks. She gave a cluck of disgust - or was it envy? - as she slicked the copious juices up and down the deep cleft. “Face down,” she added giving the girl a vicious push to the high stone platform.

The pleasant dreaminess was replaced by apprehension as Zacora struggled to obey the servant’s bidding. Her hands touched metal manacles sunk into the cold stone and the woman in charge of her gave an unpleasant chuckle as she imprisoned slim wrists in the unyielding metal. Zacora felt her long legs being pulled roughly wide apart and her ankles fettered tightly.

“What are you going to do?” she asked plaintively.

“I have my orders,” said the woman, giving nothing away.

Zacora’s mind whirled with unhappiness. Surely Harold would not, after his recent tenderness, cause her any hurt. So what was this woman doing to her?

Her arms and legs were held at full stretch by the fetters. The warmth of her breasts and belly was chilled by the cold stone. The heavy perfumes pervading the room were no longer pleasant. A vice seemed to squeeze her temples, crushing her mind, numbing it until she could barely think.

A torrent of icy cold water was thrown viciously on to her body, making her gasp with shock. It did not end there. It was followed by another and another. At last the torrents ended, but freezing rivulets trickled down the hollow of her spine, seeped around the pressed mounds of her breasts and soaked the hot valley of her bottom. The long golden tresses were saturated, lying in wet ropes around her head.

Zacora began to shiver miserably.

“You girls have it too easy,” rasped the woman.

“Why are you being so cruel?” asked Zacora through chattering teeth. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Orders,” said the woman sharply. “You’ve got to be cleaned inside and out.”

Zacora tried to turn her head, but she was too stiff and cold and her fetters held her too tightly.

The woman went about her tasks silently, refusing to say any more. Zacora felt pressure between her splayed legs. Front and rear openings were pressed open by the bony fingers. She felt the smoothness of oil being slathered liberally at the openings and she wriggled her nether regions in anticipation of pleasurable invasions.

The servant cackled evilly and Zacora felt her vagina being plundered by a wide tube. She felt chill air whisper into the heat of her sex flesh. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. It was strange. A narrower tube entered her rear mouth so that she was completely open and vulnerable at both entrances.

“The inner cleansing is about to begin,” said the servant gleefully. “The opening tubes will be removed after the flushing and you must retain the cleansing fluid within your body until I tell you that you may release it. Do you understand?”

The servant delved between the tubes, seeking the pouting heat of Zacora’s clitoris. To her shame the girl found herself urging towards the questing boney fingers. The opening up of her body was exciting her, making her want stimulation even from this cruel woman.

She nodded, acquiescing to the woman’s order, feeling the chill of water trickling from her soaked hair.

A flood of warmth entered her body through the tubes, gushing and foaming over her sensitive inner skin. The tubes were swiftly withdrawn and Zacora contracted her well trained nether muscles to retain the perfumed fluids. She felt them gurgling around her intimate passages, swilling away all traces of her own and Harold’s fluids. The urge to bear down was intolerable and she felt, at any moment, that she must release the contents of her vagina and her bowels. Tears joined the water already lying on her peachy cheeks, for the sensation was too great to resist.

“Hold it!” rasped the servant, clutching the flesh of Zacora’s sex pouch. “It must be held until I give you permission.”

In her shame the girl felt her nubbin swelling, butting at the woman’s clutching hands. The sensation of the swirling fluids within the intimate passages were both painful and stimulating.