Slavemaster's Woman, The (6 page)

She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch when he
took a deliberate step closer to her.

The woman had nerves of steel, he thought.
His mere size alone intimidated most males, let alone females who
were unfamiliar with him. “I’m waiting, Cushla.” Tarken stared at
her for several moments.

When it became readily apparent that she
would not comply, Tarken crossed the room.

He could nearly see the resistance spreading
over her beautiful face, but instead of becoming irritated, her
defiance was making his cock pulse! It was a strange thing.
Certainly not appropriate for a slavemaster. It would be amusing if
it weren’t so arousing, and he could swear by the flush in her
cheeks and the haze that just clouded her eyes that the woman was
as horny as hellfires for him too. He needed to get a hold on
himself.

He needed to get a hold on her!

Tarken reached.

She still didn’t flinch.

His hand slipped through the slit in the
front of her cloak, and he ran a single finger along the crease of
her folds, stroking lightly at the tip of her clit. His other hand
moved beneath the garment and he placed it on her hip. Her skin was
warm beneath his touch and he wanted to feel more of her. With one
steady hand he grasped her hip while the fingers on the other hand
sought entrance to her womb.

Cushla’s breath hitched and she tensed. She
was instantly wet.

Tarken knew then he was definitely arousing
her. He pushed a single finger inside. She yelped and attempted to
draw back but he slipped his hand from her hip and pressed it to
the small of her back to hold her still. “Let me pleasure you,
Cushla.” He slid his finger slowly inward and withdrew it just as
slowly.

He had her.
The muscles inside of her
body squeezed, and Tarken was amazed that for as many men who’d
likely fucked her, she was exceptionally tight. It was going to
feel incredible to be thrusting inside of her. Time seemed frozen
as Tarken stared into her eyes, sparkling like crystalline, they
were captivating. He was so consumed with lust for Cushla that he
never anticipated what came next, never expected the response she
gave him to his touch—never saw it coming.

She threw her drink in his face.

Chapter Five

No!
Cushla wanted to say it aloud but
for some reason couldn’t. What was happening? It felt so good. His
touch was electrifying and she was immediately befuddled by it. She
wanted—wanted...

His hair
…There was a sleek
iridescence that sparkled along the length of his light brown hair.
It fell over him like a drape, curling subtly inward at the ends
that came to rest just past his shoulders. It looked so incredibly
smooth, soft and clean. Her fingers began to curl as she fought the
urge to touch it…and his face—
Oh, why did he have to be so
alluringly handsome!

He smelled good too…really, really good!

Distracted by the tantalizing scent, her
brain fell into a stupor, and before realizing her actions Cushla
dropped her eyes to examine the rest of this new slavemaster.

His chest was broad. His torso, for as much
as she could see, seemed finely honed. His hips—
agh
… through
his tight tan pants she could see the outline of a cock that he
made no effort to disguise. It was rigid and ready to violate
her.

Is that how she really felt, that he was
ready to violate her? If so, then why at the moment did her pussy
seem more important than her brain?

No!
Her mind screamed out in
rebellion, but when he stepped closer to her, she was
frozen—mesmerized by his face, his eyes especially. His irises were
black and dotted with minute shimmers like stars on a moonless eve.
They pierced sharply, like a seer’s gaze, as if to burrow within
the depths of her mind, and she wanted them to!

Something had stirred low, just at the level
of her pubic bone but deep inside. At first, Cushla didn’t
understand it. She’d never felt this sensation before. But it took
no more than the length of a breath for her to realize it was
desire!

No, no, no!

If she had to get him to beat her into
bloody half-consciousness before he fucked her, she would rather
have that than to enjoy a forced seduction.
Enjoy?
Cushla
hated sex, hated to be touched, hated the feel of a man’s penis
pushing inside of her. The thought made her ill. Irritation with
her abandoned response to the slavemaster caused Cushla’s nostrils
to flare. She inhaled—and panicked.

The vulnerability she felt in the presence
of this man was immediately deciphered by her common sense, and she
would resist it at all costs. Even if the cost meant more bruises
or scars to her already battered body. That would be so far better
than enjoying sex with him!

Enjoy?
That damned word again! Cushla
really wanted to know what part of his lame brain was vacationing
elsewhere. There was nothing about captivity to be enjoyed!

Blinded by the unruly and surprising
sensations thrumming their way inside of her, Cushla panicked.
Without thinking about the consequences, without full understanding
of the punishment her reaction might bring, Cushla did the only
thing she could think of to stop him—There it was. Of its own
brainless accord, her arm thrust upward— it was if the liquid left
the glass and floated through the air in slow motion as her brain
quickly searched for a mode of escape.

The liquid splashed him ruthlessly in the
face. He blinked, his soft expression turning clearly to shock, and
they both jumped apart immediately.

Her hand automatically moved to her slave
band, waiting for it to activate. A horrendous dread seized her.
She’d just stepped way over the line and was suddenly very worried
about this slavemaster she knew so little about. He was large. He
could snap her like a twig. What if he punished her by doing
strange sexual things that would have her in torment for
dawnings?

Oh mystic stars! He works for the cruel and
vicious King Mecor. Of course he would be equally vile!

What had she been thinking, taunting him
like that? Cushla knew she had to get away. Frantically, she
searched his body for a convenient place to bite him, but he was
fully clothed and there was nothing exposed but his neck and hands
and a small area of his beautiful chest.

Go for his throat!
If he activated
the headband she would rip out his artery when he jaw locked.

The thought disgusted her. Cushla dropped
her glass to the floor and it shattered, the splintering sound
resonating throughout the room. He was going to kill her! Without
thinking she flew at the slavemaster, catching him off guard. She
grabbed his shoulders for leverage and sank her teeth into the skin
on his neck. Something strange came through the haze of anger and
fear settling into the crevice of her brain. The scent of his skin
assaulted her—not cologne. It was his natural scent, teasing her
olfactory senses and he tasted rather good. A pleasurable thrill
ran up her spine.

What?!

What a stupid time for her libido to
reappear! The wine was surely drugged. Tarken must be
immune…
Tarken…
The name rolled through her mind as if it was
always meant to be there.

She bit down even harder.

* * * *

“Hells bedamned, women!” Tarken gasped out.
He’d been taken completely by surprise. Her teeth were on his
throat and her body was wrapped around him like a frenzied wild
feline intent on mauling its prey.

Tarken turned rapidly in an attempt to shake
her off. And then he stumbled backwards, slamming hard against the
chamber’s wall. It shook with the impact. He grabbed at Cushla’s
hair, attempting to pull her mouth from his neck, and felt her
chomp down harder. His shirt ripped.

She slipped slightly, and that gave Tarken
the fortuity to close his hand around one of her arms. He wretched
it behind her back, knowing he would hurt her. He was not pleased
by it, but if he did not remove her teeth from his throat, she
would be eating his windpipe for supper.

Unbelievably, she seemed able to bear the
pressure, and Tarken quickly realized he was getting a heavy dose
of her high tolerance for pain. He applied more pressure, and still
nothing happened, so he reached with his free hand and plugged her
nose.

Pain and lack of air—Cushla gasped for a
breath and then let go. She expelled a high-pitched scream. “I hate
you!” she wailed while throwing her head back. Her grasp on him
weakened.

Tarken pried Cushla from his body and
dropped her to the floor, forcing an
oomph
from her lungs as
she landed. He leapt, but her feet came to his abdomen to stop him
from crashing on top of her. The impact along with the weight of
his body however, forced her legs to buckle. Conscious he might
break her thighs, Tarken fell to one side, the movement giving
Cushla ample room to twist away from him.

But not far enough.

In one swoop, Tarken hooked his arm around
her mid-section, easily dragging her toward him.

Cushla shrieked. Her legs flailed as she
attempted to pry his grip with her hands.

“Calm yourself, Cushla!” He demanded, but of
course she failed to listen.

Rolling, Tarken pulled her so she was
face-up and on top of him. His intention was to wrap his legs
around hers to bring the wild kicking to heel, but she bucked
again.

Using her weight, as little of it as there
was, she threw her body, half somersaulting over Tarken’s chest and
shoulders.

The unforeseen direction of the movement
caused him to lose his grip. And somehow, Tarken had no idea how it
happened, Cushla was free and scrambling away. “No, you don’t!” He
grabbed one of her ankles, but before he could tighten his grip,
she tugged it away.

With a quick movement Tarken pounced.

Cushla recoiled, dodging him and again, she
scampered. At the same time, she fought to get to her feet. She was
breathing almost frantically, yet persisted in her escape.

Tarken latched onto both of her ankles this
time, clenching them firmly. He yanked Cushla’s legs out from under
her.

With a heavy thud, she fell flat to the
floor, but not before managing to grab a bud vase that decorated
the bedside table. “Bastard!” Her arm swung around as she aimed it
at Tarken’s head.

He ducked.

The vase whirled by flipping end over end,
landing softly atop the cushion of a nearby chair where it bounced
one time before coming to rest. Its uneventful fate was in contrast
with the wild fight occurring in the room:

She was clawing at the floor pell-mell, as
if her life or at least her physical well-being depended on it. She
probably thought it did.

Perhaps with other masters that might be the
case, but Tarken had no intention of punishing her with pain.

Of course, Cushla didn’t know that yet.

Releasing her ankles, Tarken climbed the
length of her legs. Inch by rapid inch, he dragged Cushla toward
him until he first had possession of her hips, and then her
waist.

She fought him all the way, slapping at
Tarken’s head, pulling at his arms wrenching her upper body so
tumultuously that when her shoulder struck a floor illuminator it
tilted, crashing on top of them both as it went out.

The screaming—that be-damned screaming.

If Tarken gave Cushla any physical
punishment, it would most certainly be to gag her. Never, had he
encountered a slave that resisted this mightily. “Give, Cushla!” he
bellowed, finally pinning her, trapping her arms between their
bodies, his powerful legs clamping and rendering Cushla’s legs
immobile. She felt deceivingly tiny and frail beneath him.

The cloak she wore had fallen open, and
though he was clothed, Tarken was keenly aware of being pressed
against her naked body. Much to his amazement, his cock hardened
further, the skin so tight around it, he thought he might explode.
His position was dominant.

Cushla was trapped though she continued to
struggle.

If Tarken desired, he could easily free his
throbbing cock and poke her swiftly with his hardened shaft. All he
would have to do is shift his legs to the inside of hers. He could
then spread her thighs easily.

Propping to his elbows, Tarken took Cushla’s
arms and moved them above her head, restraining them with the
weight of his own arms. They both panted heavily with the exertion.
At the same time, he did exactly what he was thinking—he spread her
thighs open with his legs. Tarken then waited, measuring Cushla’s
reaction, ignoring the throb that was causing his shaft to ache
with the need to plunge into her.

Defiantly, Cushla tensed, as though readying
her body to refuse him entrance.

The slavemaster clasped and restrained her
wrists with one hand. He moved his opposite hand downward, shifting
slightly to make room for it to slip between Cushla’s legs. He
skimmed an index finger through her crease, pulled back
intentionally and then rubbed the length along her clit a few times
before poising the tip of it at her entrance. Tarken dipped his
finger inside, but only slightly, surprised to find her warm and
wet.

Nonetheless, every muscle Cushla had control
of down there revolted.

He deduced that he could penetrate her
effortlessly with a single finger, but she clamped down so
fiercely, a cock even a fully erect cock would have difficulty
pushing its way through her tight contractions. It caused Tarken to
wonder how many men had physically taken Cushla by force. Still, it
amazed him how obstinate she was…solars of practice at fighting
against having sex perhaps? “You know you’ll have no choice in this
matter? Why do you so intensively resist this?”

With his question, a vacant expression
spread across her face.

Despite the rampant urge to sink his finger
fully into her tempting, little pussy, Tarken withdrew. Gently, he
smiled at Cushla and skimmed the finger which had probed her along
his nostrils. They flared as he drew in her fragrance, keeping his
gaze steady on Cushla’s face.