Enslaved (7 page)

“Oh, yes. I shall most definitely keep you, Jane,” murmured Zenovia after several minutes, and she pressed a tender kiss beneath the hair at Jane’s temple.

Startled, Jane pulled out of her loosened grip. “No.” She submerged her fear and apprehension and scrambled from the other woman’s embrace, sitting up on the bed, and met Zenovia’s eyes directly. “You cannot
keep
me. I am a free woman, a peer of England, and I am married. I will not be your concubine.”

“No?” Zenovia looked at her, lifting an eyebrow. She sat up and reached to touch Jane’s hair, leaving the scent of her own quim there upon the curl. The earthy, feminine scent teased her with the memories of the last hours. “You do not wish to be my concubine? The most respected and honored woman in this court, besides myself, of course, and even then…I do believe
I
would adore you, Jane. I do believe I could be completely enraptured by you. You could
own
me if you wished.”

“No,” Jane said again. “Please understand. I have no dislike for you—”

“Well, that has certainly been most evident this night.” Zenovia gave a low, husky laugh. Her eyes glinted with heat. “By the gods, I can still smell you as if my face were buried in your cunt.” Her face narrowed and she reached for Jane yet again. “I’ll have you, my darling Jane. And you’ll enjoy it. Again and again…just as you have tonight.”

Jane moved out of reach, shaking her head. “
No.
I don’t want to stay here.
I want to find my husband. I want to leave this place and return to England and find the man I love.” Tears threatened, making her voice shake. She steadied it. “I refuse to be your concubine.”

Zenovia’s expression turned cold. She sat up straight, and all the lust drained from her eyes. “Indeed. You refuse my offer—made with all respect and honor? Very well, then. If you will not be my concubine, you will then become my
slave
.”

— VI—

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

Jane stood passively, fighting to keep her expression calm and her demeanor queenlike as the heavy brass cuffs were locked around her wrists and one ankle. Each cuff had a small hook on the outside, and they clicked into place with elegant, complicated latches.

Alena and another servant named Obelia worked silently with both efficiency and blank expressions as Zenovia watched from a large chair in her chamber. Jane refused to look at her, despite the fact that the woman’s heavy gaze had not left her naked body during the entire event. Instead, she held her head high as she had done when paraded through the jungle village by Cold Eyes.

I will find a way to escape. And Zaren is looking for me. It’s only a matter of time until he finds me.

Until then, Jane could hardly imagine any experience worse than what she’d encountered at the hands of Kellan Darkdale and his orgiastic cronies back in London. If she could live through that, she could live through anything.

Alena moved behind her, lifting the heavy hair from neck and shoulders as Obelia brought a wider, larger cuff forward. Jane stared straight ahead as they snapped it in place snugly around her neck. She swallowed hard and felt the chill of the metal, the weight of the necklet and its embrace against her skin.

“It becomes you, Jane darling,” said Zenovia. She rose from her chair, holding a large, dripping handful of golden jewelry. The servants stepped back, bowing their heads in obeisance as she approached Jane. Zenovia hesitated, then snapped her fingers.

Immediately, Alena and Obelia left the chamber.

Zenovia and Jane were alone. “Look at yourself.” Zenovia gestured to a tall mirror leaning against the wall. “Look at us…mistress and slave. The sun, being eclipsed by the moon.”

Jane did as she was bid, and was startled at the picture she made—the picture the two of them made together. It was as Zenovia said: the sun and moon, with the moon raging larger and more powerful than the sun for once.

Her hair fell in tangled, red-gold curls, tousled and full, tumbling over her shoulders and brushing her hips. Her soft skin glowed like dusky honey next to Zenovia’s sleek white flesh. Mistress loomed above and beyond slave, broad shoulders as wide as a man’s, her chin brushing the top of Jane’s fiery head. Zenovia’s blond hair had been caught up in a loose bundle, woven with colorless jewels that glittered like moonbeams. Silver cuffs studded with diamonds glinted at wrists and throat in cool contrast to the warm golden ones that imprisoned Jane. Her dark eyes held Jane’s in the mirror as she slid a pale hand down and around to cup a breast. Her thumb teased the nipple until it became hard and taut, a dark pink temptation in the midst of golden curves and fire.

Jane thought she felt a little shudder in the woman next to her, a soft sigh of regret…but Zenovia’s expression remained cool and remote.

Then she stepped around in front of her, lifting Jane’s chin with too-tight fingers. “It’s a shame it has to be this way, but at least you wear it well. And this…” She opened her hand to display a complicated mass of delicate chains and a curved, triangular metal piece. “This will ensure you remain firmly in your position as
slave
rather than lover. There is no pleasure for slaves, Jane.” Her smile was taut and cold, and gone was the light of humor and affection that had been there only hours earlier. “Only service.”

The chains rattled quietly, somehow ominous in the delicate sound, as Zenovia lifted them and separated out the strands. Jane’s heart thudded as the other woman began to fasten them around her hips, three on each side. The curious metal piece hung from the smaller chains, and when Zenovia fit it tightly over Jane’s quim, threading two more chains from the bottom of the piece between her legs, she realized exactly what it was.

A sort of chastity belt. A shield. A cage.

The chains were drawn tightly, and the triangular metal shield settled snugly over her netherlips in a little cuplike shape. There was a narrow slit in the center—large enough for her to urinate through, but without enough space for a finger or anything else to penetrate. Zenovia fastened all of the chains at the base of Jane’s spine, ensuring they were tight enough that she had no ability to slip a finger behind the shield. They bit gently into her hips and rode up through the crack of her arse. The metal triangle curved away from her swollen folds and pip, so even putting pressure on the shield itself would give no relief to a swollen, needy pearl. There was no way to touch herself…or for anyone else to do so.

For some reason, this terrified Jane more than anything else.

When she finished, Zenovia came back around to look at her. Her wide, sensual mouth was set in an odd smile as she reached for the cuff around Jane’s throat, and there was another delicate jingle and a soft
snick
. Now, a sturdy golden chain hung from the collar. The end was wrapped around the chieftain’s hand.

“Now,” said Zenovia, shoving Jane to her knees, “pleasure me, slave.”

Jane hit the ground hard and nearly lost her balance, but she caught herself in time. Zenovia’s flat navel was directly in front of her eyes, and just below was the neatly trimmed blond hair growing in a triangle over her mons and down beneath, along the lips of her pussy. Her muscular legs spread wide, and Jane realized her mistress had settled herself onto the edge of a chair.

Her cunt was red and full and wet. Ready. The familiar scent of her sex was strong and alluring, and Jane’s clit gave an instant, impudent pulse. Heart thudding, knees shaking, Jane put a hand on each of Zenovia’s thighs, closed her eyes, and moved into the apex of her mistress’s legs. Her mouth watered at the smell as it enveloped her, and with a deep breath—not such a good idea, for the musky scent aroused her even more—she plunged in.

Zenovia jolted and sighed the moment Jane’s mouth touched her. Her thighs tightened then relaxed as Jane got to work, using her tongue to trace each soft fold of her labia, the tiny kernel of pleasure hooded above, and then tentatively slid into the hot, wet cavern below. She ate and sucked and licked, burrowing her face into the warm, sweet juncture of Zenovia’s thighs.

Jane was filled with a combination of guilt and horror as her body tightened, heated, dampened, pulsed as she licked wildly at the tiny little nub. She couldn’t ignore the sounds, the smells, the feel of Zenovia’s arousal, and it lit Jane with lust as well. By the time Zenovia surged up into her mouth, crying out in triumph and convulsing against Jane’s lips and tongue, her own quim was hot and full and dripping, and her breasts ached to be touched.

As her mistress’s pleasure eased, Jane settled back on her heels and waited nervously for her next order. She firmly ignored the indignant throb of her little pip and tried not to think about the heat coiling in her belly.

“Very good, slave.” Zenovia stood, the golden chain attached to Jane’s collar still wrapped around her fist. “Now, you will dress me, Jane.”

With trembling knees and a pulsing, needy body, Jane did as she was bid. She draped the toga-like black gown over her mistress, fastening the brooch at one shoulder. As she reached up to do so, Zenovia slid one hand under her breast and began to stroke her thumb over the raging nipple. Jane couldn’t control a shiver, and she bit her lips to hold back a soft groan as that insistent thumb circled and teased.

“If you were my concubine,” murmured Zenovia, “and not my slave, I would lay you on the bed there and eat your pussy until you screamed. And I would lick you and suck on you and make you come and come and come.” She tweaked the nipple hard, and her hand fell away. “But you’ve made your decision.”

Jane avoided looking at her mistress, and, miserable in her state of arousal that seemed to have no chance of being sated, bowed her head and waited for her next order.

“Come. You will walk politely just so behind me.” Zenovia pointed to a general area just behind and to the right of her foot.

Her knees still trembling, her nipples thrusting desperately, Jane obeyed, and Zenovia led her out of the chamber as if she were a pet on a leash.

Jane was wearing nothing but the chains and her collar, and the delicate ones that held her chastity belt in place shifted and swung against the insides of her thighs. Her unfettered breasts bobbed and swayed as they made their way down a corridor, past servants and guards until they reached the same vast chamber in which Jane had first set her eyes on Zenovia.

The chieftain walked through the doorway, leading Jane, greeting some of her guards and others—all women, of course—who appeared to be advisors or members of whatever sort of peerage was in place in Amazonia. Jane felt countless eyes on her, stroking over her bare skin, lingering on her high, generous breasts, and settling at the gold-plated contraption that covered her labia.

Once on the dais, Zenovia seated herself on the massive throne and directed Jane to remain next to her, kneeling upright so that her shoulders were about the same height as the arms of her chair. Jane was able to rest on her haunches as long as she kept her back straight. This position left her with her breasts quite boldly on display, thrusting out and up. Zenovia arranged the golden leash so it hung down between them, then curved beneath one breast toward the throne, where she kept the leash in her hand.

And then commenced Zenovia’s day of governing. Jane remained silent and immobile while the chieftain met with her advisors, made judgments, and settled disputes. During this time, Jane could neither move nor speak or slump. Her legs and buttocks ached from holding the same position for so long.

And to make matters worse, Zenovia often stroked her hair absently, as if she were a dog sitting at attention next to its master. Her hands would filter down over the long curls, petting and stroking as she asked questions and listened to the answers given by her subjects. Jane felt every touch like a burning brand, heavy and hot, and knew it was meant to display her subservience to everyone.

At last, there was a moment when no one waited to see the chieftain. A double row of guards stood at attention on either side of the chamber, and several pages awaited their orders. Zenovia turned to Jane, and, gathering up the leash, began to draw it around toward the front of her chair. Jane followed, scooting along on her knees, until she was close to the throne.

“Come here,” Zenovia said, and gave a sharp yank on the chain, directing Jane toward her lap.

Mortified, for she felt every eye in the room fixated on her, Jane obeyed and climbed onto Zenovia’s sturdy thighs. Her mistress settled her in place as if she were a small cat or child…but when her palm closed around her breast and she began to idly stroke Jane’s nipples, her position became much less innocent.

Jane tried to control a shiver of lust as the light, teasing fingers played with her. But her body, which had been full and tight, ready to explode only a short time ago, eagerly surged back to arousal. She felt the telltale insistent throbbing of her tiny clit tucked safely behind its golden cup, and tried very hard not to think about it.

But she couldn’t keep from squirming a little, trying to find some sort of relief. Zenovia chuckled softly and kissed her ear, then bit her lobe gently, sliding her tongue around and inside her ear. Jane shuddered and stifled a soft moan as spikes of arousal stabbed her at every touch. Knowing she had no chance of easing it made things even worse.

“You are so delicious,” Zenovia murmured into her ear. “I can feel you quivering with lust…and it’s so unfortunate you made the choice you did. For there is
no pleasure
for slaves. You shall simply have to stew in your own lovely juices.” With that, she gave one last nip at Jane’s earlobe. Then she clapped her hands together sharply, drawing the attention of everyone in the chamber. “Bring in the possible studs.”

The double doors opened a moment later, and in marched two tall, broad, and muscular female guards. Behind them were two columns of men, lined up side by side, and linked by manacles on their wrists and ankles.

They were naked.

Jane’s breath caught as she recognized Captain Holt and one of his men from the ship. The others—of which there were fewer than a dozen—were unknown to her.