Foreign Exchange (The Concubine Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

When Liera crawled into the studio, Jalah had her climb up onto the work table, and then fastened her there on her back, her leg raised and placed in a framework, every joint fastened securely in place with clamps and bolts and bars.  Liera didn't even have the leverage to pull against her bindings, let alone move; this, Jalah demonstrated by lashing the sole of her foot with a thin metal cord, which hurt like anything.

"And there; now that you are properly secured, you can moan and thrash without interfering with my work," said Jalah.  She smiled down at Liera, patted her face, and carefully rubbed the pepper oil on her pussy, and inside her cunt and asshole, using the square of clothing like a paintbrush.

So much that had gone since the last time that Liera had forgotten how much it hurt—she'd thought her memory had been exaggerating, or she only remembered how it had been at the end.  But this wasn't exaggeration, it was real, and it burned.  Lierah sobbed and twisted, wanting to rub the impossible heat at her cunt against the cold rock of the table she was lying on.  She couldn't; there were the bonds and the chains and her foot and leg up and held in position.  But she couldn't feel anything else, couldn't even think about everything else.

And last time, Jalah had left the cloth in place, and let the feeling cool.  Now, she would stop what she was doing, at intervals, and wipe Liera clean with a rough wet cloth, and then reapply the pepper.  It left her so sensitized that even the rough cloth hurt like nothing else; she was barely aware of what Jalah was doing—twisting something around Liera's leg, over and over, but Liera couldn't see it, and what little she could feel was drowned out by the agony in her crotch and ass.

Even with the reapplication of the pepper, eventually . . . well, she didn't start to go numb, exactly.  The pain was still there, still just as strong.  But she wasn't in the pain quite so deeply; it was sort of separate from her.  And Jalah looked wonderful; strong and intent and pleased, lost in her work.

Not quite so lost that she missed the fact that Liera was no longer sobbing quite so hard.  There was a flash of gold as twisted a wire into place, and then she looked over at Liera, and smiled.  And then reached out, pinched her thigh, very hard, and when Liera shrieked at that, slapped her pussy.

That was the sort of pain that she couldn't float away from.  Liera was back into it; then another application of the oil, then more slaps and pinches.  Finally, finally, there was another pause in the pain; instead of reapplying the oil, Jalah put something else on, cool and soothing.  And she wiped Liera's face clean, first with a wet towel, then with a dry.

"You have done very well for me, piglet," said Jalah.  "Oh, I shall have to borrow you again, when I have another project that needs completion.  But I shall need you alert for this."

The blowtorch came to life, and Liera instinctively jerked her leg back.  It didn't move, of course—it was held too firmly for that.

"As I said," said Jalah.  "A light hand is required with this.  Now, it shall hurt, of course, and I hope to be able to determine if it is too heated by the timbre of your complaints.  Are you prepared to begin?"

There was something between her leg and the metal, and the torch moved rapidly, first to one place, then another, never quite burning her.  But it hurt—it hurt most where the torch was, but it also hurt everywhere the torch had been.  If her leg hadn't been fixed in place, she would have tried to pull away, whether she wanted to or not.  But it was, and though the muscles tensed and pulled, her leg remained where Jalah had set it.

It might have been the timbre of her complaints, or it might have been Jalah's expertise, but when she poured the water over her work, and then pulled whatever it was from beneath the metal, Liera's leg hurt, but it didn't hurt too much.

Jalah considered.  "Perhaps there shall not be blisters," she said.  "Perhaps there shall; it is to some degree unfortunate that I cannot delay your presentation to the public for a day or two, to allow for some healing."  She brought the metal cord down, across Liera's foot, which made her yelp.  "Do not blister!" she said.

"Yes, lady, thank you, lady," said Liera, not at all certain how to obey, but knowing what was required of her.

Jalah laughed.  "So charming.  Come, let us unfasten you from my table, so that you may see my present for Miss Enari."

After she was detached from the table, Liera was led to a mirror.  There was something that sat oddly on her leg, and when she was allowed to stand in front of the mirror, she could finally see it.  It was a cuff of golden thread, not quite so elaborate as the buckle that Jalah had shown her, but it was . . . it was even more beautiful.  Every loop and whorl in perfect place, all pointing to a little coral piglet, which looked lost and alone amidst the gold.  And fat.

"Thank you, lady," said Liera.

"Yes," said Jalah.  "I had not intended something quite so . . . well, let us say that I was inspired.  And now we must prepare you for my husband's arrival.

Liera wasn't sure how long she had spent tied to the table, lost in agony, but it felt as though it was earlier than the day before.  The reason for that was made clear after her bowels were cleaned out; the bath was a somewhat more elaborate affair this time.  Jalah used sponges and cloth and a soft-bristled brush to clean her, inside and out, until her skin was raw.  And then she did up her hair, with long, thin braids shaping flows of unbound hair.  It was a style that was clearly Ralathi, but which Liera hadn't seen before.  Probably because people who wore it weren't seen in public.

Once Liera was bathed and dried and decorated with braids and perfumes—a splash of something green-smelling at her neck, beneath her arms, and something tingly and faintly musky on her crotch—it was back to the stand by the front door.  Jalah divided her attentions between keeping Liera in pain and aroused, and checking the skin beneath the cuff.  "Some redness," she said.  "Perhaps a small blister.  Well, it shall add to the authenticity of the piece.  But you must not disobey in this fashion, piglet."

The next time Jalah pinned her leg in place, and took a blowtorch to it, Liera'd do her best not to get burned.  It didn't seem entirely wise to say that, so she went with, "Yes, lady, thank you, lady," and was rewarded with a pat on her head.  And then a long, slow stroke along the length of her pussy.

The Krin came in with a spring in his step, and he shrugged off Jalah's news that Liera would not be able to climax around him.  It seemed that he had made a small fortune on the sale of some remote tea plantations, and had high hopes for the apartment flats he had bought with his profits.  And that was all that Liera could make out before the Krin's cock was in her mouth, and Jalah's hands were taking her just to the point of orgasm, and holding her there, as the Krin thrust deeply into her.

Then the stand was tuned around, and the Krin was equally deep in her asshole, with long, hard, disciplined thrusts, which pushed past where she thought she could take, forcing the breath from her with every thrust.  "Soon," whispered Jalah in her ear, "It shall be your friend Taril who will be using you in this fashion, whilst my guests enjoy your performance. And they shall admire my artistry and the loveliness of Miss Enari's possessions. I do hope that you shall not disappoint."

She tweaked Liera's nipple as her husband used her ass, her anklet moving on Liera's leg with every thrust. Liera groaned, lost. She couldn't come; there wasn't anything on her directly; there wasn't even anything in her cunt. But it was almost like finishing—not so hard, not so intense, but there was nothing but the moment, nothing but the sensation, nothing but the feeling that she was . . . she was doing what she was meant to do, being who she was meant to be.

The Krin's thrusts grew more intense, and Jalah's hand was on her hip. His climax was almost like it was hers; she gasped and clamped. "Interesting," said Jalah. "You know, there are concubines that are never allowed to climax; with proper training, they learn to take their pleasure in the pleasure of others. I doubt that Maash is ready for you to be trained in this manner. But perhaps with time. It does seem like it might suit you."

Liera groaned again. "Please, please, lady, please don't suggest this to Maash."

"Or perhaps not," said Jalah with a laugh. "You are a very responsive girl; it would not do to overstrain. Still, it might be amusing to give you this training regardless, or merely to keep you stimulated for a time without conclusion. If you are this desperate now, after a day of stimulation, I wonder what you be like after a week; a month."

The Krin groaned and shuddered, and pulled out leaving a trail of come on the inside of her thigh. "A very satisfying girl," he said. "But are you certain that you have not given more of a present than is justified?"

"It is somewhat more than I intended, yes," said Jalah. "I have no doubt that it will encourage other young ladies of breeding to lend us similar livestock in the future, in the hope of receiving similar gifts.  And who knows?  Perhaps they shall send one who is similarly inspiring.  But that was not my intent."  She patted Liera's butt fondly.  "One does not choose inspiration in art.  It is like love, in that way; one does not stint, when it arrives."

Her hand dropped lower to Liera's dripping cunt, down to the come on her leg.  "Oh, she is ready indeed for our guests."  She unhooked Liera from the stand, and led her to a smaller room than the one in which she had dined the night previous, and affixed the manacles and iron chains again.

Then she considered.  "The collar and cuff should be sufficient decoration," she said.  "You are. . . you are very clearly what you are, piglet.  And as Miss Enari will be taking you back home with her after our dinner, I fear this is this last time we shall have alone together, unless you are lent a second time."

That was a sad thought.  But also, home!  And Maash!  And clothing, and late mornings, and proper food, and everything else.  She looked up at Jalah, who smiled down at her.  "You may kiss my feet," she said.  "And then I shall whip you."

It had been a long two days.  And she'd only been allowed to come once.  Liera kissed Jalah's feet, then waited on her hands and knees, fought back tears, fought to keep still as the whip laid lines of fire across her ass.  It was strange, how quickly everything had gone from odd and strange to the way things were.  Another quick touch on her cunt, more revealing wetness.

"You shall do very well tonight," said Jalah.  "You simply must be who you are."

Liera nodded.  Jalah attached a thin gold chain to her collar, and then to a ring set in the floor, and then left, to see to her own preparations.  The servants moved around her, setting the table, lighting the lamps.  One of them brought out a bowl of vegetables and put it in front of Liera.

She chewed morosely on her lettuce, and waited.  Tsui showed up, winked at her, and began playing her flute, practice trills and scales.

Even at night, during the rains, Liera had never felt cold in Raalath.  And it wasn't cold in that room.  But she shivered a little, waiting.  It was . . . she didn't know what she would have to do, or what would be done to her.  But Taril would see, and Maash would see, and they would . . . she shivered, and waited, knowing that Jalah would check to see her arousal, and would not be disappointed with what she saw.

Liera had sort of expected that Jalah would come back before the guests arrived, and that she'd control the gathering; Jalah was good at control.  But the Ossian woman, Lady Arith, was the first to arrive.  She came in as the servants were still setting the tables, took a breaded partridge wing from one of the platters, and came over to Liera.

"And now they've let you out of your cage, piglet!" she said.  "Well, greet me."

There was a little bit of slack in the chain that attached to Liera's collar.  She crawled over to Lady Arith, who was wearing sharp-heeled shoes which covered her toes.  Liera touched her lips to the back of the foot and looked up, hoping that was right.  She wasn't sure if she was supposed to put the lady's foot atop her head, but Jalah had said, "your lady," and whoever the Lady Arith was, she wasn't Liera's lady.

It seemed that she'd gotten it more or less right.  The Ossian woman smiled down at her.  "And you take so well to local manners."  She dangled the partridge wing down.  "Would you like a bite?"

"Yes, lady, please?" said Liera.

"Up!"

Liera kept her hands at her sides, and came up onto her knees, reaching for the food with her mouth.  It was just out of reach—it brushed against her hair, her nose, even her lip, but whenever she bit at it, the lady moved it up, just a hair out of reach.

"Ah, well," said Lady Arith, and ate it herself, putting the bones on a plate that was quickly whisked away by one of the maids.  Liera whimpered, and hated herself for it.  But it had looked so good!

"There, there," said Lady Arith.  "Perhaps later some of the guests will let you lick the plates clean.  Or you shall find some belowstairs companion who will exchange a sweet bun for a vigorous sucking.  You have, after all, risen far in the world, Liera Oldfield.  Turn and present your cunt."

It was like the floor had dropped out from beneath her.  Liera did as she was told, mechanically.  Maash knew her family name, and the university had it in their records.  But it wasn't something that she'd given much in Ralaath, and—

"Hm," said Arith, pinching her outer lips.  "You seem to have been in quite the mood—I hope I haven't spoiled it."  Her voice was hard, and her eyes had been hard when she looked at Liera, but her hands were soft and warm, and she gently stroked along Liera's pussy, light and firm on her clit.  Liera was far more concerned by what she'd said than what she was doing—at least her mind was.  Her body had other ideas.