Possessing Allura (3 page)

‘How dare you?' she cried, storming to the dais. ‘I shall have you put to death for this!'

The Baron Montreico, a booted foot resting casually over an arm of the carved marble seat, merely smirked in response. ‘The death penalty is not for females to deliver,' he stated. ‘Especially not insolent little brats like you.'

The Princess Allura was taken aback, if only for a moment. No one before had ever spoken to her like this, affronting her royal personhood, and to make matters worse the dark-haired devil was breathtakingly handsome, with lustrous curls, a thin mustache and rugged features. Allura had never seen anything remotely like him before. He was dressed like a buccaneer, with calfskin boots up to his knees, bright red hunting breeches and a long coat of blue adorned with brass buttons. Across his broad chest hung a sash and he was armed with a shining silver rapier. No dandy or court primp ever dressed this way. Even his hands stood out; manicured but capable, accustomed to hard work. She couldn't keep her eyes off them, most especially because he was peeling an apple, running a sharp knife round and round the smooth fruit.

‘Death is too good for you,' she decided, warily testing her limits with the man. ‘I think I shall have you whipped instead.'

The baron continued to peel his apple, seemingly indifferent.

‘Did you hear me?' she demanded, her voice more shrill. ‘I intend to have you whipped, hard enough to make you beg to be put out of your misery.'

The baron at last regarded her. ‘And you think yourself equal to that task?'

Allura scowled. She did not like it one little bit when a man called attention to the inherent differences in the power of the two sexes. ‘The castle guards shall attend to it, under
my
orders. As punishment for insulting me and for casting injury upon the monarchy by… by lounging on the throne as though you were in some house of ill repute!'

‘And have you ever been to one of these?' He arched an inquiring eyebrow.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘A house of ill repute. Have you ever been to one?'

Allura scowled. ‘Of course not. How dare you even suggest such a thing? Now will you get off the throne or shall I call for the guards?'

Montreico's eyes darkened. ‘Do that and I'll gag you.'

‘You wouldn't dare,' she snorted, though in truth she had no idea what a man like this might be capable of.

‘Try me.'

‘You are not a gentleman,' she said. ‘You are unworthy of your title.'

‘And I suppose,' he laughed ironically, ‘that you are worthy of yours?'

Allura flew at him, her temper pushed beyond all limits of restraint. She'd intended to receive the satisfaction of a hard slap to his face, but what she got was the man's hand clenched like a steel cuff upon her forearm, holding her at bay.

‘You're hurting me,' she gasped, hiding her shock at being restrained in such a way.

‘As you would have hurt me?'

‘I hate you,' hissed the crown princess, summing up her emotions in a single potent, if immature outburst. ‘And I hope you rot in the dungeon.'

‘Be careful of your words,' warned the baron, ‘lest you find yourself one day in a position of accountability.'

‘Are you threatening me?' she demanded.

‘I am not a man to threaten.'

He released her and she rubbed her arm, though it was her pride that was injured more than her flesh. ‘When I am queen,' she fumed, ‘I will have you fed to the dogs for laying hands upon me.'

The baron rose to his feet, towering over her. ‘And when I am king, my dear princess, you shall beg me to lay more than my hands upon you.'

She stepped back to avoid being thrust aside as though she were a mere serving wench, her heart thudding in her chest as she fought to find the words to put this man back in his place. But all she could do was watch him leave, swaggering, the sword swaying at his side, her small fists clenched, her throat dry.

‘One more thing.' He turned back. ‘You have a slave by the name of Veeta, do you not?'

Allura tensed. ‘What of it?'

‘She indicates you show an inordinate curiosity in the life of an owned female, what it is like to perform for men, to be beaten and used, and so on. Is this so?'

‘I am interested only in as much as I am a slave owner,' she replied, trying not to sound defensive. ‘My motives are purely academic.'

The baron smiled condescendingly. ‘Indeed. And are you curious as well – academically speaking – as to what I would do with you here and now, if you were my slave?'

‘Absolutely not,' she laughed scornfully, even as she felt a strange heat mounting between her thighs.

‘Pity,' he shrugged. ‘Good day, then.'

‘Wait, baron…'

He was nearly at the door. ‘Yes, princess?'

‘Tell me,' she blurted impulsively, ‘what you would do to me.'

‘To begin with, I would strip you naked,' he declared. ‘I would then order you across my lap and spank you for your insolence. Sufficiently humbled, you would be set to work. Picking up those apple peelings, perhaps in your mouth, on hands and knees. You would then give me pleasure, swallowing my issue, knowing that afterward you would be caged for the night like a dog, denied food and water till you begged to be allowed to serve me.'

Allura's knees grew weak. ‘You are a pig.'

‘No,' he grinned, ‘I am a man.'

A few moments later he was gone and she was alone, and for a long time she stared at the peelings deposited upon the dais. The room seemed full of the baron's presence still. She could smell his scent. She could see his eyes, so deep and penetrating. And his words, so scandalous and cruel, still echoed in her ears. The things he would do to her. Impossible, horrible things, done only to a slave.

What would it be like? What if he had the power to compel her to remove every stitch of clothing and order her, naked, across his knee, her belly pressing to his red breeches, her ass utterly vulnerable to those masculine hands? Her pulse raced as she gave in to her forbidden thoughts. Desperately, her hands molding her own buttocks, she tried to imagine what it would feel like to be disciplined, to be taught obedience by such a cruel and powerful man. He would be merciless, that much was clear. He would redden her behind, smacking it over and over until she had no option but to beg for mercy.

He would eventually stop, but only when he wanted. Her tears would mean nothing. How would it feel to be treated so harshly, only to be forced at the conclusion to retrieve apple peelings with her teeth?

She had to know. She had to experience it, now, in the safety of her aloneness. Slowly, very carefully, feeling weak and hot, she lowered herself to her knees, and then to all fours. How cold was the marble on her palms! Was this what it was like for Veeta every time she had to crawl? Slowly, deliberately, Allura inched forward, the nearest apple peeling seeming to mock her, repeating the man's words.

She would pick them up in her mouth, he had said, with the full knowledge that a cage awaited, and with it an endless life of suffering and obeying. She trembled as she lowered her face, using her lips she picked up some peel, and as she bit she wondered why a mere apple had never tasted so rich and alive before?

She was cleaning the floor, she told herself, on her hands and knees, using her mouth like a slave to remove a man's careless waste. Allura pressed her thighs together. She was wet there. A little more friction and she might even come… but it was then the shame of it all over came her, and hastily rising to her feet, spitting out the horrid piece of the baron's garbage, she bolted from the room.

‘I want that floor scrubbed,' she cried out to the nearest servant as she ran for the stairs. ‘Have Veeta do it. Naked. On her hands and knees. Then send her to me!'

The princess did not breathe again till she had closed herself in her chambers and thrown herself on her bed. What had she done? And more importantly, what did she almost do?

 

The very next morning the princess had Veeta strung up by her wrists to be whipped; punished for speaking to the baron behind her back.

‘When did he approach you?' Allura demanded.

The naked girl hung her head. ‘It was only yesterday, mistress. He intercepted me as I was fetching you tea. I am sorry I spoke to him, but he commanded me. What could I do?'

The princess struck at the slave's breast, smooth and completely defenseless. The resulting welt was in good company with the many others she'd already suffered.

‘Do not be insolent with me, little bitch.'

‘No, mistress. Forgive me, mistress.'

‘What did he ask you about me? You will tell me every detail.'

Veeta hesitated. ‘He… he mostly asked me about myself, mistress.'

Allura fumed; how dare he show interest in a little slut like her? ‘You? What could possibly be interesting about you?'

‘M-my dreams, mistress. He wanted to know my dreams. And my childhood, that interested him too.'

Allura laughed in her face, inducing the hapless girl to lower her eyes shamefully. ‘He is as stupid as he is rude,' she declared. ‘Who but an imbecile would care for the dreams of a slave?'

Still, the matter was curious. Was there some weakness on the baron's part to be exploited here? Could it be the man had a soft spot for the little whore with big brown eyes? If so, Allura now had a means to hurt and humiliate him. ‘So what did he do when he'd finished interviewing you? Take you for a romantic stroll in the garden, perhaps? Or did he sing you a love song on bended knee?'

If the slave picked up on her mocking tone, she gave no indication. ‘No, mistress, he did neither of those things.'

‘What then?'

‘He fucked me, mistress.'

‘F-fucked you?'

‘On all fours. He commanded me to the floor then mounted me, thrusting his hard cock inside me, and he erupted, filling my womb with his hot seed.'

The graphic description and the images it evoked were more than Allura could bear. ‘You lying bitch!' She struck at the slave's pussy, delivering a cruel slash of the whip. ‘A man that powerful would never waste himself on a piece of collar meat like you.'

‘Forgive me,' the slave pleaded, ‘but it is so. I was fucked on my hands and knees, spilling his noble issue inside my unworthy cunt.'

‘Don't make it worse for yourself by repeating your filthy lies!' Allura growled, though she could not understand why she was making such an issue of it. What did it matter to her what a pig like Baron Montreico did with his penis? Should she be surprised he'd sport with the lowest of slaves, even one as pathetic as Veeta? The man was of no significance to her whatsoever. She would never again give him audience nor would she permit him within a thousand feet of her person.

Under pain of death. His.

‘Chamberlain!' she shouted, tugging loudly on the summoning bell, and a white-wigged man in long green livery entered, bowing at the waist. ‘Tell me, chamberlain, are the stable boys working today?'

‘Yes, princess, as always.'

‘Good. I want you to fetch me one. Any will do. Bring him directly as you find him; make no effort to clean him up in any way. Is that clear?'

‘Perfectly, princess.' The man bowed again, taking three large steps backwards before turning crisply.

‘I'm going to do you a favor.' The princess ran the leather thongs of the seven-stranded whip over the slave's breasts and belly. ‘Since you were yesterday fucked by a pig, I am going to let you graduate today to a smelly stable boy, and as always you may thank me in advance for my ongoing kindness.'

‘Thank you, mistress.' Veeta opened her mouth obediently to suck the proffered whip handle.

‘Maybe I should have him finish your whipping. Men are ever so much stronger.'

The gagged slave girl whimpered, the sound barely escaping her sucking mouth. She was protesting, but Allura could see the glistening juices between her legs.

‘How dare you pretend to be distressed,' the princess squeezed an available breast, ‘when it's obvious you love the idea?' Veeta tried to shake her head, earning a heavy smack to her cheek. ‘Don't contradict me, you miserable cunt.'

‘Princess, the stable boy has arrived.' It was the chamberlain returned with her special delivery, a gorgeous stable boy with ripping muscles and long dark hair, shirtless and wearing tight leather breeches. For a split second she wondered what Montreico's torso looked like under his shirt, how his muscles would be shaped, the strong biceps and triceps and the rock hard abdomen, but quickly she banished the image.

‘Stand upright,' she told the bowing stable boy, looking him up and down. ‘He'll do,' she decreed. ‘You may go, chamberlain.'

‘Princess,' he repeated the backwards bow, a move she'd seen so many times in her life it was now more dull than watching a dog scratch its fleas.