Possessing Allura (5 page)

‘Why not?' she smiled, intending to burn him with it, her plan to drip wax on his cock, but too astute he grabbed her upper arm and knocked the candle to the floor, her protests instantly smothered by the kiss, aggressive and punishing, his grip like iron, his lips hot and pliant.

Allura let forth a moan, only to have her mouth plundered by his tongue. Her oversensitive nipples flared again, as did the delta between her legs, and by the time he released her she was moist, her thoughts focused entirely on lovemaking.

‘B-baron,' she panted, her eyes heavy with desire. Had he any idea what he'd done? There was no denying the meaning behind his action. If he were to denounce her now her life would be effectively over, regardless of her actual culpability. And yet at this moment she didn't care. Not when there was the chance to be kissed that way again.

‘My initial assessment was right,' he rejected her coldly. ‘You are a frigid bitch.'

Allura's lips trembled, her reverie shattered. Never had she been so humiliated in all her life. Lacking the will to slap him or even call him any names, she turned away and ran as fast as she could.

Trembling like a leaf she shut herself in one of the empty guest chambers, and it wasn't until she'd locked the door that she allowed herself to fall apart, her tears, long repressed, falling like raindrops as she flopped sorrowfully on the bed.

 

 

 

 

Allura would have preferred to do almost anything else that evening than attend a state dinner. It didn't matter that her new white gown with woven silver silk shone like the moon, or that her hair sparkled like the sun; everyone already knew she was the most beautiful girl in the kingdom, so why devote another dreadfully tedious evening to confirming it?

Especially when she was so distraught about her latest incident with Montreico. The man had kissed her, and worse, with disdain, as if she were a mere whore. And then to tell her she was frigid, as if she were supposed to melt on the spot and spread her legs for him in exchange for a kiss.

He was the frigid one, not her. She felt nothing from his forbidden touch. Well, almost nothing. All right, so she'd been worked up all afternoon, her pussy alive, strange images filling her head of being under the man's wicked power, of having to do his bidding, sexual and otherwise. Things Veeta was forced to do on a daily basis because she was not free and had no rights over her own body. It was ridiculous, of course, and the sooner the man was gone from the castle the better.

She would count the hours – as would Veeta, who'd be spending her time in the dungeon until his departure. The girl had begged not to be cast back down there, and it was true, there was no good reason why the relatively obedient slave should be, but Allura was determined to cheat the baron of his slut, and she'd provide the same treatment for any of the other female slaves he took a shine to as well.

‘Leave me,' she commanded the slave who'd been combing her hair.

‘Yes, mistress.' The girl crawled backwards on her knees to the door, and then onto all fours to scamper away. No doubt she was grateful to have avoided any punishment, and Allura didn't even care that she'd missed the opportunity. Suddenly her usual joys of torturing the females in her power seemed to have gone flat.

Looking at herself in the mirror, her hair elaborately fixed beneath the tiara, her ears and throat dripping with perfect diamonds, her luscious bosom subtly accented by the lace bodice of her dress, she could find no flaw. It was almost too easy; every man wanting her and yet so easily disposed of, blown away like dust.

Except for this Baron Montreico. The one man, it seemed, she could not thwart; the one man who held a secret over her; a terrible truth, the reality of a kiss that still branded her lips… and her heart.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

‘Princess, your presence is required by the grand duke,' the chamberlain called from outside the door.

‘Tell my uncle I shall come when I'm ready, not before. And do not disturb me again,' she snapped.

‘Allura, by the gods, what are you doing in there? I have five ambassadors waiting upon you!'

Her uncle was there too, come to fetch her, so she rushed and opened the door. ‘Sorry, uncle, I…'

His frown receded at the sight of her. ‘You are fortunate, Allura, to be so resplendent in your beauty. No one will ever fault your perpetual lateness, though it is a character defect.'

‘I know, uncle, and I shall mend my ways.' She took his arm, feeling her usual radiant self once more. Let the dullards at dinner be overwhelmed, she told herself. At least they'd provide her with some amusement as she obliterated them. ‘I trust you've devised your usual ingenious seating plan, uncle?'

‘Funny you should say that, niece.' He stopped at the head of the table, where he himself was to be seated. A hundred men and women bowed in unison, their garb representing a dozen provinces and twice that many foreign countries. ‘I should like you at the far end, Allura, beside the baron.'

Montreico strode forward to fetch her. He wore a uniform of black, with a gold sash and buttons. ‘I am honored, your excellency.'

How appropriate, she thought, black for a man with an infinitely dark heart.

‘It is you,' Fortragian countered, shaking his head amiably, ‘who honor us.'

‘Princess?' The baron extended an arm, a self-satisfied expression on his face.

‘Certainly,' she smiled back, her poison-filled eyes containing her real sentiments, ‘I'd be delighted.'

Every head followed their progress down the table; no doubt the fools expecting an announcement of marriage at any moment.

‘I don't know how you arranged this,' she whispered from the side of her mouth, ‘but I promise you, you won't get away with it.'

The baron held her chair for her, pushing it in behind her. ‘Surely you're not as disappointed as all that?' he whispered in reply. ‘I'm exactly the challenge you need. The only one who'll give you a run for your money.'

‘You flatter yourself, baron. Anyway, I'm a frigid bitch, remember? Why would you waste your time?'

He sat beside her, unfurling his napkin with a flourish. ‘Frigid bitches are my specialty, princess. You are not the only one who enjoys a challenge.'

‘The only challenge you pose for me is finding a means of extermination for so large a rat.'

‘You pain me deeply. Wine, my dear?' The baron leaned across to fill her glass without letting her accept or decline.

‘If you think getting me drunk will allow you to—'

‘What fragrance is that?' the baron cut her off, making a show of sniffing the air. ‘It seems strikingly familiar.'

Allura clenched her legs in horror. There was no way his olfactory glands could be that sensitive. She'd bathed afterwards, for goodness sake.

‘Yes,' he wrinkled his nose, inhaling again. ‘I'm sure I'm smelling something quite distinct from the fragrances of our dinner.'

‘And I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,' she said, without conviction. It had only been a brief dalliance – although highly arousing – before her bath.

‘Give me your hand.'

‘Let go of me.'

‘Aha,' his nostrils flared, her fingertips just under his nose. ‘As I suspected, you've been masturbating.'

‘Quiet,' she hissed fiercely. ‘Do you want to mortify me in front of half the nobles in the realm?'

He appeared to consider the matter. ‘Perhaps. Unless you're prepared to provide me with some greater thrill later tonight?'

‘Montreico, I beg you, do not shame me this way.'

‘So now you are begging, are you? Fine, I give you my terms, take them or leave them. I shall not reveal your secret, so long as you agree to meet with me later, at a time and place of my choosing.'

‘How can I trust you?' she asked.

He laughed. ‘More to the point, how can I trust you?'

Oh, how this man infuriated her. ‘You have my word. Now can we be done with this sordid discussion?'

‘Cheers…' He smugly raised his glass, and Allura touched her own against it, trying to draw as little attention as possible to their private exchange, greatly relieved to see the first course being brought. The more distractions the less likely he'd be to say or do anything stupid.

‘Admiral Plico,' said the baron, slipping a hand unseen over Allura's thigh. ‘My congratulations on your latest victory over the Nasians. The fewer of those scum scouring the high seas the better, I say.'

The white-suited admiral across from them turned bright red, looking as though he'd swallowed an apple.

‘Montreico,' Allura whispered fiercely, trying to dislodge his hand at the same time, ‘the Nasian ambassador is sitting right next to you.'

‘What? By the demons, so he is. You mean to say you've made peace already?' The baron pushed his hand down between Allura's thighs. ‘Why am I always the last to know?'

Because, thought Allura, clamping her thighs tight, he was a pompous, ignorant oaf without a smidgeon of worldly understanding.

‘Princess, were you aware of this development?'

‘Yes,' she replied curtly, trying not to squirm. He was attempting to stimulate her through the material of her complicated dress.

‘I'm from the backwater,' explained the baron. ‘But I do know what I like.' And at the moment that would be her sex, and it was all Allura could do to keep from jumping up. She had no idea it would feel like this – a man's fingers seeking and probing. It was so different than when she did it herself.

‘If you resist me in any way,' he leaned over to whisper in her ear, ‘I will expose you… fully.'

‘But you promised not to shame me,' she breathed.

‘And I won't. If you obey.'

Obey. That terrible, charged word; a word for slaves and servants and wives, not for princesses and queens.

‘Personally I think it important to open all trade routes,' the baron managed to work his tortures into the larger conversation. ‘Don't you agree, princess?'

She managed a weak smile. He was referring not only to economic and political matters, but to her cunt. The pig wanted better access, but better that than having the whole sordid mess revealed.

‘Open… yes…' she replied, her heart thumping in her chest. Could they know what was happening; all the nobles and ambassadors and their wives? Did they play games of their own under cover of the tablecloth?

A gasp passed through her, nearly audible as he managed to apply pressure directly to her clitoris. He had her now. One false move, on either of their parts, and she would be coming for him, right in front of every dignitary for miles around.

‘Princess,' enquired a particularly nosy duchess, ‘is it true that the Lady Saraveeta is now your slave?'

The baron cast a gleeful sideways glance. ‘Yes, princess, do tell.'

‘It is true.' She drew a steadying breath. ‘She was found to be a harlot and I spared her life.'

‘Only to send her to the dungeons to rot,' Montreico reminded.

‘That is where slaves belong,' she retorted.

He punished her with a flick of his thumb, enough to make her blush and squirm.

‘Princess, are you quite all right?' the gray-coated ambassador from Zenuria asked.

‘I am quite fine… thank you,' she gasped.

‘Perhaps the princess is overcome thinking of the turn of events for her poor friend,' provoked the baron. ‘It must be difficult to see the dear girl in bonds, naked, reduced to the level of mere property.'

‘Harlots deserve what they get.' The princess was determined to yield not an inch.

‘Personally,' said the double-chinned wife of the Zenurian ambassador, ‘I find female slavery distasteful in its sexual aspects. It is an encouragement to loose morals.'

‘It is true,' said the baron. ‘The female slave is a sex toy for her owners. The male may use her in every conceivable manner, and it is not even considered adultery on account of the creature being defined as animal and not human. The princess' friend, Saraveeta – I believe she is simply Veeta now – is such an animal, is she not, princess?'

Allura slightly raised her buttocks from the seat, clenching her pussy muscles, desperately trying to draw in his fingers. If only the fatuous guests were not there and she could spread herself wide, rip off her clothes and let him finish her off. It didn't matter that she hated him; it was sexual and she needed it.

‘Veeta is an animal, a pig, yes,' the words poured forth, ill chosen and highly charged, ‘and a slut. But she always was easy with the boys. She never was a female, baron, only a slave, from the day she was born.'

Montreico withdrew his hand without notice, and Allura had to choke back the whimper of sudden deprivation. ‘And you, princess, are so much the opposite.'