The Captive (11 page)

Zacora bowed her head as Megan had instructed her and unfolded her willowy body to stand upright. The diaphanous gown was held closed by only three fastenings at the front so it was a simple matter to slip it from her shoulders, leaving her clad only in the belt and goblet. This silver item lay a little below her silver fronded mound. In the subdued lighting the flesh and the metal seemed to blend into one glorious whole. The new arrivals gasped in sheer delight and hurried to make themselves comfortable and casual as Harold suggested.

Megan led her new sex slave to a shallow alcove lined with red plush. There were silver cuffs at four places in the alcove and at the centre of those four points there was a solid silver ring, large enough to be snapped around a small waist.

“Will you hold her ankles?” Megan asked two of the newcomers.

They were only too eager. “We shall be placing her upside down, you see,” Megan went on to explain. “Legs nice and wide to fit in the upper cuffs.”

The silver cuffs were snapped shut. Zacora was trapped with her long legs splayed wide open. The plush tickled the fine skin of her back. It was not an unpleasant sensation, but she could feel the blood rushing to her head and she could only see vague shadows of the men through her silver curtain of hair.

“Hm,” murmured Megan, “yes, a delightful sight.” The dew of mild excitement was gathering on the silver fronds of Zacora’s sex. Between swelling flushed leaves could be seen the tender bud jutting from the fine silk of the hood.

“Mistress,” groaned Zacora, “my ankles … my legs.”

“Hush, my dear,” warned Megan, “you must show these nice gentlemen how you enjoy our little games.”

The hanging girl arched her supple body, using her free hands to part the curtain of hair, to look up at the mistress and her men. “I find them stimulating, mistress,” said Zacora, “but the ache…”

“Very well,” said Megan, quickly clasping the tight waist band to give more support. “The girls today,” she grumbled, “no stamina.”

The two men nodded vaguely in agreement, but their eyes were focused firmly on the moist silkiness of Zacora’s open sex.

The sapphire blue eyes, taking in the scene of the softly lit room in a reversed position, saw Harold lie back contentedly to stroke his rigid shaft. Zacora felt proud of the pleasure she was so obviously giving him. She saw his eyes rest on the tight belt which clinched her waist. Breathing deeply, she felt her firm breasts peak with flushed and hardened nipples. She saw him smile as he focused on the depth of the valley between her creamy hillocks. Their firmness meant that the valley was unmarred.

She watched his hand slide over the moist globe of his penis. He looked down upon it, his eyes bright with self satisfaction. Zacora’s body ached to feel it plunged inside her, her flesh enclosing it eagerly to pleasure him.

Megan, aided by the men, was clasping Zacora’s slender waist in such a way, with elbows bent close to the plush wall, as to increase the pouting of her breasts. She gloried in her display. Her eyes turned to Harold, wanting him to admire the way she was displayed, so open for him. Although there were others in the room, they did not matter to her.

She saw his eyes rest on the goblet, hung on the fine silver cord. Zacora could feel it resting between her breasts and knew that it enhanced the depth of the valley. It seemed to lie there, waiting to be filled.

The great oak doors opened again from time to time, allowing in other eager customers. Zacora saw their eyes drawn to the sight of her suspended in the alcove. She felt beads of her sex sap ooze from the swelling leaves of her pouch. Her long training in the pleasure of men ran deep.

“Please,” she heard Harold invite, “feel free to release your cocks.” His voice was husky and lazy.

She heard sighs of relief and realised what effect the sight of her in the tortuous position must have had on their male swords. Suddenly, they were all released, gleaming ad rigid.

“Are we allowed to…?” asked one. She felt him stroke her splayed legs and her fully revealed sex pouch. She felt her flesh flutter in excitement. “May I touch further? Investigate?”

“If you must, Benedict.” Zacora could hear the testiness in Megan’s voice. There was envy in the attention being drawn away from herself.

She recognised the man. He had been close to the podium at the auction. His eyes had never left her through that long morning.

Her puffy sex lips quivered as he touched them, massaging their firmness and stroking the firm silver down which fringed them. Zacora caressed the finger which sank into the smooth moistness of her vessel. She heard him sigh, sliding the finger in and out of the clutching flesh.

“She is well-trained,” Benedict murmured. “Is this your training, Megan?”

“No,” interrupted Harold. “She is a Lokaran woman. They are brought up to give nothing but pleasure to their men. They are obedient and very passive.” He looked scathingly at Megan. “Quite unlike our own women here in Vakir. Disobedient, wilful hussies, most of them.”

Megan sniffed haughtily.

Zacora felt her sex lips parted and she posed the erect bud of her clitoris, emphasising Harold’s praises. She knew that it was flushed and eager. Benedict groaned as he felt the slight movement of the bud, urgent and wanting. His touch made more of her sex sap ooze from hidden crevices, warm and milky.

The other men gathered round, watching Benedict’s actions. The close investigation, after her experiences of the past few days, stimulated her as the Master in Lokara had told her it would. The more stimulation she received, after her years of training, the more she would please her eventual husband. She could feel the strong pulse in her sex bud as it swelled and became inflamed. The tight constriction around her waist, pinching the firm flesh and making her nether regions swell, caused her sex purse to pose itself, to press outwards, towards the eager man.

Zacora felt proud as she watched the men blatantly stroking their hard stems, glossing the oozing fluid around the globes and pressing the single eyes.

Megan broke the spell. “Who will be first?” she said with false gaiety. She thrust her plump dark bush at the nearest man.

Zacora saw his wistful look in her direction as he motioned that Megan should lie on the nearest sofa. It was especially designed to thrust up her pubis and open her solid thighs.

“Oh, beautiful!” sighed Megan as he thrust savagely into her. “So good, so filling.” The pumping was fast and Zacora saw him close his dark eyes.

“When … your time … is close,” panted Megan, “I want you to pull out … and … fill …the goblet.” She pointed to the silver cup nestling between Zacora’s lovely breasts.

The man grunted his agreement, taking a quick glance at Benedict who was gently thumbing the inflamed erection of Zacora’s clitoris. It seemed to her that the sight was the trigger. With an animal growl he took his penis from Megan’s cushiony width and staggered the two steps to Zacora’s tethered frame. Benedict, with a dreamy smile, held the goblet to receive the pearly splashes from his friend.

The issue was copious and the man was proud of the warm amount. Megan stepped from the sofa to peer into the silver cup.

“Not bad,” she judged, “but you must all take your turn before the contest is done.” She made a note on a parchment with a quill placed on the table for the purpose.

Zacora felt her head being lifted. “Take a sip, my dear,” she said, “and test for quality.”

Zacora licked her lips.

“How she longs to taste your spume,” remarked Harold. “What a wonderful girl she is to be sure!” Zacora watched him caress his length and thickness, feeling proud of the compliment.

The liquid in the goblet was still warm from the man’s body. It was thick and creamy and slithered easily down her willing throat. She looked to Harold, wanting his praise, and was rewarded with a smile.

He was watching avidly, stroking back the richly embroidered silk of his robe to bare his handsome body. Zacora could only imagine the wonderful drawing sensation she felt in his groin. His penis remained a monument to his pleasure, rising, thrust from the lushness of his groin. It was a proud thickness and a full nine inches in length.

Licking her lips, she watched him stroke the silky smoothness of the circumcised tip, neatly cut to make him sensitive to every stimulation. It was moist now, pearly with male dew.

A smile softened the hard features and Zacora returned his smile. How different was his strength from the Prince who had fought so hard to purchase her. He smiled again, a secretive smile, and if Zacora had known his thoughts her ecstasy would have been uncontainable. Harold’s aim was to dethrone the poor weak soul who desperately needed an heir to retain the respect of his people. Harold would produce his own heir with this beauty and combine the Meleagan lands with the neighbouring principality.

The splendour of his penis reared up and made Zacora’s belly melt with need. His eyes never left the beauty of the tortured girl. Her position, to her, was no torture. She was giving pleasure to the man she desired.

She gave no hint of pain or fear. There was no pleading to be set free. Held fast by the manacles, her limbs shaping a cross, her passive beauty was unmarred apart from thin red welts across the creamy naked breasts. Those were placed there by Megan because the girl, at one stage, had gagged upon a goblet of seed. Zacora held the marks as trophies rather than a badge of punishment. Not a murmur had escaped her lips as the lash snaked out.

All Megan’s callers had filled the goblet. The girl’s wrists and ankles were reddened with the chafing of the manacles. Her slim belly bulged slightly with long confinement in the tight silver waist band. Zacora’s mouth, those lovely wide and parted lips, shimmered with a dried silvery coating. Spilt semen formed a coating, beaded in places, and the girl’s pink tongue licked at it, tasting the sharp saltiness which also lingered in the moistness of her mouth.

“One more, my dear,” said Harold, rising slowly to his feet. “Take my robe, Aunt Megan.”

Dutifully, her moist darkly fronded sex bush shining in the soft candlelight as she approached him, Megan took the robe. She felt out of sorts; very much out of sorts. She didn’t like the slave commanding such adoring attention. Harold usually so cool and in control couldn’t wait to take his turn.

Sniffing crossly, Megan threw the precious robe over a chair. She was supposed to be the hostess, the sexiest lover, the symbol of femininity. That wretched girl didn’t have the wit to realise how suspenders framing a bushy thatch made men wish to part those curls to enter and fountain into the body behind it. She didn’t realise how men loved to grip firm plump buttocks to open them; how they to use handles at the hips to lever themselves up and down at every thrust.

Megan watched through angry slitted eyes as Harold approached the hung girl. His body, although older than that of her other visitors, was splendid. Firm, with muscles sharply defined one from the other, his skin lightly oiled so that it shone at each perfectly honed ridge. It was truly magnificent, she had to admit. The waist had no hint of thickness. His buttocks were as trim as they had been twenty years before. The balls were smooth, trimmed so that they were like silk to the touch. They were taut, drawn up with supreme pleasure, and his spearhead was held by his own hands, like the weapon it was.

It, too, was oiled. It shone sleekly and this enhanced its magnificent size. Megan watched as he smeared another generous coating of oil on the whole length of it. That, Megan knew, meant only one thing. His weapon was destined, not to join the contest, to fill the goblet, but to enter a much tighter orifice.

“Open the lining of the alcove, Megan,” he commanded.

She grumbled to herself. “Do this, do that,” she hissed as she did Harold’s bidding. “Anyone would think I was the slave, not her.”

The curtain was opened and the satiated men watched with interest and curiosity to see what would happen next. Harold slid behind the screen to which the girl was firmly imprisoned. There was a square opening at the height of the tops of creamy thighs and pubis. The men pressed forward eagerly. Behind the girl they could see Harold’s oiled penis, like a sexual talisman enraging reluctant male weapons, making them larger, more potent, more vigorous.

He held it, thrusting it against the cleft of the girl’s buttocks, demonstrating its beauty. The other men groaned in unison as Zacora seemed to tense in her chains. This was not from horror or fear, but to attempt to position the deep, tight cleavage more readily for Harold’s ease. Her body arched forward, just slightly, with the pressure from behind, rising because her limbs and waist were fixed.

The men craned their necks as Harold drooled yet more oil into the deep pit of her rear entrance, slicking it around with his long fingers. At last he was satisfied. He opened the pale cheeks with thumbs dug deeply into the flesh. The pit he sought was there, glimmering now with its coating of silky oil. At this angle, the positioning of his globe was all important.

It was tight, and she moaned in ecstasy.

Her ankles were inflamed from prolonged clasping in the tight manacles. The skin was chafed, but not broken. Her wrists, too, were sore from the beaten metal cuffs. The rigid belt did not allow any movement, but was tight, cutting into her fine pale skin. It caused her belly to swell a little and the taut skin over her rib cage was also swollen by the long imprisonment.

The moist skin lining her mouth felt dry from the copious salty fluids which she was forced to drink from the goblet. At first she thought she would gag, but after a while the taste was not unpleasant. It made her sex pouch become moist at the sensual thought of her humiliation.

There was another pleasure. Megan’s callers admired her sex, displayed as it was at their eye level. It was open fully; the lips parted and moist, completely at their disposal. She found it both degrading and exciting. The feeling was similar to that which she felt in the market place. She was on display and she felt that this was right; exciting and stimulating.

Harold whispered to her again and she felt her tight passage gently stretched. The oily lubrication which he had generously lathered into her, made her lean back upon him as he requested.