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Authors: Reese Gabriel

possessing allura

Title Page

 

POSSESSING ALLURA

 

by

Reese Gabriel

 

 

 

Publisher Information

 

Possessing Allura first published in 2005 by

Chimera Books Ltd

www.chimerabooks.co.uk

 

 

Chimera
-
a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

 

 

Digital edition converted and distributed in 2011 by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

 

New Authors Welcome

 

This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex

 

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

 

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

 

Copyright © Reese Gabriel

The right of Reese Gabriel to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

 

 

 

Introduction

 

‘A whip like this doesn't just punish a female,' he went on, Allura barely hearing his goading ramblings, ‘it fucks her.'

Allura accepted the handle pressed to her lips, and without being told she parted them and he pushed it deep, her jaw aching as her mouth filled with pungent leather. Frightening herself with her obedience she sucked, wanting the feel of it all the way to the back of her throat, the smell and taste of leather filling her nostrils and her mouth, mingling sickeningly with the dungeon keeper's odor and the stench of the foreboding dungeon, and the constant pull of the cuffs on her wrists, pulling her body so vulnerably taut as she hung there.

‘How about it?' He removed the saliva coated handle from between her lips. ‘Ready to be whipped?'

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

The slave girl gasped in horror as the hairbrush slipped from her fingers to the floor at her mistress' feet. The count stood at nine hundred and ninety-one strokes to the princess' golden locks – so close to her quota of a thousand, and yet so far.

‘Forgive your slave, mistress.' She fell to her knees, putting her forehead to the marble floor. ‘Veeta begs to be allowed to begin again.'

The Princess Allura shook out her long sandy tresses and smiled, cat-like. ‘Too late, my inattentive little slut.'

‘Mercy,' pleaded the barefoot girl as she lowered herself to her belly in the pitifully short rag of a covering, more a provocation to indulge than an actual garment.

Allura beheld the girl's trembling, prostrate form through cold eyes, feeling as always the special thrill that came with having total control over a fellow female. ‘I grow weary of your sloppiness, Veeta, and your disobedience. Have you any reason to offer why I should not have you put to death this time?'

‘No, mistress, I have none,' she replied piteously.

The fact that the slave had been denied sleep twenty-four hours straight doing the princess' bidding was no excuse for her clumsiness. Nor was the fact that she had received in all that time only a few bites of food, table scraps, which she'd taken like a bitch off the floor, cringing on all fours at the dainty feet of her owner.

‘Nor can I,' the princess declared. ‘You may kiss my royal slipper while I consider the matter.'

Veeta's lips pressed softly against the woven lavender fibers of the princess' shoe, the same color as her hand-woven dress. Allura could not remember a time when she did not enjoy such scenes; watching slaves and servants alike being humiliated and broken for the enjoyment of one and all.

As the only child of the king, Allura grew up a monstrously spoiled creature, not to mention a pure sadist at heart. She loved nothing more than to see her victims sweat and crawl and beg. As young as five she learned to manipulate events so as to cause these poor unfortunates to be put under torture. It didn't take much to achieve her dark ends. A teacup surreptitiously pushed over the edge of the table, a tiny stone thrown to the ground to be caught up in the shoe of one of the carriage horses, even a bit of mud streaked across her own face or over the lacy hem of one of her dresses were all excellent causes for a beating to be administered to one or more of her attendants.

And if the servants had no chance around her, the slaves had still less. One wrong word from their mistress and they could be sent to the dungeon, sold or even killed outright. If they knew what was good for them they would put much energy into kissing the girl's feet and licking clean her shoes.

For her eighth birthday her father gave her her very own riding crop, a device she used to great relish. It was said that the occasion of that gift marked a day of mourning on the part of the household staff, though Allura herself saw it as the beginning of her true lordship.

The princess also enjoyed torturing the boys her own age, the sons of the nobility. While Allura could not enjoy the thrill of punishing them, she could still make their lives miserable; for defeating her, either in games of skill or chance, was forbidden, as was opposing her physical tyranny. It was quite a comical sight to see the smaller female pushing round the larger males, making them wear girls' clothes and play whatever games she desired.

Had her father seen firsthand the true depths of Allura's cruelties he might well have checked it at a younger age. As it was he was frequently away at war, leaving her care to a great uncle, the Grand Duke Fortragian. The duke took little care in her upbringing, concerning himself with more pressing matters, such as the scourging of lovely peasant women with various rods and canes.

This, too, did not escape the notice of the young princess, who took every opportunity to watch them being brought in late at night. She never saw more than the looks on their faces, their nervous whimpers behind their gags as the soldiers conveyed them on pretty bare feet over the castle floor, but it was enough to make the girl's heart race. Whatever happened behind the closed doors of her uncle's bedchambers, it was serious, important, and above all nasty. Something different from the mere disciplinary beatings imposed on the cringing backs and crimsoned buttocks of the household staff, she was sure of it – but what?

Many years would she have to wait to learn more, and many events would she have to live out. Not the least of which was the sudden and untimely death of her father in a cavalry battle near the southern frontier.

Allura was eighteen when they brought her the fateful news. Her expression betrayed nothing, nor did her mannerisms. They would see no signs of weakness in her, of that she was determined. They would only know a crueler Allura, one more recklessly determined than ever to impose her will upon the world. It had been thirteen months since that dark day and she had yet to break her vow to herself.

‘Kneel up slave girl, it is time for us to decide your punishment.'

Veeta obeyed, assuming the required position, back on her heels, her knees wide apart. The slave had no undergarments beneath her short dress, a predicament that left her nether region exposed. She was kept hairless below, another condition of her subjugation. Allura liked that the girl could not conceal her privates. As an owned girl it was right and fitting that she should be on display to one and all. To the men, in particular.

‘Hands behind your back,' said Allura, making Veeta cross her wrists as if they were bound. A long time ago, when she and Veeta were little girls, they had been friends. She had been Saraveeta then, daughter of one of her father's nobles. They'd been thick as thieves growing up, till one day Saraveeta took a fancy to a boy Allura liked too. Allura told her father she'd seen Saraveeta kissing the young man, which was a lie, but a very important lie because by the laws of her people a woman could only kiss the one male who was to be her husband.

The young man had refused the union, which left Saraveeta in the unenviable position of being branded a harlot. The only two possible sentences were death or imbondment, but at Allura's entreaty the girl's life was spared, and now Saraveeta was her old friend's slave.

‘What do you think should be done with you, slave girl?' Allura asked, having fetched the sleek black crop of the type used by the jockeys in the royal races.

‘Whatever mistress desires.' Veeta's eyes were moist. Her suffering, as always, was great. Hungry and tired and afraid, she must now take responsibility for her own unjust sentencing, punishment for a crime she could not have avoided.

‘How cooperative you are all of a sudden,' Allura scathed. ‘Now that I am holding the whip.'

Veeta did not flinch, even as Allura flicked the tip of it over her thinly covered nipples. ‘Yes, mistress.'

Allura struck her bare arm, leaving a welt. ‘Remove your garment.'

Veeta pulled the rag over her head without hesitation. She was a disciplined girl now – an obedient girl.

‘What are you, Veeta?'

‘A slave animal, mistress.'

‘Hands behind your back, slave animal, where they belong.'

Veeta snapped them back into place.

Allura regarded her, making her feel like the subhuman creature she was. ‘You are dirty, Veeta. Your hair needs washing. One can scarcely tell where the dirt leaves off and where you begin.'

‘Yes, mistress,' said the once proud, raven-haired girl.

‘Do you think you are attractive to males, Veeta?'

‘I do not know, mistress.'

It was an honest answer, but Allura struck her savagely across her breasts anyway. ‘You are suitable only for sex, Veeta. For rutting like a pig. Like a little bitch whore. Do you think that makes you attractive?'

‘No, mistress,' she whimpered from the pain.

‘Would Porfino want you now?' She named the boy they'd once fought over. ‘Except as a convenient cunt?'

‘No, mistress.'

‘That's what you are, Veeta. A cunt. Say it.'

‘I am a cunt, mistress.'

‘Very well, let us settle on your punishment. Which do you think is better suited to a lazy slave cunt who can't even count to ten thousand – a sound beating or a good old-fashioned mass fuck?'

Veeta's face grew pale. ‘I… I do not know, mistress.'

Allura laughed with cold disdain. ‘Of course you know, slave bitch. You're just afraid to say it. You try to fool me into thinking both possibilities disgust you, when in fact you want it all – an ass-whipping and a mass fuck. Go on. Admit it. In fact, I could have you shipped to the frontier and given to the barbarians and even that would arouse you. I hear they know how to treat a woman – an enemy woman.'

The girl shook her head. Allura's threat was a new one, saved for a special occasion. Veeta seemed like she might break down, something that hadn't happened in some time now. ‘P-please,' she said, her voice shaking, ‘don't do this… if our friendship means anything to you, Allura.'

Allura's features darkened. The little slut had pushed it too far this time. ‘On your back. Fingers in your cunt.'

The girl gave a little moan but moved to obey, spreading her legs wide so as to allow herself maximum access. Nothing made Veeta more vulnerable, and therefore more enslaved, than forced self-pleasuring.

‘Pinch your nipple, touch your clit.'

Veeta writhed at her own touch. How disgusting, and yet how totally provocative. In a way Allura envied her the freedom she had, to be naked like that, with no responsibility, no accountability and no reason to hold back.

‘Now tell me, Veeta, how does it feel when you're being beaten?'

‘I get all hot and wet, mistress. Even when it hurts very much… especially then.'

‘You like the whip on your skin, don't you?'

‘Oh yes, mistress,' she sighed. ‘It burns me and brands me, it makes me feel… like a woman.'

‘And the cane?'

Her eyes glazed over. ‘The cane is so hard and brutal, mistress. There is nowhere to hide when it comes smacking down on my behind. I have to take it. I have to absorb the blows, and afterward, the marks. I run my hands over them sometimes when no one's looking.'

‘But you like getting fucked, too, don't you?'

Veeta arched her back, pressing her pelvic bone tight to her fingers. ‘Yes,' she hissed. ‘Oh, yes.'

‘Tell me,' Allura demanded, seeking enlightenment for her virgin ears. ‘What is it like to be with a man?'

‘Men are strong, mistress, they take what they want.'

‘And you must give it, for you are a slave.'

‘Yes,' she tremored, on the brink of orgasm.

‘You may not come,' said Allura cruelly, ‘or I shall have you sent to the barbarians, to be their sex toy. On the other hand, if you stop touching yourself I will have you impaled.'

Veeta whimpered, knowing the impossibility of her predicament. ‘Mercy, mistress, please.'

‘No,' said the petulant princess. ‘Not till we've finished our discussion. Do you like being a slave girl?'

‘I have no choice, mistress.'

Allura bent down, whip in hand to lash at the girl's thigh. ‘That is no answer.'

‘S-sometimes,' she tried again. ‘I like to be a slave sometimes.'

‘Legs wider apart, bitch, and pinch those nipples.'

Veeta struggled to perform as ordered. The conversation, the game, was hardly new. They enacted it often, for Allura's enjoyment.

‘We were rivals once. You liked to tease the boys with your body.'

‘Yes, mistress.'

‘You teased Porfino, for example.'

‘I did, mistress.'

‘You are no longer a tease, are you, Veeta?'

‘No, mistress.'

‘At the snap of my fingers you would crawl to any man's belly and beg him to use you.'

‘Yes, mistress.'

Allura chortled with satisfaction. ‘Tonight I shall have you fucked by the guards again. You may thank me in advance.'

‘I-I thank you,' she shuddered. ‘For having me fucked, mistress.'

‘You will enjoy it.'

‘Yes… my mistress.' Veeta gasped. The convulsions were upon her. She would not be able to hold out much longer. ‘Please, mistress, I beg to be allowed to come.'

‘You will have plenty of chances to do that with the guards, won't you, you lazy bitch?'

Veeta's whimpers grew piteous. She shivered, writhing uncontrollably, her own fingers like fearsome invaders to her sex and breasts.

‘You are making a mess on my floor.' Allura noted the glistening juices leaking from the girl's crotch onto the marble. ‘When we are done you will lick it clean with your tongue.'

‘Yes, mistress.'

Allura felt the heat between her own thighs. There was a fevered light in the slave's eyes. Something wicked she'd seen many times before. It occurred in her suffering, in her sexual distress. How could this be possible, that the two, pleasure and pain, could be linked?

‘Get up,' the princess commanded, lashing the girl furiously. ‘To the columns with you. Show me what a little whore you are.'

Veeta did not need to have the order spelled out. She knew well what it meant to be ordered to the row of fluted marble columns ringing the princess' sunken bathtub. She pressed her body against the first one, grinding as though it was a man. Few punishments were more humiliating to Veeta, or more pleasurable to Allura than this one.

If denying the slave orgasms was one form of torture, so was compelling them. And yet the desperate girl was more than willing to trade her pride for a chance to rub her breasts, belly and cunt against the cool, rounded surface. The first climax was upon her almost as soon as she clutched the column between her thighs. Wrapping her arms tight, she pushed her nipples savagely against it, allowing maximum friction.

In the beginning Veeta had cried and begged not to be forced to do this, especially when ordered to do so in full view of members of the household staff or guests. The whip, however, proved a very persuasive teacher, as did hunger and other tortures, too many to mention. But being a smart girl Veeta learned quickly that humping a column like a dog was by no means the worst thing that could be done to her enslaved flesh.

Sometimes Allura liked to make her hug the column while being whipped. This way Veeta would experience sweet stimulation and agonizing pain. Perhaps now would be such a time. She need only decide on the correct instrument of punishment – one of the snaking whips, perhaps, or the dreaded cane…

The princess' reverie was interrupted by a knock upon the doors of her outer chambers. ‘Who is it?' she raged, determined that someone should pay for this interruption. ‘Who dares disturb me?'

‘Forgive me, princess,' came a voice she knew at once to be that of Meksior, the spineless vizier to her Uncle Fortragian. ‘I have come to inform you that your visitor has arrived.'

‘Visitor? What are you talking about? I am expecting no visitors.'

Veeta continued her heavy breathing as she pushed herself to another humiliating orgasm.

‘Count Raysar, princess. The latest suitor. You recall his appointment?'

The suitor. Yes. One of her uncle's ideas. The grand duke, now regent of the realm, intended to marry Allura off so as to free himself of the problem of royal succession. By law she could not assume the crown herself unless married. It was a ridiculous practice and she intended to alter it at the next convocation of nobles. The princess would marry no one. She would be queen alone. In the mean time, she was humoring the grand duke, interviewing various prospective husbands, each of whom she promptly ran off, tail between his legs.

None were worthy of her, and she was systematically proving her case. This Raysar, whoever he was, would be no exception. In fact, she would see to it his humiliation exceeded that of all the others combined.

‘Very well, Meksior, I shall deign to see him. Send him in to me at once.'

There was a judicious pause, followed by the clearing of the vizier's throat. ‘Princess, I am not sure it would be proper for the prince to meet you here… in your private chambers.'

Allura stormed to the doors and flung them open. ‘Fetch him this instant, you imbecile,' she commanded to his cringing face. ‘Or I shall have you drawn and quartered.'

‘At once, princess.' He cowered behind his purple robes, nearly tripping over himself in his effort to make it back to the stairs. A few moments later he returned with a high-strung young man, about six foot tall, thin and blonde with nice enough features and white teeth. The fact that he was uncomfortable meeting his potential bride in her bedroom was more than a little obvious, and she could hardly wait till he saw Veeta in the next room.

‘Leave us,' the princess said to the vizier, denying him the chance to conduct a proper introduction. Then without further ado she closed the chamber doors, sealing them both inside. Let the games begin, she thought.

‘Princess,' the count bowed awkwardly, ‘if you will allow me the honor of introducing myself, I am—'

‘I know who you are,' she snapped. ‘And we both know why you're here. I'm to evaluate you as a potential husband. In order to do this, I'll need to consider many things. Not least of which, I'll need to know how you fuck.'

His features whitened to the shade of a ghost. ‘B-begging your pardon, princess?'

‘Veeta,' she called out, ‘get out here on the double,' and the girl scurried into the room, falling to her knees before her mistress, then without being told she lowered her head to the marble floor and began to kiss her mistress' slipper.

‘This is my slave girl,' Allura explained, ‘and I would like you to fuck her while I watch.'

Raysar's mouth hung open in shock.

‘Well you can't expect me to lay for you myself. I'm a virgin. So you'll fuck her in place of me and that will give me some sense of your skills. Bearing in mind, of course, that this is an owned bitch whom you may treat with as much brutality as you like whereas I am a princess, whom you will have to worship on bended knee.'

Raysar swallowed hard, sweat beading his forehead. ‘I believe this to have been a mistake, princess. I regret any inconvenience,' he bowed, his retreating back colliding with the door.

‘Count, surely you are not afraid of a mere slave?' A simple snap of her finger was all it took to set the highly trained girl in motion. Without hesitation Veeta lowered herself to her belly and began to crawl to him. Count Raysar, mesmerized by the sight of her undulating, captive flesh, marked as it was with the whip, decided to wait and see what would happen.

‘Master,' said the slave, her face at his feet, ‘the slave Veeta begs to give pleasure.'

Raysar stiffened as she began to kiss and lick his boot, and Allura suppressed a smile as she watched the swell in his breeches, indicating that indeed he was enjoying the servile behavior.

‘On your knees, Veeta,' she ordered. ‘Show our guest what you are good for.'

Veeta knelt up, breasts thrust out, back straight. She was a sex slave, which meant there was no mistaking what she must do. This, too, was an act the noble's daughter had balked at when first she was made Allura's bondservant. Never would the princess forget the look on the sweet girl's face when she was first pushed to her knees in front of their mutual friends, pressed by the princess into service for the occasion.

‘I would rather die!' pretty Saraveeta had screamed.

‘We shall do you one better,' Allura pronounced, sentencing her to a week in the dungeon, a place which makes even the strongest soul beg for death. Chained and naked, the girl was left to lie upon the cold stones in the darkness. Shivering and terrified she could only watch as beady red eyes peered at her, the sharp-toothed rodents waiting for a moment of weakness on her part. There were men in the dark dungeon, too, hungry for bread, and even hungrier for the tight channel between a girl's legs.

For a while Veeta managed to keep herself safe in a corner, out of the range of the shackled prisoners and the rats alike. But then, out of sheer exhaustion, she'd fallen asleep, only to awake feeling something nuzzling between her legs. It was one of the rats, pushing its snout deep inside her sex.

Veeta scurried to the men, begging protection, and knowing that they had her over a barrel, they made her serve them, compelling her to lick clean their filthy feet and cocks before being allowed to lie with them. For the rest of her sentence she was plowed fore and aft, without respite.

Upon being released Veeta showed she had learned her lesson by immediately begging to suck the cock of the young man she'd spurned earlier, but Allura denied her this privilege, compelling her instead to suck the cocks of the stable hands.

‘Princess, I must protest,' Raysar objected, though he seemed in no particular hurry either to continue his exit or to hinder the naked girl from exposing his penis and sucking it between her lips.

‘Feel free to ejaculate in her mouth,' Allura offered graciously. ‘Veeta swallows whatever's she's told.'

‘I… I really can't abide this,' the count stuttered, even as he grasped the girl's face between his hands to increase the friction. ‘By the gods… this isn't right.'

‘Don't tell me you're going to shoot off already?' Allura mocked. ‘Surely if you were loving me you'd have more staying power?'

He flushed red. ‘Get off me,' he said, not too convincingly. ‘Stop this at once.'

‘Down slave,' ordered Allura, and Veeta stopped sucking, released him from her mouth and sat back on her heels, just like the good little animal she was.

‘By the heavens,' he moaned, knees shaking, and just as Allura had hoped it was too late for the young man; he was going to ejaculate.

With both hands gripping his erection the count erupted, the thick stream pelting the tummy, breasts and face of the kneeling slave girl. Veeta made no move to shield herself, nor did she close her eyes as yet more coated her brow.

‘This isn't possible,' he gasped, looking down at the straining tip of his expended organ, but Allura was more interested in the sperm that had dripped onto the floor.

‘Lick it up, slave,' she commanded, and Veeta bowed to all fours, lapping at the sticky discharge. ‘What do you think, slave; would he make a good husband or no?' Veeta continued to lick the floor, the question rhetorical, for she would continue with the task until told explicitly to stop.

‘I do not think you are in need of a husband, princess,' complained the affronted Raysar, ‘but rather a keeper.'

Allura made no effort to hide her contempt, or her amusement. ‘Be gone, little man.' She waved her hand. ‘Before I grow angry with you.'

He left in a huff, not bothering to fasten his trousers. Pity the poor servant who had to point that out to him downstairs.

‘And that, my dear Veeta,' Allura collapsed on her bed, exhausted from her labors, ‘is how you handle a suitor.'

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

‘But uncle,' whined the princess, having been summoned by her uncle to his study, ‘I don't wish to see another suitor today. I am tired.'

The Grand Duke Fortragian fretted visibly behind his thick white mustache and muttonchops, the weight of his responsibilities heavy upon his heart. ‘Grand niece,' he pleaded wearily, ‘must you fight me in everything? Have you not had your way in all things? Even more so now that your dear father is passed?'

Allura pouted sulkily. ‘I haven't gotten my way at all. It's only because of you that I am entertaining these ridiculous suitors in the first place. The least you can do is let me meet them where and when I choose.'

‘And with all the others, yes, that was true. But Baron Montreico must be the exception.'

Allura looked upon the graying, wrinkled man before her, a fraction of what he had once been in his handsome blue uniform. How easy it would be to defeat his will, and yet it was true that as the soon-to-be queen she must learn to be gracious to her subjects. ‘Very well,' she raised her nose haughtily, ‘I shall deign to meet him in the audience hall. He may have ten minutes, no longer.'

‘Ten minutes,' he nodded, obviously relieved. ‘Thank you.'

‘Do not thank me so quickly. I merely said I would meet him. You can rest assured I will scarcely tolerate him, much less allow him to ever take my hand in marriage.'

‘Speak to him,' the duke effused. ‘That is all I ask.'

Allura narrowed her gaze suspiciously. ‘Why is this man so special?' she demanded. ‘What are you hiding from me?'

‘Nothing. Not a thing. Come.' He ushered her towards the audience hall. ‘The baron awaits you.'

She stopped in her tracks. ‘What do you mean,
he
awaits
me
? Do you mean to say he is already in the audience chamber?'

This was indeed an outrage. As princess, she should be allowed to take her place first on the dais, so that he might present himself at the throne and bow to her as was her due.

Fortragian laughed a little nervously as he took her arm. ‘Really, Allura, it is nothing to be concerned about. As you said yourself, you will speak to one another for only a few minutes.'

‘Even a few seconds is too much under such horrid circumstances, uncle, and you know it.'

‘The time will fly,' he promised, as a pair of liveried servants pulled open the doors to the chamber with a crisp flourish.

‘Until later, then,' he bid her farewell, medals jingling on his gold embroidered jacket as he scurried for the cover of his study.

‘Ever the brave one,' she muttered, observing his comical flight from the theatre of battle. She had been prepared for almost anything as she walked into the marble-columned room with vaulted ceilings and ancient hanging tapestries, but what she saw moved her to an unprecedented level of indignation and outrage.

The baron was sitting on the throne. Her father's throne.

‘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.