Chronicles of Raan (Three BDSM Fantasy Novellas) (6 page)

Hassan eyed my body up and down as I stood in the doorway. I’d worn my uniform, as always, the standard brown ankle-length column of fabric, bound at the waist by a red sash. But I’d tried to add some allure to my face; a slight application of kohl to my eyes, some forbidden rouge to my cheeks and lips.

“Come in…” he said, his voice expressionless, standing aside at the doorway.

His quarters were larger than mine, as befitted his status as a trainer. There was a fire in a corner, the room was blazing warm. A low divan near the fire, piled with cushions and rugs; a four-poster bed in another corner; again piled high with rugs and silks. Lush. This room was lush; almost carnal. There was some music playing in the background; slow drumbeats, setting a steady cadence. I felt my blood beginning to pound; responding to the warmth and the drums and the sex to come.

Hassan handed me a goblet, filled with an amber liquid. I took a sip, felt the warmth light a fiery path down my throat.

“In Argentia…” Hassan said, “Your virginity is an inconvenience; something standing in the way of learning to give the most pleasure…”

“But on my homeworld, Mah’reb, a woman’s virginity is a special thing; one she gives as a gift during the Ninety-nine Night Festival.” His voice was a low counterpoint to the drums; my body was reacting to his words, to his voice; to the feel of this place. My cheeks were flushed; my nipples erect. My pussy was damp with longing.

Reaching for a semblance of poise, I tried to remember what I’d learned of Mah’reb. A world steeped in ritual. The Ninety-Nine Night Festival was one of their most ancient rites, where women lost their virginity in public, in front of awed crowds, as they took the final step on the pathway to become a woman. The men that were chosen to deflower the girls were typically high-ranking nobility; chosen for their virility and their ability to give pleasure.

“A few special men are chosen, the Bulls of Mah’reb; and they come, the girls, they come and offer their gift so that they may become women. And all of Mah’reb watches, and all are moved.”

His hand ran over my free arm; the one not clutching at the goblet. Goosebumps rose on my skin; I very slightly moved towards him; my lips parted, swaying, swaying in response to his words.

“Once, I was a Bull of Mah’reb, and for ninety-nine nights, women offered themselves to me…” His voice is soft, remembering. A small part of me is surprised by this statement. Why would someone of Mah’reb nobility choose to leave his birthright, and teach instead at the foremost pleasure-slave training center in all the galaxy?

“You have invoked a forgotten pleasure, Leila,” he said, coming up to me, taking the goblet from my nerveless hands; setting it down on a table, and then, tracing a path with one finger down my jaw, tracing the outline of my lips… “And I am honoured to accept your gift.”

The drumbeats played in the background. The beats had sped up slightly; my heart resonated in response.

My goblet was filled once more, and handed to me. I took a sip, and another, feeling the warmth run through me. The drink was easing my nervousness and my awkwardness around this instructor that I’d fantasised about for over a year. What remained was pure arousal.

I gazed at him; drinking him in. His dark brown eyes; his dark beard, just starting to grey, I ached to feel his beard against my breasts and my pussy. Would it itch? Tickle? I burned to find out. I took an instinctive step towards him.

He took a step towards me as well, his hands reaching for my sash, untying it, pulling my dress over my head. I was naked underneath; and his hands caressed my body, tracing the curve of my hips, the swell of my breasts, the softness of my thighs. I moaned, my arms reaching blindly towards him, wanting to feel his length against mine.

“When the girl presents herself during the Ninety-Nine Night Festival, there are handlers who take her, and carry her over to the bed.” His voice was like smooth wine; it was velvety soft, yet it burned me. My eyes were fixed on his face.

He lifted me easily, his actions echoing his words, placed me on the bed. My thighs were instinctively closed, I fought against covering my breasts from his smouldering gaze. But he was having none of my coyness.

“The handlers tie her hands to the bed, so she may not touch, only be touched…” His hands were on mine; and my wrists were swiftly tied to the two corners of the bed. The sound of the drumbeats rose; they were beating faster now; harder; and the intensity in this room was rising to match the cadence of the drums, and blood was pounding in my veins…

“And then, so the girl may not falter at the last, her legs are pried open and tied, so the gift be freely given…” His hands were on my ankles; parting my legs; tying them to the opposite ends of the bed.

I moaned again, my eyes closed; longing crashing in waves over me.

He sat at the end of the bed, his eyes gazed on my pussy. I could feel the flush wash over my entire body; there was nowhere to hide.

“Sometimes, when the girl is something truly special…” he said, his eyes soft, as they caught mine, “a treat is added. The girl is gently whipped so that she might rise, even higher…”

The strokes were soft on my skin; leaving flickering trails of heat. I whimpered in arousal and in utter pleasure, as the strokes gently caressed my thighs and my stomach; struck my breasts and my nipples with just enough speed to them that I moaned aloud with extreme pleasure. The strokes moved lower, still lower, making their unerring way towards my pussy, and I could feel myself raise my hips in a mute plea…

But the strokes didn’t fall on my pussy, instead, I felt Hassan’s tongue on my pussy, sucking on my lips, licking my slit, flicking my clitoris in a move that was driving me towards an edge; an edge that I both feared and welcomed.

There was no respite; Hassan’s hands were on my thighs, his mouth between my legs, and I was moaning, whimpering, begging him to continue; crying in need as his tongue licked me steadily. The sound of drumbeats rose in the background; and I thrust my hips into his mouth; my hands clenched in their bindings, as the edge approached, and I could do nothing to hold myself back from it.

And then… the world exploded. Waves of pleasure shuddered through me as the drumbeats erupted in crescendo; I could hear my moaning over it all; a thin keening noise; as the most intense pleasure I’d ever felt in my life washed all over me.

The drumbeats slowed again, and with them, my breathing. I lay back in my bindings; limp and satiated.

I felt movement at the edge of the bed, and then, Hassan came into view. I gasped; a swift, inward breath. He was naked, and his sculpted body was lean perfection. His cock was erect; beads of precum forming at the head, and I wanted to feel his hardness in my mouth; I ached to give him the same pleasure he had given me.

“Once the girl’s initial need is satiated…” he said, softly, drumbeats in the background, “then, then the true taking and giving of pleasure can begin…”

He didn’t untie me, but he lay down on top of me, his length pressed against mine. My body was fevered with pleasure; I moaned again as I felt his weight on me; as I felt every hard inch of his against me.

His fingers caressed my jaw slightly, and then his lips were on mine, and there was a gentleness in his touch, but I could sense the underlying steel, and I craved his power. Our lips ground into each other, as the fever rose, our tongues duelling as I savoured the taste of him.

His hand moved to my breasts, as he continued to kiss me, taking small, nibbling bites along my neck. His fingers moved over my nipple, and he watched my face as my nipple immediately responded to his touch, hardening instantly. The same treatment on the other nipple, and now, he was straddling me, and his hands were moving on my breasts, rolling my nipples between his sure fingers,  pinching them and pulling them towards him, stretching them out in a move that sent a fresh surge of lust and longing cascading through me.

“So responsive, sweet Leila…” he muttered.  I could feel his cock stir between my legs; and I arched my hips hopefully, in a mute plea. He just laughed at that; a warm male laugh of utter satisfaction. “Patience, little one…” he said, as he lowered his mouth down on my nipple, sucking it between his lips, and biting it gently between his teeth. I whimpered in need. Arousal was once more starting to rise in me, and primal, instinctive forces were pushing my body towards his in a gesture as old as time itself.

His mouth was now on my other nipple, while his fingers kept the first one erect and engorged. His movement was sure and steady, utterly unhurried; and tied up as I was, there was nothing I could do other than to accept the pleasure.

My world shrank; everything that mattered was in this bed; and nothing else was relevant.

I could feel the heat blazing off his body as he straddled me. My ass chafed slightly against the fur I was laid on. I was acutely conscious of the bindings at my wrists and ankles, holding me open. The warmth of the fire caressed my skin; the drumbeats played in the background, and the smell of incense was in the air, mixed with the scent of my arousal.

My longing built, my body reacting to his expert touch.

“Please, Hassan…” I begged, my voice thin and high and needy. “Please… I need you…”

Perhaps it was my pleading; perhaps he too was ready, but at the sound of my plea; his control finally faltered. He leaned forward, looked at me. “Keep your eyes open…” he ordered. “I want to watch you feel me.”

I bit my lip, nodded.

I could feel his hardness at the entrance to my pussy, feel him move slightly in me. Then, with his eyes locked on mine, he was deep in me in one smooth thrust, tearing past my inner wall, causing me to clench in momentary pain that quickly gave way to deep pleasure. He moved in me, his movements sure, strokes that had me sighing in need.  New, unknown sensations rose in me as I felt him deep in me, and the waves of lust were once again threatening to overflow, and then, as his hands reached down and found my clitoris, urging me higher, higher, I exploded, yet again, into orgasm, feeling him explode into me at the same time.

The drumbeats pounded on in the background, as my breathing steadied. Hassan had collapsed next to me; he reached forward and untied my hands, then my feet.

He spoke softly, a continuation of his story. “In the end, if the Bull has done his job well, the girl shudders in pleasure, and is welcomed into womanhood.”

I sighed. His voice was soft, magical. There was true art in what he had done; the way he had made me feel. “Thank you, Hassan…” I said quietly, as I sat up, prepared to leave.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his mouth curving into a smile of male desire. “Tomorrow is your day off, isn’t it? I have you scheduled here for tonight, tomorrow, and tomorrow night. There’s much more pleasure to give and take, sweet Leila.”

I flushed. “Thank you, Hassan,” I said again, as I reached for him, so we could begin the cycle of taking and receiving pleasure all over again.

***

What can I say about pleasure training? It was impossibly difficult.

Oral training, where I was trained to ignore the need to breathe, to suppress my gag reflex as I struggled with a cock deep down my throat. Once that initial bit of training was complete; I then had to focus on the movements of my tongue; to give pleasure while I was struggling to breathe. I was trained to hold myself in the most alluring manner so as to give the most pleasure; to make eye contact as this invader pounded in and out of my throat; to make noises representing only pleasure and to show only longing and lust in my eyes. Worse that than, the training was designed to make me feel only longing as I was struggling to breathe; I would never feel fear or panic. 

The training was designed to redraw the deep patterns of my mind, to remove fear, so that all that remained was pleasure.

Vaginal training; where my body was invaded by objects of larger and larger size; but my muscles were expected to contract and tighten on command. Anal training, where the pain from being penetrated without lubricant was redrawn to be pleasure. Where I would impale myself on whatever was placed at my backside, training myself to relax my muscles to bear whatever the trainers saw fit to place inside me.

The only class I found relatively easy was the class on pain. Hassan had started to etch a path in my head when he’d flogged me the first time; I welcomed the feel of the flogger on my skin. Even there though, there were challenges; the cane was always difficult to bear, and I found the idea of stillness difficult; I constantly struggled with holding myself still and open as the trainer beat me.

After the years of training, It was finally here, my last test.

I’d taken all my written examinations over the course of the last two weeks. Practical exams – dance, music, massage, posture, vaginal control; oral ability; anal ability, pain tolerance and response; those were all thankfully over as well. I knew I’d passed them all; if I’d failed an examination, the testing would have stopped immediately.

It was time for the final exam – the unknown factor. All my trainers over six years would have conferred to create this test. Any unaddressed weakness they saw in me would be tested. This exam was a wild card.

As I waited outside the examination chamber, I tried hard to ease my nervous tension. This was it; if I passed here; everything I’d worked for the last six years would be realized. If I failed…

I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I failed.

“Leila.” The door to the examination chamber opened, my Head Trainer came out. “Come on in…” she said. There was thinly veiled tension in her voice. In a way, this was just as important to my Head Trainer. For six years, she’d guided me through this program. Now, she would find out if she’d been successful in training me.

As it had been for all my practical examinations; the examination chamber was dimly let; torches flickering in their brackets; a subtle menace in the air. The room was warm; perhaps uncomfortably so. I felt sweat sheen on my skin. In honesty though, that might have just been from nerves.

I walked in, bowed low in the direction of the examiners. I didn’t know them; they weren’t any of our usual trainers. For the last two weeks, they’d sat quietly, their faces hidden under their cowls, never speaking, always just watching.

They made me afraid.

“Leila.” My Head Trainer spoke. Within the chamber, in the presence of the examiners, her nervousness seemed to fall away. She had found her inner calm. “This will be your final examination.”

“Hassan will be your trainer today.”

I strove mightily to keep the dismay from my face. I’d had Hassan’s cock in me many times since that first night; it was unavoidable, he was one of our trainers. But that was always in a class setting, never alone, and it was easy then to keep my emotions even and controlled. This would be different. The warmth in the examination chamber echoed the warmth in his quarters that night, so many years ago.

The drumbeats started playing in my head.

“Focus, Leila,” I told myself. There was steel in my voice. I’d prepared for this. This was a final, cruel twist of the trainers, elegant and precise; but I would not be overwhelmed; I would not fail.

“Move to the centre of the room.” This was Hassan’s voice. I could never hear his voice without remembering the story of the virgins in Mah’reb; without remembering the skill of his touch as he brought my body to orgasm repeatedly. I could never hear his voice without remembering the drumbeats; a sound that would always be synonymous with passion.

I mutely obeyed, bowing before him as I’d been trained. Every nerve in my body was on fire; but I was outwardly calm; graceful.

This is what I
had been trained for. This is what I was meant to do.

Hassan stretched out a foot. I dropped to my knees with grace; bent at my waist, kissed his boot, keeping my back arched gracefully, my ass in the air. I was an object of pleasure; every move of my body was designed with that end in mind. I was especially careful to keep my posture impeccable. I’d struggled with posture during my training; I would be graded harshly if my posture was not perfect.

“Rise.” His voice was not harsh; it was just implacable. The voice of someone who was used to being obeyed without question.

I obeyed silently. I kept my eyes lowered. Pleasure slaves did not make eye contact in the bedchamber. There, they were the property of their contract holder; trained to care about only the pleasure of their contract holder.

“Keep your arms clasped behind your back, until I tell you otherwise.”

I did as I was told.

Hassan walked around me slowly. I could feel his eyes on me, surveying me, searching for weaknesses to exploit in this examination. I fought to keep my eyes submissively lowered; to keep my breathing even, and to keep my body still.

The tension in the room built. I’d forgotten the presence of the examiners; forgotten about my Head Trainer. The world narrowed. It was just Hassan and me, and I would make him proud.

“Disrobe.”

I was wearing my uniform – brown column of fabric, red sash. I removed these; working to remove them with allure. I was a pleasure slave; in disrobing, my purpose was to increase the longing in my contract holder. I stepped out of my column with grace; still keeping my eyes lowered. I could feel Hassan take my clothes from me; put them aside.

I stood before the man to whom I had given the gift of my virginity; I was naked.

Drumbeats, pounding, pounding in my head.
Fever rising in my blood.

“Bend over; wrap your arms around this pillar.” Hassan gestured to the steel pillar at the centre of the room.

I moved into position obediently; again, bending at my waist; keeping my stomach sucked in, my ass perfectly outward. My arms came out, clasped the pillar for support. I had a suspicion I was going to get flogged, and I would need the pillar for balance.

Hassan moved to stand next to me, his crotch at my hips. His hands caressed my ass; kneading the cheeks, pinching them, stroking them. I strove to keep my breathing even. Then, two quick smacks on my right buttock. Not too hard; not yet.

“Such perfect buttocks, sweet Leila…”

I flushed at his compliment, at the caress in his voice, but stayed still.

He moved his left arm; it now clasped me around my waist. I was cupped between his crotch on one side and his arm on the other.

It was an intimate position, I could feel Hassan’s cock react to my body’s touch. For the first time since I entered the chamber, I could feel flickers of arousal run through me.

Focus. You are a pleasure slave. The pleasure of your contract holder is of primary importance. Your pleasure is secondary.

His right hand rose, came down on my ass. The stroke was hard; but well within my capability to manage. I let the pain flow through me; I stayed still.

His hand rose again, came down on my ass again. This stroke was harder; hard enough to jolt me forward. I felt my hip move against his crotch, as I lurched; I felt his cock react to that movement. I bit my lip, as the flames of arousal built.

Again and again, he spanked me; again and again, I moved involuntarily against his crotch; the flames of lust building higher and higher, as my body reacted to the dim room; to the feel of his hand on my waist, steadying me; to the firm spanks of his capable hand.

The ringing sound of the spank; and then, his hand stroking the reddened skin.

If I orgasmed now, I would fail.

I took a deep breath, strove for calm; mentally chanting the chant for peace. The trainers were counting on me reacting this way to Hassan; they were counting on me to fail. I would not fail.

His hand rained blows down on my ass; I held as still as I could. I could feel my skin redden; warmth rushing to the surface, as I let the pain flow through me. I sought the place of calm inside me. 

Now his hand was on my upper back; his fingernails lightly scratching my skin. Instant heat rushed through me, almost causing me to stagger. I held still, but only just. The gesture had been unbelievably erotic. I bit my lip.

Steady yourself, Leila.

I restarted the chant for peace again in my head.

“Straighten; turn around; face me; hands behind your back.” Hassan’s voice was level. No trace of arousal in his voice. I wished I had his control.

I faced Hassan, my eyes still lowered. I ached to look into his eyes; to see if he was aroused by this as I was. But this examination was the culmination of everything I had worked toward the last six years, and I kept my gaze to the floor.

Hassan touched my breasts, softly. I wanted to bite my lips, but my face was now visible to the examiners, and I kept my gaze as even as I could. He touched my breasts again, this time, an arm snaking around my back to pull me into his body. His hands jiggled my breasts; pulled my nipples. I struggled to keep my posture unchanged and to keep my breathing level; but tendrils of pleasure were curling around my body now.

I realized as I struggled to hold still that there were two main tests here; one was being able to keep my feelings for Hassan from interfering with my performance. The other was something I’d struggled with all along in training; I hated keeping still.

As the realization of what I was being tested on dawned on me, I redoubled my efforts. Yet again, I restarted the chant for peace in my head; strove to find the place of calm in me. The examiners were devious; they had found my two main weaknesses. This test would not be easy.

It was about to get a lot harder.

“Look at me, Leila.” The voice was mild. My breath caught with shock. “No,” I screamed inwardly. I couldn’t do this; couldn’t look into Hassan’s eyes. Too much of what I’d kept under control the last six years would be revealed.

I obeyed; I brought my eyes up; gazed into his eyes. I didn’t bother hiding my arousal; if my arousal was going to cause me to fail my examination, I would fail the instant Hassan touched my dripping pussy. But I thought I was going to be okay; a pleasure slave pleased their contract holder by exhibiting arousal. My arousal should be permissible.

His eyes were expressionless.

He’s just doing his job, Leila.

As that cruel thought struck me, my heart broke on the inside. “Not now,” I told myself fiercely. I struggled to focus on the examination.

He had moved to my front; my hands were still clasped behind my back. His hands were again on my nipples; pinching them, now hard enough so it was slightly painful. I fought to keep my gaze on his; to be unwavering in my focus.

He moved away, still expressionless, and then, he reappeared in front of me. This time, he held, in his hands, a many-tailed red suede flogger.

Red, to match the red sky of Raan. Red for pain.

“Hold on to the chains,” Hassan ordered. He gestured to two chains that hung above the steel pillar. I obeyed, grabbing the chains, my arms in the air, giving him free access to my body.

“I crave silence from you, sweet Leila, as you are flogged…” his voice was gentle, contemplative. The gentleness was unexpected; almost my undoing. I struggled to keep my focus on the examination; on ensuring my posture was perfect, my breasts arched outward; my stomach clenched taut. My eyes were still on Hassan’s, as I’d been ordered.

I couldn’t hide the longing in my eyes as I looked at him.

Drumbeats, pounding, pounding in my head. Fever rising in my blood.

The first stroke of the flogger struck just below my breasts; the second struck at my upper thighs. Then my midriff again; and then my thighs.

The fifth stroke struck my breasts; sweet fire on my skin. Arousal blazed in my gaze as I looked at Hassan. He smiled at me, with warmth and pleasure in his gaze. I flushed; almost lowered my gaze in embarrassment.

Inside, my heart was singing in joy. I had pleased him.

The strokes rained down like fire on my already-fevered skin. Thighs, midriff, breasts; I was ablaze in lust and longing; I craved the feel of Hassan’s body pressed down on mine.

Steady yourself, Leila.

My legs had been parted, and now, Hassan flicked the flogger at my pussy lips, causing me to jump slightly. I quickly stilled.

His wrists flicked again, and again, and the flogger lashed my wet pussy. Waves of pain and pleasure cascaded all over me; the arousal was building dangerously high; if he kept this up, I would not be able to keep from exploding in orgasm.

The gods have mercy; he was not unduly cruel. He moved back to flogging my thighs. I sighed inwardly in thanks.

“Turn around; hold on to the chains.”

I turned my back to him; stuck out my ass in invitation. I could hear him chuckle, and the flogger strokes started again, raining down sweet fire on my ass and back.

As he’d asked me, I kept quiet, letting the pain cascade through me. My pussy was dripping as the tails of the flogger found my body, raising small lines of fire on my ass, lines that served as kindling for the blaze roaring inside of me.

Drumbeats, pounding, pounding in my head. Fever rising dangerously in my blood.

The flogger stopped. I held still. Hassan moved away, giving me a moment to try to calm myself. I restarted the chant for peace once again in my mind.

***

When Hassan returned, he was holding a small stool in his hand. He placed the stool in front of the pillar. “Sit,” he said. I sat as he bade, my back a few inches from the pillar. He pushed me back slightly; I was now leaning back slightly, with my shoulders touching the pillar.

“Good. Hold that position; keep your legs parted.” His voice was still warm; I could not resist that voice. I needed harshness in this test, so that my training would automatically come to the fore; warmth and gentleness from Hassan would be the undoing of me. I struggled for focus, again. My mind swayed back to that time in his chambers, so long ago, when he took my offered virginity, and took so much more.