Slavemaster's Woman, The (14 page)

“The so named
possession
is standing
right here.” Cushla scowled while scratching beneath the shoulder
of the dress she was wearing.

“Cushla.” Tarken gave her a stern look.
“Would you prefer to be naked?”

“Would you prefer to be castrated?” she shot
back.

Tarken forced a cool demeanor, though he
wanted to laugh at her comment. “Stop scratching or the dress comes
off.”

With a huff, Cushla began smoothing her
hands along the gown but ceased and looked up.

Tarken followed the line of her gaze in time
to observe Ayia wink and smile at Cushla before moving to take an
empty seat. He furled his brow as his attention shifted back toward
Cushla.

She too was furling her brow as if to
question what that might be all about.

“We’re cleared for departure.” Scoac
initiated the launch sequence and the engines hummed to life. He
glanced over his shoulder, his sight lecherously wandering the
length of Cushla’s body. Turning his head toward Rube, something
unspoken passed between them.

Tarken didn’t miss the exchange. He also
knew that Cushla hadn’t missed it either.

Her body language revealed her awareness as
she shrank slightly away, timidly angling her head downward toward
the floor.

Snatching her wrist, the slavemaster turned
Cushla to face him.

Her expression hardened when she met his
gaze. She continued to scratch her chest vigorously as she stared
at him.

“I’ll be in my quarters.” Tugging Cushla
behind him, Tarken headed for the access leading from the bridge
relenting Ayia’s presence. He preferred the royals use her to
satiate their lusts rather than seek to relieve themselves with
Cushla. “Let me know when we’re docked on Windrift.”

Tarken led Cushla down the passage toward
the sleeping quarters, slowing his pace when her feet faltered. He
could hear the sounds of her nails against her skin as she
continued to scratch with her free hand.

“Is your intent to strip me from this gown,
Tarken?”

“It is.” Tarken continued his forward
progress without looking back at her.

“Thank the spirits almighty!” Cushla
exclaimed. “Please do it quickly.”

The distress in her voice caused Tarken to
pause. Stopping in front of a door in the passageway, he turned to
face Cushla, releasing her wrist in the process. Grasping at the
neckline of the dress she wore, he tugged the material of the gown
aside. “God spirits! Cushla, do you have an allergy to the silk
squirmer threads?”

“I’ve worn so little and never such finery
over the past two decades as a slave that I wouldn’t know. And I
don’t remember wearing garments made from this as a child.”

Turning toward the door, Tarken pressed his
index finger against the security tile, and when the door
whooshed
open, he jerked her inside. The door closed behind
him. Turning Cushla to face away from him he opened the fasteners
on her dress and stripped it off of her. His mouth twisted to one
side as he inspected her body. He then shook his head. Cushla was
dotted with thousands of tiny, raised bumps. “You look like a
plucked rickster, mistress”

“Guess you won’t be touching me for awhile,”
she snickered as she scratched her thigh.

“Don’t bet on it.” Tarken headed toward the
door. “I’ll be back shortly.”

* * * *

As soon as he left, Cushla began to briskly
scratch herself all over. At the same time, she scanned the area
noticing there wasn’t much in the sparsely decorated room. A bed, a
table and two chairs, storage compartments, but all made of the
most extravagant materials, including the plush cerulean carpet she
was standing on. There was also another door, which was probably
the entrance to a hygiene chamber. “There has to be a mirror in
here somewhere.”

She was just about to start looking when the
door opened, and Ayia slipped into the room.

Cushla groaned and then snatched the
bedcover, holding it in front of her. “What do you want?” She hoped
that by covering herself the woman would understand she wasn’t
interested in her physically.

“S-s-h-h.” Ayia held a finger to her lips
and walked toward Cushla, attempting to move behind her.

Cushla turned to keep the woman in front of
her. Another attempt by the servant had Cushla again, pivoting and
then backing away. “Are you trying to get a glimpse of my ass?”
What the hell was it with her ass that had everyone kept trying to
see it?

“Ah,” Ayia hesitated as if thinking of an
answer. “Your rash, I was just trying to see how bad it is. Your
slavemaster sent me to examine it.”

It was then that Tarken walked in.

“Well, time to go.” Brushing past him, Ayia
quickly exited, ignoring his scrutinizing facade.

After she’d gone, Tarken glared at Cushla.
“Why was she in here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you lying to me?” Tarken crossed the
room to set the clothes and the vial he’d brought, atop the bed. He
then sat in a nearby chair, saying nothing, waiting for her to
answer.

Reaching over her left shoulder, Cushla
scratched…and scratched—and
scratched
some more. She
released the blanket from her other hand, and then brought that
same hand to the opposite shoulder to relieve the itching there
before moving both hands to her chest to scratch the sides of her
breasts.“I’m not lying,” Cushla’s eyes flicked to the bed “Is that
vial for me?”

“It is.”

She stalked toward it.

Just then, Tarken stood. In one step, he was
in front of the bed preventing her from reaching the medicine.

“You’ve got to be jesting?” Cushla reached
around him.

Tarken clenched her wrist with one hand
while snatching up the vial with the other. He held it above her
head and out of arm’s reached. “No jest, Cushla. Why was Ayia in
here? And how did she get in?”

“I told you I don’t know.” Cushla jumped to
reach the vial. “You bastard. Give me that! She just walked in, you
ignoramus!”Again, Cushla jumped.

Tarken laughed. “I like the way your breasts
jiggle when you do that.” Releasing her wrist, he cupped her
breast.

The horny prickhead! Can’t he see I’m in
distress?
Disregarding him, Cushla scratched her belly with
both hands. “Your balls are going to be jiggling from the next tree
branch I see, because I’m going to rip them off and hang them!”

“You’re making matters worse, mistress. Your
punishments are tallying.” Tarken returned to sit in the chair.
Stretching out his legs, he crossed one ankle over the other, and
then folded his arms, vial still in hand. “I want the truth.”

A screech burst from Cushla’s mouth and her
entire body shook in frustration. “I think she wanted to look at my
ass…you ass! And I still don’t know how she got in.”

“Why in hade’s blaze would Ayia want to look
at your ass? What is it about your ass that everyone is trying to
look at it?”

“Beats the fuck out of me.” Cushla rarely
swore, but the rash was making her irritable enough to swear like a
star freight pilot.

Tarken stood and strolled behind her.
“Perhaps that’s exactly what they want. I mean it is a nice ass. At
the moment a rashy one but still nice.”

“So I’ve been told,” Cushla responded
indifferently.

“I’m thoroughly suspicious now.” Tarken
moved around to face Cushla. “First, Rube and Scoac, and now Ayia,
though they may have put the servicing girl up to it, but why?”

Leaning slightly, Tarken studied Cushla’s
distinguishing birthmark. “Tell me something Cushla—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, frowning
instead when he saw the tears in her eyes. Her fists were also
clenched, and she was close to cuffing him. She needed the
medicine, and he was withholding it from her on purpose. If she
wasn’t so damn uncomfortable, she’d be furious, but at the moment
the torturing itch was overriding her anger.

“I don’t suspect you weep very often,
mistress. Is the itching that severe?”

“No. It feels wonderful.” Cushla gritted her
teeth. Relief filled her when he took the lid off of the vial.
“It’s more than that though, Tarken. My head is now painfully
throbbing.” She blew out a gust of air when Tarken began to massage
the medicinal oil on her body.

“You get frequent head throbs,” he
commented. “This is the fourth one since I’ve taken possession of
you. How long have you had them?”

“They started almost immediately after the
slave band was placed on my head.” A shudder raced through Cushla
as Tarken’s hands smoothed over her bottom and then slipped to the
inside of her thighs. “They worsened when I reached puberty.”

A mew escaped Cushla when Tarken slid his
finger between her labia. The medicine was relieving the horrible
allergy itch but she was now experiencing an itch of another
kind.

“Perhaps the slave band is defective.”
Tarken slid his finger into her vagina eliciting another shiver
from her. “Better make sure you’re not having a reaction in here,
mistress.”

“It’s difficult to explain,” Cushla rasped
out, gasping in another breath as Tarken began to finger fuck her.
“But it sometimes feels as if something is trying break out of my
brain. Sometimes...” She snapped her lips shut, deciding to speak
no further.

“You say the head throbs started after you
were enslaved?” Abruptly, Tarken yanked his finger from her and
straightened.

Cushla grunted a protest, but at the moment
he seemed more interested in what she was telling him. “Yes,” she
answered.

“Not before?”

“No.”

“And they worsened when you reached
womanhood?”

“Did I not already tell you this?” She
huffed, and then her mood brightened. “Uch! I don’t itch
anymore.”

“The rash is gone.” Tarken slipped his hand
along her waist and flashed a suggestive grin. “But you’re still
oily.” He took a step backwards and began removing his clothing,
all the while his attention on Cushla.

She gulped at his naked body, more
specifically at his fully hard erection, and her nipples jutted in
reaction. Her first instinct was to cover her breasts with her arms
to hide her arousal, but it was too late for that. Her pussy was
already made wet from his finger, so there was no hiding that she
was horny. At the moment she couldn’t care less if he knew.

Walking over to the bed, Tarken picked up
the garments he’d brought from the supply room and placed them on
the chair. “Do you think Ayia wanted to bed you?” He sat down on
the mattress, a wide smirk on his mouth.

“Yes.” Cushla kept still, waiting for Tarken
to instruct her. “It’s the only thing I can think of.”

“Perhaps, but we’ll talk more about this
later. For now, mistress, come ride me.”

Without hesitation, Cushla moved toward him.
She straddled him and eased down on his cock, moaning as he filled
her. It amazed her how quickly her body responded to him, maybe a
little too quickly even. It was dangerous to her mental and
physical well-being to have so little resistance, particularly with
a slave trainer. If she wasn’t careful, Tarken might learn all of
the internal triggers that Cushla couldn’t help but surrender to.
What she found amazing was that every time he touched her the
headaches seemed to subside.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, mistress?” Tarken
grasped her hips, though he allowed her to direct the motion.

Expelling a sound of satisfaction Cushla
ground on him in circular motions taking him deep inside. “Yes,”
she gasped out.
Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. You’re a
perfect fit for me, slavemaster.
She thought silently, but out
loud she said, “The sexing eases the throb in my head.”

“It eases the throb in my head as well,
Cushla,” Tarken rasped out as he gripped her hips more tightly
while pushing his pelvis upward, embedding his cock deeper inside
of her.

She stilled and gazed down at him. “Your
head throbs too?”

Tarken chuckled and she realized immediately
exactly which head he was talking about. “Oh,” she said and then
snorted. Her hips began shifting forward and back on him again and
Cushla rode him, rubbed her clitoris on him, grinding, squeezing
the hardened shaft penetrating her vagina. In response, his cock
thickened further, prompting her to clamp around him.

“Hellfires, mistress,” Tarken rasped out.
“You’re so fucking tight.”

“You’re so fucking hard,” Cushla cried out.
“Oh, by the stars!” She glided up and down on Tarken’s erection
before shifting to cock her hips back and forward again. In rapid
motions, she rubbed her pussy against him, finding the perfect
pressure for her clit, completely absorbed in the unbelievable
stirrings escalating inside of her. She squeezed her vaginal
muscles while grinding against him, squeezing as hard as she could
around his ever-thickening erection.

“That’s it, mistress,” Tarken urged. “Take
what you need.”

“Yes!” Cushla cried, her pelvis rocking more
rapidly. She squeezed him even tighter, throwing her head back, her
slit swallowing his cock whole, taking, milking, her clit rubbing
on his pubic bone in quick thrusts. “O-o-w-w!” She screamed as if
in agony, though the sound bursting from her throat was a cry of
ecstasy rather than a declaration of pain. Her fingers dug into
Tarken’s shoulders as she ascended toward orgasm without
reservation.

Chapter Twelve

Tarken grasped her, allowing his hands to
move with her rhythm. He just wanted to have his hands on her, to
feel the shift of her hips as Cushla rode to the peak of her
pleasure. The sight of her was mesmerizing and Tarken watched with
amazement, enthralled by the array of passion-filled expressions
sweeping across her face. He couldn’t recall a time ever when he’d
seen a woman so lost in passion.

Cushla was wild and riding him with untamed
abandonment, her body so immersed in sensations it seemed as if she
had no cognition of the world around her. She’d completely
surrendered her control.