Slavemaster's Woman, The (8 page)

* * * *

His words cut deep. Cushla’s face fell, her
expression so despondent that Tarken almost felt badly for
her…almost. He however, kept reality keenly in place. His job was
to train her properly for the king.

She was a slave after all, and her
belligerence was the first issue he would need to address.

“Cushla,” Tarken began. At least she seemed
to have a sense of humor hiding beneath the surface. He didn’t miss
the glint of a smile that graced her lips before at his teasing
comment. If he could nurture that aspect of her instead of crushing
her spirit, it would be better for her well-being in the long run.
“I’m not the kind of trainer you think I am. Truly, I’m concerned
that you make peace with your station and come to be content, maybe
even happy with it.”

“As if I would believe that could happen. As
if I would ever allow it to happen.” Cushla glared at him. “You
haven’t a clue as to what this life of bondage is like and the
things I’ve been forced to submit to.”

“I understand that many slaves are abused,
and I’m sure you’ve been hurt by many things done to you,” Tarken
returned. “It would be best for your well-being if you talked about
them. Be assured that I’ll listen.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“I think you lie” Tarken retorted. “By the
looks of the scars on you, I think there’s plenty to tell. At least
they had enough sense to save your face. It is quite lovely.”

She crossed one adamant arm over the other,
squashing to the underside of her breasts and causing them to rise.
“As I said, slavemaster, there is nothing to tell.

“But if there was, you would tell me
wouldn’t you, Cushla?”

“Probably not.” Cushla’s chin went up a
notch.

He was amused by her posturing.

She stood straight with her head held high,
looking rather
dignified
despite having not a stitch of
clothing on.
Dignity—
she’d mentioned.

A being is nothing without a feeling of
self-worth, even a slave. Tarken understood that need, though he
couldn’t show compassion for it. To do so, would equate to a
weakness and a sly slave would know how to take advantage of that.
“I’ll ask anyway.”

“So ask then. I won’t answer.”

“Your station doesn’t have to be an
unpleasant and lonely thing.” Tarken stepped closer to her. “It’s
permissible for you to have friendships.”

The boisterous titter that unexpectedly
bellowed from Cushla was loud and filled with sarcasm. “With you?
You’re insane if you think I could develop a friendship with you.
That is what you’re implying isn’t it?”

“I will never use what you tell me against
you. Yes, you can find friendship with me as long as the boundaries
of master and slave are understood, Cushla.”

“You must have a tick in your brain if you
think I’m gullible enough to believe you’re genuine,” Cushla stated
firmly. “I have no wish to consort with those on that side of the
cesspool.”

“Is there no one you’ve ever trusted,
mistress?” Tarken took yet another step closer to her. If he
reached his arm to full length he could touch her.

“When never allowed the option of a choice,
how could it be otherwise?”

“And all men that bedded you have taken you
by force?”

“Always,
Tarken.
”
She scowled while emphasizing his name as if it was
a dirty word. “Unless I’m in a stupor. Then, I’m merely passive,
but not of my own doing.”

“From drugs?”

“Or from beatings, or the slave band, but
yes, drugs too.”

“You prefer to be in such a state when
you’re being bedded?”

“I prefer to have my mind in as far away a
place as possible.”

Ah, so that was it.
Tarken suspected
as much. There was no need for her to explain further. Cushla
goaded him in hope of being punished to incoherence, so she would
have little or no awareness of being fucked. His belly curled with
distaste. Why did the word
fuck
seem so crude all of sudden,
when in essence that is what he inevitably did with female
slaves—fuck them. A slow grin crept along Tarken’s lips. All of his
female thralls gave him their bodies willingly…eventually. Cushla
would be no different. He smiled at the pleasant thought of having
her naked beneath him.

“You find rape amusing slavemaster?” She
boldly glared at him.

“I do not condone such an act of violence,”
Tarken stated firmly, the smile fading when he realized she had
misinterpreted his expression. “I was merely imagining your body
writhing with passion.” His voice softened, his grin returning.

Cushla turned away from him, but Tarken was
relatively sure he saw the beginnings of a blush. The air of
innocence it portrayed, he thought was quite charming. “Do you
always resist intercourse, mistress?”

“Sometimes I fight, if the slime is too
rough, but that makes the sex more painful, and it garnishes
punishment afterward.” Cushla moved across the room, creating a
wide arc away from the bed, and out of his reach, as well. She
stopped in front of the mirror, glancing at her reflection, and
grimaced as though she couldn’t bear the sight of herself. “Mostly,
I lie there and review the list of chores I’ll need to complete
later. Or I silently imagine my favorite song playing in my
head.”

“Rest assured, Cushla that when I’m inside
of you, you’ll be singing a much different tune.”

“An arrogant slavemaster.” Cushla waved a
hand through the air dismissively while casting her eyes upward in
a clearly sarcastic manner. “How unique you must be. I can’t fathom
how I survived this long without you.”

If nothing else, she was entertaining.

Tarken would consider keeping her for
himself if the king hadn’t already laid specific claim to her. His
smile faded. Mecor would abuse her and there was nothing he could
do about it. The thought made him sick, but he brushed it aside.
What the king did was none of his concern. “Has no one ever
attempted to give you pleasure?”
What fools
…He wondered.
Who
would forego the passion of this lovely woman in lieu
of satiating his own lust?
It was incomprehensible.

“An impossible task since it couldn’t
interest me less.”

Tarken studied her. The look of disgrace
that briefly touched her face as she examined herself in the mirror
belied her casual exterior. In just the short time he’d known her,
he already knew several things about Cushla that would assist him
to properly train her, and he doubted that the pretty little slave
even realized how much she’d actually revealed him.

He was about to put his first method to the
test.

Walking over to her, Tarken released the
clasp that held the rest of her hair in place and combed his
fingers through it, spreading the satiny mass around her shoulders.
Thoughts of it draping all around him flooded his mind as he
imagine her riding on top of him. He ran his fingers down the
length. It was incredibly silky and pleasing to touch. His gaze
shifted to Cushla’s face. He was seeing her in profile, and she
stared forward.

Her chest rose and fell evenly, her breaths
easy and quiet, giving him no indication of either nervousness or
arousal. Taking a step, Tarken faced Cushla, forcing her to look
directly at him.

Her gaze never averted, but there was an
emptiness within them that was sadly cold. It was if she’d
withdrawn into herself becoming a shell of a person oblivious to
the world outside.

“You do realize I must punish you for your
bad behavior this eve?”

With her eyes unblinking and no indication
of fear Cushla answered, “Do what you must.”

“I could use a lash.” Despite the threat,
Tarken felt no need to discipline her in such a manner. He did,
however, have an incredible desire to touch her. Reaching around
her body, Tarken skimmed his hand over the small of her back until
he reached Cushla’s buttocks. He squeezed firmly but painlessly.
Her flesh was smooth and warm. His cock twitched. “You’ve been
lashed before? I saw some scarring.”

Cushla shrugged.

The marks he’d seen on her backside were
numerous, some were harsh though others were faint, and she still
had bruises from a recent abusing. Tarken was annoyed by that. It
was difficult for him to fathom why someone would mar something so
beautiful. Yet, he knew by her remarks that she preferred corporal
discipline, so he could only assume that Cushla likely encouraged
at least some of the beatings. It was an ineffective means of
training, particularly when the method is of the slave’s
choosing.

Removing his hand from her bottom, Tarken
dropped his hand.

At the same time, Cushla exhaled.

He was suddenly aware that she held her
breath while he was touching her. To test that that assumption, he
lifted both hands and cupped her breasts. Her intake of air was
silent but he felt her chest rise. He waited for her to exhale.

And he waited some more.

He decided to play with her nipples until
she either passed out or absolutely needed to release the breath.
Damn
if the girl could hold her breath for a lengthy
time.

Finally, Cushla expelled the air in her
lungs and when she did, her eyes fell shut.

“I’m sure you understand I could use the
slave band to force your cooperation?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Cushla’s
lids lifted her glare intrepid.

That look again
. It was as if she
were daring him to do it. Most slavemaster’s would be goaded by the
expression and do exactly that—activate the band. Tarken was now
highly aware of her motive. The pain and semi-stupor that followed
was exactly what Cushla wanted. It would dismiss her participation
in the sex. She would just lay there, half conscious and likely
remembering very little of it.

Did she hate sex that much?

Tarken considered the punishment options.
What would affect her the most? That which she feared most would.
The vulnerability of passionate desire would frighten her, Tarken
was sure. Another smug smile spread across his mouth. “Sex will be
your punishment.”

Chapter Seven

“What!” Cushla yelled. Her impromptu
reaction was completely reflexive. She definitely didn’t like what
he was suggesting. “Sex as punishment? That’s absurd.”

“It would be if you enjoyed it, but since
you do not…”

Cushla’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped
open, but no words emerged.

“Nothing to say, mistress?” Tarken advanced
on her, grasping her at the waist and tugging her body against
his.

She stiffened.

“Does the thought of my lust make you feel
uncomfortable?”

Cushla struggled to gather her thoughts and
composure. “It has nothing to do with being uncomfortable and
everything to do with the fact that your breath stinks.”

Tarken grinned slowly. His mouth opened and
he huffed out a breath of air blowing it directly into her
face.

There was a silent pause, and Cushla blinked
several times. Her mind rapidly assessed his behavior, but of its
own accord, and quite unexpectedly, her body relaxed in his arms
and then, much to her surprise, she laughed. She hadn’t meant to
laugh, but she couldn’t help it. The slavemaster was sort of,
well—amusing. Still in the middle of that thought, Cushla was only
half aware that his lips were on hers.

Cosmic feathers!

He was kissing her, and she wasn’t even
resisting. In fact it felt nice, very nice…
too
nice. Ach!
Pull away! You can’t enjoy this,
she tried to tell herself.
Her lips softened.
Right about now would be a good time.
Her
mouth parted slightly instead.
Mmm…Did I just moan?

His tongue slipped inside, and the only
thing registering in her brain was how good he felt and tasted. All
other coherent thoughts became mush. Their mouths were locked
together, their tongues sliding, her respirations becoming quick
and rhythmic and in near cadence to Tarken’s heavy breathing. Her
naked body plastered against his clothing was rather—Cushla moaned
again—
stimulating
.

Something was happening inside of her, a
sensation she couldn’t quite name, nor was it anything she’d ever
experienced before this eve.
Give over,
her body tempted
her.
Oh, evil dungeons!

It didn’t take long for Cushla to recognize
it. She was fucking horny, and she wanted him to give it to her
deep and hard or slow and easy or…
oh hell, beyond belief!
She just wanted him to give it to her! With that thought now at the
forefront, Cushla began to shrink away from him.

Tarken slackened his embrace before she
could fully resist. “You are an incredible woman Cushla.” His
breathing was deep and rapid with his arousal.

Cushla was keenly aware of his heavy cock
pushing against her, the pressure so hard she thought it would
burst through his pants. She stared at him.

His expression was subdued and his
eyes…
ach!
The look he gave her seemed so unbelievably
sincere…and his voice, the tone of his voice was soothing, the low,
gentle way he used her name, comforting and reassuring.

“I’m a slave,” Cushla answered in return.
She was breathing just as hard as he was.

“An extraordinarily desirable one,” Tarken
returned. “And one who is unable to resist me.”

“If you say so, Tarken, because you know so
much.”
How arrogant could one man get?
She would resist him.
Yes, she definitely would!

“Do you like to orgasm, Cushla?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had one.”
Oh
starcrap!
What possessed her to reveal that little bit of
information? How could a man she’d just met have such and affect on
her? The urge to spill her guts to him was both incomprehensible
and utterly confusing!