Submissive (28 page)

Gillian hoped he was right. She was sore with yearning for Bruce and a shadow of guilt still weighed on her.

He gave her a startling swat on the buttocks. “Now, get into that water and bathe. I may be only a retained priest and part-time Master of the harem, but I can be a disciplinarian when the need arises. Now relax and get clean, and forget all those pointless feelings of guilt.”

He gestured for her to sit on the poolside, and watched as her legs slid down into the water. It was almost hot, but wonderfully relaxing, and she let her knees give way until her body was submerged to her shoulders.

“You like?”

At her nod he waved a cautioning finger and said with a faint smile, “Just don't forget, I am much more attentive than my predecessor!”

 

The Dame of Wardrobe was waiting at Gillian's bed when the Master returned her to the sleeping quarters. Another female Dhjinn E'noch was there. With a shower of gold hair that splayed in thick curls about her shoulders, she was not, Gillian thought, as beautiful as the Mistress. She was dressed in a simple wool gown of deep green and black slippers, and her skin was a shade of mottled gray. Unlike the king, his sister, and the Master, the outline of her scales were quite vivid. As far as Dhjinns looked, Gillian thought, this Dame was rather plain.

Yet she greeted Gillian with a warm smile that brought an attractive liveliness to her chiseled features.

Her voice was a hiss of buoyant mist. “I have brought you the most perfect ensemble, little Disciple.”

The Master spoke behind them, “I will go see if the Mistress has arrived.”

The Dame gave him a sidelong glance. “Ooh, a confrontation? And I'll miss it!”

To Gillian's surprise the Master laughed. “I'll have to disappoint you this time,” he said and patted the Dame's shoulder. “However, as I have our Mistress to thank for taking me from my rightful station and putting me in charge here, I shall make it clear that I will brook no interference.”

The Dame shrugged. “Ah, but she has been a good, strict Mistress. No doubt she's instilled into this young lady a little more appreciation for rules of conduct.”

Gillian glowed with humiliation. Did everyone know of her one indiscretion?

The Master nodded. “I cannot fault her there, no. But I had no desire to oversee the females, no matter how lovely they are. And she knew this. It is only her way to get even.”

“It is only that you wounded her pride,” remarked the Dame. “After all, he was her slave, you know…”

Gillian was intrigued by the pair's discussion and saw a blush of yellow imbue the Master's features. A glint of the distinctive Dhjinn hardness shone in his eyes.

“Yes,” he sighed, “But if I find my suspicions are correct, and he wishes to be mine…then I will find the way to convince the king to grant me this.”

The Dame idly played with Gillian's hair as she said, “I'd be careful with whom you speak of this, my dear. Most especially your regard for the youth's own desires. They will think you have grown too human! It might be better to simply take him hostage. Such an action would appeal to the king's empathy, and more likely gain his forgiveness.”

“Perhaps so,” he replied. And he went away then and left Gillian alone with the Dame.

The Dame pinched her cheeks giddily and patted the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” she said, “and I will have you soon looking as exquisite as Queen Marianne!”

First, the Dame brushed out her hair until it was full and wild and sprinkled it with gold dust. Then Gillian's skin was oiled, and lightly dusted, too, so that she shimmered from head to toe. The ensemble was a lovely variation of the customary harem outfit: the usual ornamental pantaloons and billowy sleeves had been made of ruffled black gauze, the ruffles edged with gold cloth. There was a breastplate of polished black metal, and the scalloped half-cups were of gold. The Dame then painted her nipples a shade of deep coral rouge, as well as her lips and the intimate folds of her sex. And for her thighs she provided cuffs of strung black pearls, attached to one another by a very short shackle of entwined black iron and gold. The last item of the outfit was a wide choker of black velvet edged with gold lace.

When the Dame was finished dressing her, she stood up and told Gillian to get to her own hands and knees.

“I am sorry. I know you are new to this,” the Dame said.

Gillian got down as commanded, and saw the Dame take something long and shimmering from the mattress. It looked like a leash, with a black velvet holding loop at one end. The Dame bent over and showed her the other end: a very slender, long dildo set upon a golden knob about the size and width of a quarter.

“Once this is in I will turn the knob so it can't slip out,” the Dame said. “This won't hurt, but it will make you uncomfortable until you are used to it. Now, look straight ahead, and do not squirm, or I'll have get the Master to assist me.”

Uneasy, Gillian nonetheless looked straight ahead. The Dame's warm fingers touched her buttocks, and lightly tapped her anus. Before Gillian knew what had happened, the dildo slid into her anus to the knob hilt. Gillian felt her body shudder with the unexpected intrusion, and then she felt the Dame turn the knob. At once something ballooned inside her tightest orifice.

“Oh!” she cried.

The Dame patted her backside. “All over with,” she said soothingly. “It is snug in place, and will remain expanded for a couple of hours, perhaps three. I know it feels much larger than it really is. The exterior is mildly medicated, but it will not dull your other physical desires.”

Gillian blushed as she'd never blushed before. She bowed her head, so that her hair veiled her face. She knew not how she could ever look at anyone with the slender dildo inserted in this undignified way and for so long. And then she felt the Dame move about behind her, and the next moment she parted Gillian's thighs as far as the pearl cuffs allowed. Gently, she felt about Gillian's pussy, and captured her clit between the fingers of her hand, applying some oily concoction. Ripe with a heady perfume it was, and it wasn't until the Dame removed her hands that Gillian was aware of warmth brewing over her clit. Quickly, her clit was pulsating with heat. The organ swelled, and her thighs and sex were acutely aroused. Her nether lips grew slick and her pelvis wanted to undulate. And when the Dame tapped the golden knob, Gillian's whole body was overcome with raw desire.

“She looks ready.”

Gillian's face lifted miserably in response to the Mistress's voice. She was a towering statue at the entranceway, her implacable face cold and lovely. She wore a long black silk jacket with a high neckline, and underpants of black silk. She carried a long-handled crop of pure black leather. Part of Gillian wanted to scramble under the bed, to find shelter and hide her humbled dignity. But as the Dame handed the leash over to the Mistress, another part of Gillian softened with a desire more potent than even the aphrodisiac oil.

The Mistress lifted the leash a little so that the dildo moved languidly inside Gillian. The Mistress laid the end of her crop to Gillian's thigh, so that the tip caressed her shimmering skin.

“You've done well, Dame. One wouldn't know that she was just returned this morn from the Disciplinary.”

She moved the crop so that the tip invaded Gillian's thighs and tickled her sex, prodded the opening of her damp private lips. Gillian whimpered softly, and the Mistress told her to lift her face.

“Don't try to hide under that hair,” the Mistress scolded, and with her fingers, combed the veiling tresses from Gillian's face. “Yes, I am sure my brother will be pleased. You will kneel beside him at the banquet, and do not forget that you are his treasured prize. As such, it is proper that you show him the most earnest devotion and deference. Now rise and come along, Gillian. The hour grows late.”

I
t was to another passageway unfamiliar to Gillian that the Mistress directed her. The path rose steeply for some time, and steadily grew wider until they reached a vast chamber with a tiled floor. Monumental pillars—as wide and tall as redwood trees—stood about everywhere between the floor and a domed ceiling far above their heads. Garlands of wide cloth wound about the pillars, which were strung with fiery little bulbs that much resembled Christmas tree ornaments. Their footfalls echoed ominously as the Mistress continued.

At length Gillian spotted a wall ahead, with a granite stairway. Two men stood at the top of it, one to either side, before a great curtain that hung from a marble arcade. At least twenty feet long and forty feet wide and overlaid with tiny mirrors of intricate designs, the velvety maroon curtain swept the landing of the stairway. Gillian couldn't take her eyes off it as the Mistress headed her up the stairway. The men flanking this wore only silver pantaloons and slippers, but otherwise they were the most fearsome men Gillian had ever encountered: they were at least seven feet tall, and their every muscle seemed to ripple. Each man bore a sword in a fine scabbard upon his back. And beyond the curtain and the fierce guards Gillian heard the sound of cymbals and pipes and laughter.

The guards did not move or flinch as the Mistress and Gillian approached, though Gillian had no doubt the men certainly saw them. Her legs weakened as they approached the men. The Mistress was right on her heels and, cupping Gillian's shoulders, directed her to one side of the curtain and then pushed her through.

Gillian's heart skipped a beat as she passed between the wall and the cloth…and the scene she entered upon made her cry out with astonishment.

It was a huge semicirclular deck they had come to, as large as a ballroom, with a clear dome rising up from the stone casing. For the first time in weeks Gillian's eyes looked upon light, real light. Sunlight was just sinking behind orange clouds in the distance beyond the deck, and stars peeked through a pinkish indigo haze above her head. She was so pleasantly surprised she could not move. There were others on the deck—couples sitting cross-legged on cushions around low tables set about the mosaic tile floor; several freed kin, as she supposed them to be, standing about talking over glasses of drink. A band of musicians sat to the eastern side. A dozen or so dancing girls draped in ribbons of amber and lavender swirled about in sensual movement to their melody. But all of it seemed a galaxy away as Gillian gazed at the heavenly spectacle. She even forgot the dildo hidden snug inside her.

Mistress smoothed her shoulder. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

Gillian was too delighted to respond. Her eyes drank in each facet of the clouds, relished every glint of parting sunlight.

“More than I recalled,” she whispered. If the Mistress heard she did not reply.

The next moment something streaked out of the encroaching night above their heads. It was a sphere of ornamental brasslike metal aglow with a fiery aura; it hovered for a millisecond above the dome before it sped across the sky and disappeared behind a wisp of claret clouds.

It had come and gone so fast that Gillian didn't even know how it had startled her until the Mistress spoke, and the words sounded faint behind Gillian's racing heartbeat.

“This is the aerial dome. And there, Gillian, awaits your master.”

Gillian followed her eyes across the room to a table positioned upon a dais. Queen Marianne sat there, with her slave youth naked and kneeling at her side. The queen was enchanting as ever, wearing a silver gown and a slender diamond tiara upon her brow. Two male Dhjinn E'nochs sat across from her, and at the far of the dais cushions were strewn. Two other harem girls reclined eating great dark cherries from a silver bowl. From the interior of the dome behind them all a circular length of veils was suspended. If there was anyone within these shades Gillian could not tell. But at the queen's side, sitting straight and regal, was the one Gillian wanted to ignore, the Dhjinn abductor and their king. He had already noticed Gillian, and his intense regard weighted upon her.

Master of masters
.

His invasive inner voice addled Gillian's nerves. She was outraged that he still played his mind games on her. And yet, the mere sight of him eroded her rightful resentment. Resentment she'd thought unshakable. If it was possible for a being to be more beautiful than the king, she simply couldn't envision it. Straight he sat, wearing a silk robe of royal blue. His luxurious silvery hair fell loose about his shoulders, and his face was as flawless as ever. His demeanor seemed much more mature to her than the last time she'd seen him, as if his vitality had been renewed, somehow, and was now both honed and raw with purpose.

The Mistress pressed her forward, and Gillian deliberately gazed at the floor as they walked. But as they passed the queen and approached the king, she remembered that she was expected to kneel and show him devotion and deference. The Mistress, however, did not give her time to even consider, for she pressed Gillian's shoulders firmly until she sank to her knees before his cushion.

“Oh,” she heard Marianne say, “your naughty Nemian trophy! How splendid she looks tonight!”

The queen caressed her back so lightly that a shiver raced straight up to Gillian's skull.

“Thank you, sister,” the king said. Out of the corner of an eye Gillian saw him take the leash from the Mistress. He wrapped the end about his hand and tugged on it gently so that the dildo ever so subtly compelled her to crawl closer to him. It was he who now stroked her back, and she was struck by the smoothness of his great fingers. She had almost forgotten these things; but now the evening in his chambers flooded back into her mind. She felt helpless, at his mercy, and terribly aware of how fragile a human being was compared to a Dhjinn E'noch. As the Mistress walked on to the other side of the table and sat down, panic swelled in Gillian's chest. She knew she wasn't supposed to hide her face, and yet she did, taking a moment's comfort in the security of it.

The king's fingertips lifted her chin, and with his other hand he moved her hair aside. She felt his lips press against her forehead.

“Rise up on your knees, and lift your eyes,” he said softly.

As she obeyed, she found not the fierce displeasure she expected, but a look she'd never seen on his face before. Thoughtful and almost tender it was, and the longer he gazed at her the more relaxed his countenance became. Then he took a tidbit from his plate and put it to her lips. Her trembling lips opened and she accepted it without protest. He fed her more fruits and bread flavored with saffron, and offered his own goblet, filled with a delicious spiced wine. Gillian fought to keep her unspoken feelings from shaping her thoughts. No shade of her resentment or grief for Bruce could she bear for the king to steal again, no hint of how just being close to him stirred her primal desires.

After a long while the king's attention turned back to his guest, and pouring himself some fresh wine, made a toast in her honor. Gillian watched the others raise their goblets, and noticed the hard, undertone of red on the Mistress's face. The look on her face reminded Gillian of someone trying to feign boredom. But her smile was candidly unenthusiastic.

The queen reached over and touched Gillian's choker.

“I almost regret you are so fond of this one,” Marianne said to the king. “My dear husband doesn't have too many blond courtesans. Maybe if I brought this one home, he'd acknowledge that I do notice his existence.”

The other male Dhjinns laughed, but the king said soberly, “You should sell his courtesans, my dearest, and then he'd have no doubt!”

Gillian felt the Mistress's regard, and when she glanced over, the woman gave her a reproachful look. Her stomach quivered with dread. The king didn't seem to notice as she inched behind his shoulder enough to evade the Mistress's eyes.

“And she won't be blond for long,” spoke one of the other males, “my brother will have her to wed soon enough, you know.”

Gillian was confused by the statement, and forgot even the Mistress as Marianne replied, “Oh yes, the crown of the Chosen One. I forgot. What a pity, I love her natural shade!”

The king made an amused sound, and turning, stroked Gillian's hair. “It is beautiful,” he said matter-of-factly. “But I am old-fashioned in some ways.”

Gillian was startled when Marianne leaned over. The queen reached a hand between her captive thighs and touched her pubic hair. Gillian's vulnerable nether mouth quivered under her petting fingers.

“And this, too?”

“Yes,” answered the king. Gillian fought back the vision of him shaving her.

“Red hair is the mark of a beloved queen,” the Mistress said dryly, “at least among our nobles, who cherish their women.”

Gillian shuddered with relief. But the Mistress's dig was not lost on her, and she saw Queen Marianne's wounded frown.

One of the males lifted his goblet again. “Friendship,” he said quickly, “may it always be thus between our king and his lovely Marianne.”

As goblets clinked, Gillian saw the Mistress's eyes drift again about the room. Gillian wondered about her obvious antipathy toward the queen. Yet Gillian's curiosity dimmed quickly enough, for her sex tingled more acutely than ever, and the anal dildo only worsened the passion that possessed her. Again and again she found herself looking at the king, admiring him with blatant lust.

But soon he ignored her entirely. Of course, she dared not move from her humbled position because the Mistress was so near. But her body ached for his touch, his regard, as much as she despised him for it. Her labia swelled cruelly, and her thighs were damp and sticky; yet there was nothing she could do but kneel here and wait for him to notice her. She was ashamed for this need, the potent animal lust that seized her despite her love for Bruce.

At length the dancing girls left the floor and one of the musicians commenced to play a strange instrument that produced a sound very like sitar music. Soon he was accompanied by others playing pan pipes and tambourines. Some of the other guests advanced to the floor in couples. The dance was sensual, the steps slow and graceful. The music made Gillian's desire more potent. As the king rose from his cushion and asked Queen Marianne to dance, Gillian felt a great twinge of envy.

She couldn't bear to watch them, and as her head turned, saw the pained look on the face of Marianne's slave, who was kneeling with his palms pressed to the floor. The candlelight from the table gleamed against his lithe, sinewy limbs. She could see the pink welts across his back and thighs, and little bruises of passion upon his throat and chest. For the first time Gillian noticed the leather collar buckled taut around the base of his cock. The organ was fully erect, and Gillian realized that the collar was designed to keep it so. His eyes were cemented to the king and queen and glinted with unshed tears. Gillian might have found this kind of despair unnatural for a man, if she didn't suspect his honest passion for the queen.

There is no shame in that kind of devotion, she thought. “I'll never see Bruce again,” she lamented, so quietly she hardly heard her voice beneath the tempestuous music.

Gillian looked timidly again to the dancers, and tried to focus on Queen Marianne's graceful movements. She danced with an indefinable exuberance, which in its complex beauty outshone the fire-elemental Dhjinn E'nochs. How refined the queen remained even as her body undulated in time to the pagan rhythm. She was a bastion of stability beside the king.

When they returned and sat back down at the table, Marianne cupped her slave's hands between her palms and kissed him. His immediate relief rippled like water through his tense muscles. The queen glided a hand down between his thighs. She squeezed the tip of his cock, so that a few drops of fluid dribbled out over her thumb. A deep, shameless moan came from him.

The king had joined some conversation with his male guests, content to stroke Gillian's hair idly. Gillian's sex had become a well of heated desire. She could hardly keep her hips still for want of rubbing her thighs or rocking her hips in some shameful manner. She dared not look at the king and kept her furtive eyes on the queen and her slave.

She saw Marianne drain the remainder of wine from her cup. The lovely woman was smiling lushly now at her love-starved slave. And at length Marianne stood up and went to the circle of veils. She pulled a drape of them aside, and Gillian saw the bed of cushions piled within. At Queen Marianne's nod the youth crawled quickly from the table through the little passageway. He knelt beside the cushions with his hands behind his back. As Marianne let the drape fall back into place, Gillian's eyes narrowed. She watched the shadowy image of the queen lower down upon the cushions. The queen adjusted one of them behind her head so that it was raised, then motioned with a finger for her slave to approach. Eagerly he did so and reverently kissed her slippers.

At Marianne's whispered command, the young slave crawled forward and kneeled on his haunches at her side. She ordered him to keep his hands behind him, and reached out and grasped his cock. Her hand moved slowly up and down the length of the collared organ. When he moaned again she cautioned him to be quiet. The pinnacle of the organ bloomed a vivid scarlet under Marianne's continued ministrations and his face turned as ruddy. His mouth fell open and his breathing grew urgent and desperate.