The Barbarian's Pet (6 page)

When she did not immediately obey, he used his foot to sweep her left leg out. He then grasped her buttock and spread it open. Sariah let out a whine of surprise and discomfort as something oily was dabbed against her anus. She squirmed and tried to pull away, but the straps of leather made it simple for Griffen to hold her in place and continue the application of oil undeterred.

She wriggled and squirmed, but all that happened was Griffen held her more firmly and pressed his finger into her bottom.

“This is where your tail will go,” he informed her as she let out a squeal of surprise and jolted up to her toes, dancing about before Griffen and his men. She blushed furiously as he slid that finger deeper into her bottom, making her take a good two inches of it before withdrawing his digit. “John,” he called out. “Fashion me a tail, would you? Our filly needs it.”

Sariah made a muffled sound of rebellion, which quickly turned to a gasp as Griffen drew her over to a stool, sat himself down on it, and tossed her over his knee to wait for the tail to be made.

It was too late to apologize, or ask for mercy. She could no longer speak. She could barely move. The leather restricted the movement of her upper body to only the most simple motion and the taste of it filled her mouth as she wriggled over Griffen’s lap. The tail took some time to make and soon many of the men returned to their tasks, but that did not cause her embarrassment to abate.

While Sariah mused her many mistakes, a plug designed for her rear, dark wood smoothed and sanded to the shape of a flared plug and complemented by dozens of thin leather strips—each of which were about a foot long, crafted after the appearance of an animal’s tail—was produced in surprisingly short order.

“Thank you, John,” Griffen said to his craftsman. “See how men’s ingenuity and craft is spurred by the prospect of disciplining a deserving pet,” he observed aloud.

Sariah gasped and wiggled, her hips seesawing over Griffen’s muscular thigh as he introduced the plug to her bottom, more oil spread on her rear before the rounded hard end began to press against her tight little anus.

Whimpering apologetically, Sariah felt the plug slide inside her. It was not terribly large, perhaps two inches long and about two fingers thick. But it was large enough to make her rear stretch and to hold the tail in place after Griffen moved his fingers away.

“Perfect,” he said in satisfied tones. He tipped her up to her feet and nodded with pleasure at what he saw. “Time to work, my sweet filly,” he said, landing a heavy slap on her rear. Sariah let out a whine of complaint, which turned to something more like a whinny as he swatted her again, moving her toward the cart.

Shocked to her very core, bound by leather strapping that denied her motion in almost every part of her body beside her hips and legs, and with a plug in her rear that caused the leather straps of the tail to brush against her sensitive inner thighs, Sariah was struck by Griffen’s creative prowess. His discipline was not limited to mere beatings, and he did not resort to verbal humiliation. Instead he bent her to his will in a way that transformed the very thing she was. Held firm by her bonds, she felt very much like the wild filly he declared her to be.

Sariah looked at Griffen with pleading eyes, shaking her head as he hitched her to the cart, using long straps of leather to attach it to the harness he had fashioned at her hips so that every step would take the cart with her.

Muffled begging was all she was capable of, but that did not stop her apologizing profusely against the thick leather, her words lost to the world.

“Easy,” Griffen said in soft tones. He lifted his hand and stroked her hair gently, soothing her. “When I give the command, you will walk on, take the cart to Rafe’s station and wait for him to load it. You will then make a circuit around the encampment. Do you understand?”

She shook her head, blinking as hot tears began to sting her eyes. This wasn’t a fair punishment. Yes, she had sought to relieve him of prized jewels, but surely being treated like a simple beast was too much punishment for that.

“Do not feel sorry for yourself, Sariah,” Griffen chided her. “I think you know what the punishment for theft is in most of the barbaric tribes. This will leave you entirely intact and have the added benefit of teaching you some humility. You are far too bold, pet.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. Yes, thieves lost hands, but that was a practice condemned by anyone with a heart. Rebelling against his alleged mercy, she shook herself thoroughly, making the cart roll back and forth behind her—and the tail wriggle inside her bottom too. Griffen did not intervene. He stood and watched as Sariah did her very best to free herself.

It was an effort for nothing. For all her struggles, none of the leather gave way. She let out a muffled grunt of exasperation and scowled at him with all her impotent fury.

“Finished, pet?”

He ran his fingers over her scalp, combing gently through her hair and down the back of her neck. In spite of her discomfort and embarrassment, his touch did soothe her.

“This will not be as bad as you might imagine if you simply submit to what is being asked of you,” he said. “Training is a simple matter of pressure and release. If you obey me, you will find release. If you do not, you will feel pressure.” He emphasized his point with a firm slap to her rear. She strained against the leather, pulling the cart forward a step, and earning immediate praise.

“Good girl,” he murmured, reaching out to take one last leather implement from Rafe’s waiting hands—a whip used for driving horses.

She flinched at the sight of it, leather corded to a fine point she knew would sting if it were to be lashed against her bare flesh.

“It doesn’t have to hurt,” Griffen murmured in her ear, stroking his fingers down the side of her neck, gentling her after her fright. She felt his soothing touch, his calming voice and found the tremors of anxiety beginning to abate. He was treating her much like he would treat an actual pony, with firmness but undeniable care. She found herself softening to his touch, her breath coming more easily as he smoothed his hand over her back and thence over her rear, patting her cheeks gently.

“Ready to work, pet?”

* * *

Sariah let out a little whimper and shook her head. Again her eyes begged him for lenience, however Griffen had no intention of letting the matter of her impudent attempt at theft slide. She had been on the verge of committing a high crime, and he doubted she regretted it yet.

This was undoubtedly not what his thieving little pet had foreseen as punishment, but Griffen took a great deal of pleasure in his pony, flicking the whip to move her on when she decided to balk. It was excellent training, and he had no doubt that she would remember the lesson long after the leathers were removed.

Griffen flicked the whip lightly against her left buttock. “Walk on, filly,” he ordered. “The men are waiting.”

She gave him a resentful look, which only made her look more beautiful as she did his bidding.

The work was not easy. The day was hot and there were many swords to deliver. Griffen insisted each one be delivered individually, and when they were waiting for the next to be sharpened, he drove her in figures of eight, taking control of each of her steps, their length, their speed. She resisted many times, and each time the lash met her ample bottom or her thigh, providing the necessary motivation for her to obey.

She blushed and hesitated many times, color flushing over her body from her breasts to her hips and even her thighs. Her embarrassment was but one part of the punishment. More than that he wanted to instill a sense of immediate obedience, a submission of belonging. She wanted to run away, but he would cure her of that. She would forget any desire to leave once she realized how richer and deeper life was under his lash.

She was beautiful, beads of sweat rolling down her midsection, over her bottom, and down her thighs. He had no doubt that she would be exhausted by the end of her task, but that would not harm her. Her immediate attempt to take advantage of her position as his pet, to steal his riches and make off with them, amused him more than it angered him. She was certainly politically minded, though she was but a simple shepherd girl. He had no doubt that there would be many more surprises from this one.

Noting that Sariah’s shoulders were beginning to droop, her eyes no longer burning with rebellious fire, he decided that she had endured enough and called a halt to her labors. She came to a stop beside him, her lower lip jutted out in a small pout. His pet did not like to be punished. Perhaps that would teach her to avoid deserving such, but somehow he doubted that.

While Sariah stood waiting to see what orders he had in mind for her next, Griffen unhitched the cart but left his pony in her leathers.

“Come here,” he beckoned.

She approached him with her head bowed, looking up at him under her lashes. Was that contrition he saw? No. Something else danced in her pupils, a resilient mischief that seemed immutable. She was coated in a sheen of sweat. The work had not been light and she was probably tired, but more than the scent of feminine sweat, he could smell her arousal. She loved the lash, this pet. The harder he pushed her, the more she responded. Her boldness and rebellion was nothing compared to her capacity for submission if it was skillfully commanded.

He slipped a leather leash around her neck and led her out of the camp, down toward the river that flowed richly through the verdant green landscape. With the gag still in place, she could not speak but he sensed some relief in her as they reached a place of more privacy.

Griffen shed his leggings and shirt and led her into the water, still bound. Sariah balked at going deeper than her knees, but he urged her forward. “I’ve got you,” he reassured her as they stood in waist-deep water, the river’s current carrying away much of the heat of the work.

Slowly and carefully, Griffen unbound Sariah from her leather harness and bridle. Each of the straps came away leaving lines of shining sweat where it had sat against her skin, leaving a heated pink remnant of the harness still glowing across her body.

“My poor little pet,” he murmured as he removed the second to last piece—the gag. The tail he left in her rear, leather straps flowing out into the water behind her in a way he found rather pretty.

With her powers of speech restored, Sariah said nothing, perhaps too stunned to speak, perhaps too wise to immediately get herself into trouble by speaking out of turn. Whatever her reason for silence, Griffen pressed a kiss to her lips and began rinsing her body with handfuls of water, letting it run in little rivulets over the curves of her naked body. She still did not seem to be in any hurry to speak. What words could possibly capture her experience?

He bathed her tenderly, allowing her the silence, giving her time to understand what had passed between them. As it drew on, he began to become concerned.

“Sariah.” He smoothed her hair back from her face and looked down into her eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“Hurt? No.” She murmured the words, avoiding his gaze.

“Tell me your feelings,” he urged.

“What do my feelings matter to you?” The question was asked plainly, without bitterness. She seemed surprised by the notion that he would care at all for her emotional state. That was the trouble with a pet like Sariah. She needed firm handling interspersed with gentle care, but she tended to forget the firmness during gentle times, and the gentleness when he was firm.

“They matter,” Griffen assured her. “I intended to humble you. I did not intend to break your spirit.”

Sariah’s eyes met his, gleaming with that unfathomable sentiment again.

“What is it, pet?”

“You are an outrageous barbarian,” she said, her voice high with repressed outrage. “To treat me like an animal, a beast of burden, and then to ask after my feelings…”

“You can admit you enjoyed it,” Griffen interjected.

Sariah’s mouth fell open. “Enjoyed it? Enjoyed it!? How could you think I enjoyed that… humiliation!”

“I think that because your nipples are hard as pebbles and you’re wetter than this river,” Griffen said, pressing his hand between her thighs, where a warm slickness was still evident in spite of the rushing of the water. “I can tell because although your bottom is still filled with that plug, you have not asked me to remove it, nor have you attempted to do so yourself.”

“I did not enjoy it,” Sariah denied in a low, gasping moan.

“Not the punishment, perhaps,” Griffen conceded. “That would defeat the purpose of punishing you. But being mine, being bound, being used as I see fit—that you love.”

Her eyes flashed outrage, but her denial lacked a certain confidence as his fingers slipped inside her pussy, spreading her around the length of his digits.

* * *

Sariah wished she could resist Griffen, but she could not deny the heat that suffused her body. Each and every moment she’d spent in his leathers, harnessed to his cart, working under his lash had been an exquisite torture of her senses, her clit pulsing with every step, excitement rushing through her every time she saw the eyes of Griffen’s men falling upon her.

She had been his possession, his pet, every step had been taken according to his will and as much as her fierce pride burned against it, her body had reacted quite differently. Now, with his fingers thrusting inside her tight channel, she found it impossible to keep up the pretense.

Her head fell back, supported by the brawny arm wrapped around her shoulders as Griffen plundered her first with his fingers, then with the hard thrust of his cock. He pushed his thick rod inside her without so much as a word of warning. Why should he? She was his pet, his slave to fuck with a tail still stretching her bottom, the hardness of the plug feeling larger with his cock pressing deep into her tight cunt.

Held in the rushing waters and fucked by a man who was king in more than name or title, Sariah surrendered to forces beyond her control. Every part of nature seemed to be combining to take what she thought she knew about herself and show her another side of it. She could not deny the pleasure she felt. She could not deny that the heat of embarrassment had turned to a flame of desire. She could not pretend that her cunt wasn’t soaking with need for him, or that her bottom wasn’t clenching at the plug because clenching made everything feel full and tight and used.