The Barbarian's Pet (7 page)

Sariah’s legs wrapped around his waist as Griffen lifted her up and down along the length of his cock, his strength keeping her afloat on waves of pleasure. The cool water rippled against her clit, soothed the little hot spots where his whip had kissed her skin. The deep thrusting of his hardness filled her in a way that satisfied her very soul, her inner walls clasping at him, eager for more.

He slowed the strokes, making each and every thrust take what seemed to be an eternity, a rising surge that made the tense parts of her relax and the needful parts of her cry out with relief. Griffen kissed her all over, his lips and tongue paying ardent homage to the hard nubs of her nipples as she writhed on his cock, her ample hips grinding against him with an eagerness that telegraphed her imminent orgasm.

He pulled out of her before either could come and held her in his arms as he waded out of the water, ignoring her whimpers of desire.

“Patience, pet,” he counseled as he lay down on his back, settling her to straddle him. Her nether lips once more came into contact with his cock, but instead of having it inside her, she could only grind against the hard ridge. The strands of her tail flared out into the grass between his thighs, her bottom clenching in the new position.

Griffen’s hands clamped her hips and began to slowly urge her back and forth, compelling her to rub her pussy over the length of his cock. To Sariah’s surprise, the motion felt incredible. Her seeping juices of need and the heat from Griffen’s cock made her cunt quiver with excitement, her inner walls clenching in anticipation of being filled again. With each stroke, the head of his cock brushed the underside of her clit, teasing her eager pussy, but ultimately denying her what she truly wanted.

“No longer a virgin, you are showing your true nature, pet. A passionate woman who yearns to be touched.”

Sariah blushed. Griffen seemed to know her heart better than she did at times. He knew precisely what exquisite torture it was to feel his cock between her eager pussy lips, but not have it inside her, stretching the wet, willing walls that had learned to accommodate him.

She was the sheath to his sword, the vessel of his lust. When he filled her, she felt instinctively as though she became something more—and he too seemed to take on new dimensions. He was not just the king who had claimed her; he was her lover, the man who became part of her.

A great many such poetic thoughts played through Sariah’s mind, but there was little in the way of poetry taking place between her thighs. Griffen’s cock gleamed with ever more juices as her cunt lubricated them both eagerly.

His hands went to her thighs, and for a brief moment she thought she would receive the penetration she so desired. Instead, Griffen pulled her forward off his cock entirely. She let out a little mewl of complaint as he drew her up his body, not stopping until she found herself astride his face.

“What… ohhhh!”

The question died on her lips as Griffen’s tongue gently lapped at her outer lips, just the tip playing with her pussy.

“You are delicious, intoxicating,” he purred against her cunt.

Sariah let out a squeal of pleasure as his tongue slid inside her, the muscular length stimulating her in a way she had not known was possible. While his tongue pleasured her chalice, his fingers went back to play with the plug in her rear, twisting it slowly, corkscrewing gently and awakening her to greater ardor.

Every bit the willing pony, she rode the king’s face, her hands cupping her breasts, her hips rising and falling as she let out cry after cry of wanton pleasure, knowing she could be heard for miles around but finding herself unable to care. Nothing mattered but the tongue buried deep in the folds of her pussy, as Griffen used his mouth to drive her to greater erotic heights.

She was going to come, there on the plains, her body bared to the sun and the wind, her cunt lashed by the king’s tongue. Sariah reached down, grabbing a handful of his hair, their eyes meeting as the pet demanded more from her master than before.

Griffen’s tongue thrust up inside her, twisting and darting against her wet clenching walls. Sariah let out a cry of pure pleasure as orgasm began to rack her form, tightening every muscle low in her body. Griffen licked her through it, his lips and tongue lashing and teasing, grazing her clit lightly to make her hips jolt with excitement.

She was not finished coming when Griffen tipped her over onto her back and thrust inside her quivering cunt with one hard thrust, his face showing the strain of climax as his hardness found her inner depths, plundering her cunt all the way to the neck of her womb.

Fucked through her orgasm, Sariah felt his welling inside her, his cock swelling as he began to shoot thick hot cum deep inside her, bathing her with his seed. She felt it filling her and then trickling out with his cock as he slid from her lips, a hot little trail of his seed coating her lower lips and the base of her tail too, white juices mixing with dark leather.

“Perfect,” Griffen murmured, kissing her. “Have you learned your lesson, my pet?”

Sariah looked into his eyes. Perhaps she should have been thoroughly chastised, but the climax had left her ecstatic and bold. “There was a lesson?”

His lips spread in a handsome smile. “Have I ravaged your tender little cunt so hard you no longer remember what started this?”

“Yes,” Sariah said teasingly. “You’ll have to do it all again.”

Griffen chuckled and kissed her thoroughly, his hand sliding between her thighs to lightly tap her well fucked lips. “Be careful what you wish for, my pet,” he warned her. “There is such a thing as being taken until you are too sore to walk.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me,” she murmured against his lips. “Who would pull your cart then?”

“Who indeed, minx,” Griffen rumbled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Together they laid under the sun, each forgetting their cares as they simply let the world turn.

Sariah’s sleep was cut short in the middle of the morning by the king slapping her on the bottom. That seemed to be his favorite way to wake her up, which coincidentally was among Sariah’s least favorite ways to be woken up. She took some comfort in the fact that it was a light tingling sting she was left with, and not something more substantial.

“Rouse yourself, my pet, today we move.”

Sariah blinked sleep from her eyes. “Where?”

“Home,” he smiled, promptly disappearing to give orders to other people in need of them.

Home. What was that supposed to mean? Sariah sat in bed for a few discombobulated moments, then pulled a black silk robe on and went out to discover half the encampment missing. Tents had been taken down, supplies packed, horses and mules loaded. The place that had seemed so permanent last night was being dismantled before her eyes.

She wandered amid the activity, going largely unnoticed as the men worked. From their conversations, she gathered that King Griffen had decided to return to the seat of his power rather than continue their original mission to root out rogue barbarian tribes. Many of the men seemed to have the notion that their change in direction was prompted by Sariah’s presence. She heard mutterings that it was all about the king’s new whore, as some of the men called her when Griffen was not in earshot.

The general mood was not low, however; the men seemed eager to return home. They spoke of wives and offspring with a warmth that made tears prick unwept at Sariah’s eyes. She would never experience that feeling again, of coming home after a time away, seeing the home fires burning and knowing that the embrace of her family was not far off.

Sometimes she had taken the sheep days away to pasture, staying on her own for a week or longer. Every homecoming had been celebrated in some quiet way. Her mother had baked fresh bread, and sometimes woven a new skirt or shawl. Her mother was alone now, her father had died long ago, which was why Sariah had become the guardian of the flock. Others in the little village would probably have taken over that duty, but Sariah felt a pang of guilt at having abandoned her mother, even though she had not been given any choice in the matter whatsoever.

They would not have known what had happened to her. To their mind, she would simply have failed to return. The sheep may have made their way back eventually, or perhaps been picked off by predators without Sariah’s staff to see them off.

As the camp was packed down, she felt sadness overwhelming her more and more. By the time Griffen hauled her up to sit astride his mount, her back pressed against his stomach, she was as miserable as she had ever been. The departure from the camp meant the end of any possibility of a return. She was about to be taken further than she would ever be able to walk.

Griffen’s mood was in sharp contrast to hers. He was jovial and good-humored, making conversation with his lieutenants as he led his band of men out into the open countryside. Her silence seemed to go unnoticed for the first hours of their journey. It did not surprise Sariah that she was being ignored. Did a man pay attention to the mood of the rug beneath his feet? Of course not. Griffen had one arm wrapped around her waist, he was sure of her location, and that was all that mattered.

As the hours wore on, the riders spread out more. Griffen rode at the very head of the line, his horse almost half a mile ahead of the others. At first, Sariah did not know why he had chosen to move so far from his men, but it soon became apparent that he intended to speak with her. A private moment stolen in a mass migration.

“The lands become more temperate this way,” Griffen said as they rode, his thick arm still wrapped securely around her waist, his other hand on the reins. The reins seemed more ceremonial than practical, for he put no pressure on the horse’s mouth at all, using his seat and legs to direct the horse. The animal moved as Griffen directed without question or pause.

That was the kind of obedience he wanted from her. Unthinking, unspoken submission. And what would she get in return for that? He would feed her, make sure she was in good condition, and ultimately, use her for his purposes.

“You are very quiet,” Griffen observed, his voice rumbling through the back of her chest. “What are you thinking, my pet?”

“Nothing,” Sariah lied.

“You know I can feel your thoughts,” Griffen said, a slightly teasing lilt to his voice. “You get stiff and serious when you are lost in yours.”

“My thoughts are my own,” Sariah said somewhat tersely. “You have no claim over my mind.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Griffen said. “I want to know what you think, Sariah. I want to know how you feel.”

“Do you?” She looked up over her shoulder. “What would it matter if you knew them?”

“I can only take your feelings into consideration if I am aware of them, Sariah.”

She let out a little snort. “You didn’t take my feelings into consideration when you allowed me to be taken captive.”

“I did not know you then. I know you now. Tell me what has you so heavy, pet.”

“I miss my home,” she admitted, churlishness giving way to honesty. “I miss my flock and my family. I miss freedom.”

He was silent for a moment and then his arm wrapped tighter around her waist, and his lips pressed against the back of her neck.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “But let me ask you this, would you have spent the rest of your life with your flock and your family?”

“Yes,” Sariah said softly. “It was a simple life, but a good one. I chose my own path. I had freedom.”

“You would have been married eventually,” Griffen rumbled. “You would have left the fields and valleys and taken to a home and hearth. You would have been subject to the authority of your husband.”

“I could have chosen a husband with a weak will.”

She felt the rumble of his amusement pass through her again. “A weak-willed man would be broken with you, Sariah. You were not meant for a humble cottage life. You were meant for more.”

“More? You call being the plaything of a bored king more?”

“Plaything?” Griffen laughed. “You are my pet, Sariah, not my plaything.”

“What is the difference?”

“A pet is treasured and trained and cared for. A plaything is simply used for amusement. You know very well the difference. Is it such an impossible thing for you to imagine that I might care for you?”

It was impossible. Sariah knew what she was and what she was not. She was a peasant, a captive, a pet. A man like Griffen might be distracted by a woman like her, but he would inevitably take a noble as his queen. His assurances of care were sweet words to make her compliant. She had seen as much with her cousins being courted by men. Men who had said anything and everything under the stars to make a girl willing.

She said nothing as she was drawn ever deeper into lands she did not recognize. The climate was becoming wetter and more humid, forests growing ever denser. Griffen and his men kept to open ground for the most part, but Sariah could sense the closing in of a world of trees.

There were not many forests in her lands. Pasture interspersed with low rocky hillocks was what she was used to. The towering trees growing so thickly created dark walls that cut off the horizon and made the world seem smaller.

It was nearly midafternoon when Griffen called a halt and ordered his men to set up temporary camp.

“You need to stay in my tent,” he told Sariah as the structure was raised. “The woods are home to predators, and you are not familiar with this kind of terrain. Everything grows differently here. This is no place for a lamb to become lost.”

Sariah did not answer him. She had barely spoken a word since admitting her longing for her home. The dense forest bordering the camp filled her with a sense of foreboding and an ache for more pleasant plains. She waited for the tent to be finished, and wasted no time in entering once it was safe to do so. Griffen followed her in, a frown on his face.

“Are you sulking, or sickening for something?” Griffen pressed his hand to her forehead. “You do not have a fever.”

Homesickness was a kind of illness, Sariah supposed. The bedding was bought in and placed in the usual location. She did not wait for permission to lie down; she simply flopped down on the furs and stared at the tent wall. An audible sigh behind her told her that Griffen was quite mystified by her behavior.