Submissive (27 page)

“You will forget him soon enough,” the Dhjinn murmured, and his face glowed with sweetness as he kissed her mouth.

Poignant sensation filled her mouth now, too. The Dhjinn provoked the same needy physical passion that Sir Vincent and the Warden had. How very close they had come to fulfilling her utterly! And though Gillian had come away from her time with them without the spiritual appeasement she found with Bruce, she would never forget those moments.

The Dhjinn's hips thrust harder now, quickly intensifying her already fevered pleasure. A climax spread through her like runaway lightning. All her strength drained and she panted languidly as her hips moved in synchrony to the Dhjinn's rutting. Yet, it was not the Dhjinn who made her wanton and flushed with adoration—it was the memory of Bruce, which overshadowed even this being's divine talents.

He positioned himself on his elbows over her and slowed his thrusts. His breath was sweet cinders, and sweat dripped from his hair over her breasts. Her pussy contracted lazily about his cock as she waited patiently for him to get up and be done with her.

But he kissed her throat savagely. “No,” he whispered, “it is not done yet, my slave.”

He turned over on his back. With her hands released, Gillian rolled over onto her side and wondered what he meant by this.

The answer came only a moment later when he gathered her by her hair, and rising from the bed, pulled her off and onto her feet. His arms swept around her and he kissed her hungrily. Plunging his hand between her thighs, his scorching fingers met her wet pussy.

“Touch me!” He pressed her hand to his cock. It felt like a silken rod, its base drenched with her juices. He guided her hand to stroke him, and the head of it pulsed against her fingers.

“Yes,” he whispered, “yes…”

He turned Gillian around now and told her to bend over and hold onto the mattress. Her buttocks were thrust out, and now he slapped the mouth of her pussy and ran a finger down her spine. To her sweet despair, he clasped her clit between two fingers, and as he stroked it, her passion roused once again. She moaned, for it was all she could do to keep her hips from undulating and disclosing the sensation he rekindled within her.

He made a satisfied sound that frustrated her further.

“This is my ravenous little pleasure-mouth,” he spoke and Gillian felt ablaze with both anger and sensation.

He entered her sore nether mouth with a strong thrust. His hips worked feverishly, driving deep, slapping strokes that punished her needy core. Gillian cried out, the golden coins rattling melodiously against her quaking, hard nipples. When the Dhjinn reached around her hips and stroked her clit, it burst with sensation. She moaned and fell limp over the mattress. The Dhjinn did not stop. Bowing over her, he gathered her hips and raised them, and continued to stroke her quivering orifice.

She climaxed again, with an intensity that made her every muscle shudder.

Yet, all Gillian could see was the one she truly loved. And as the Dhjinn E'noch lifted her up to her toes and raised her hands high above her head, his breath fell hot upon her shoulders. She felt his discerning thoughts as clearly as his scalding hard member against her buttocks.

He spun her around into his rough embrace. He kissed her, his hands possessively roaming over her limbs and breasts.

“You will love me yet!”

His hands clamped upon her buttocks, and his cock pressed into her navel. His kiss was almost savage, and when he released her at last, he cupped her shoulders and pushed her to her knees on the floor.

Gillian was shocked by her own primal desire. Her body ached with mindless passion, her panting mouth moistened. The Dhjinn's gaze was intent as he stroked her bottom lip with a thumb.

“Love me with your mouth,” he said, and though her body ached to do just that, the word “love” struck her as a cruel mockery.

Her lips opened and she drew the unearthly head into her mouth. Its sweat was spicy to her tongue, and as she started to suck, her whole mouth and throat tingled. But his member was huge, impossible to take fully, so she sucked the head and fore-front of the shaft. The effort acted to intensify her desire. Her hips rocked and she moaned, though whether this was for his touch or the desire to release him fully, she wasn't sure. And it pleased her in a carnal way to see his features tighten, his eyes closed as he enjoyed her. Her vision blurred then, and all she saw was Bruce's face.

Yet, he never came, and when several moments later he withdrew, she felt devastated. She knew it should be a triumph of a kind that he had not climaxed, but then she recalled the earlier spanking, and winced with dread of his disappointment.

But he only regarded her with an uncertain look that accentuated the physical desire he'd expounded.

“Up now, my willful, pretty disciple,” he bade, and wrapping her hair about his hand, guided her to her feet.

He led her out of the bedchamber. As he passed the sofa, Gillian realized he was leading her toward the place with the niche with the metal hook and chained loops dangling from the ceiling. She panicked and whimpered, to which he responded by lifting her about the waist and carrying her into the niche.

The loops, she saw now, were in fact iron manacles.

“No,” she whispered, and her eyes flooded with frightened tears.

“I am patient, Gillian,” he said soberly. He released her hair and grasped her hand instead. His clasp was immobile, she found, and suddenly she almost regretted remembering Bruce…

“But your willfulness is stronger than I'd imagined. You will spend the night thinking about the consequences of willfulness.”

Gillian's body quivered with a burgeoning frenzy that strangely heightened her fear and resigned her to it.

“You know my men wait outside. Now, you shall either raise your hands, or I shall have them raised for you.”

As irksome as the vainglorious Dhjinn was, the thought of others coming in to help him bind her and see her helplessness seemed insufferable.

She frowned darkly but lifted her arms. The Dhjinn inhaled deeply and opened the manacles, one and then the other. He closed one about her left wrist and Gillian's heart jumped. When she heard the metal snap about her right wrist, her mind reeled and she gasped for air.

“Please,” she wept. “Oh, please…I will behave, I promise to behave!”

His grim features lightened a little, and a rueful smile crossed his lips. He smoothed the errant strands of hair from her face.

“Your misconduct is deep-rooted, my dearest. Far more deeply than you know. But I promise it shall be corrected. Soon, I suspect, your psyche will be cleansed, and you will submit willingly, passionately, as you are expected.”

Her tears flowed heavily down her cheeks as he stepped back into the sitting room and opened the wardrobe. From it he took a long strap of leather. As he strode back into the niche, Gillian's eyes widened to see the oblong leather bit attached in the center.

“Open your mouth, Gillian.”

She twisted her head this way and that, and heard him sigh.

“Do it. Either of your own accord, or I shall compel you with that whip on the wall.”

She saw the canister where the whip was placed. Her pussy quickened and her heart beat harder.

Her voice trembled, “Please, have mercy…”

With his fingers the Dhjinn gently pried open her lips. And as the bit entered and stuffed her mouth, immodest warmth flushed through Gillian's thighs.

He tied the strap at the back of her head securely. “I am nothing if not merciful.”

She stomped her feet and pulled at the binding manacles. He regarded her coolly a second or two, then he took the whip from the canister. Gillian's terrified shout was a muffled noise.

He cracked the whip against his palm. Gillian jumped; her body shivered hotly.

“I may whip you in a little while. I may wait to do so in an hour or so,” he said. “It is not for you to know, but to dread and contemplate upon. Such thoughts will help subdue your will and make you more ready to demonstrate acceptable behavior.”

Gillian glared at him, hating him and this place where he was sovereign. And yet, his cool beauty seemed overpowering in itself. She wept harder, stomping her feet again in protest against all she'd experienced, and more so, for the rampant desire he'd managed to evoke in her.

But he left her then, taking the whip with him. Gillian turned as much as possible, but the chains would not give enough. All she could see was the stone wall of the niche.

After a time Gillian was overcome with fatigue. Her head fell upon one shoulder. But the day's unsettling events were beginning to fade away. Uncertain but tender images filled her mind and all thought of the Dhjinn left her. Even the bothersome weight of her body upon the manacles seemed to belong to a different reality.

She almost was asleep when the first stinging blow of the crop fell across her buttocks and roused her to a new frustration.

L
ife in the Disciplinary had taken on a rhythmic routine for Gillian. Hours of labor on the mill interrupted by whatever arousing torture the guards fancied for the day, followed by more grinding hours at the mill. She fell asleep each night with her backside scalding and her sex wet and pulsating, craving more, wanting the ultimate sensation. Her heart beat with trepidation at sight of the guards. She held no antipathy for them, only respect for their talent to bring her and the others to full arousal without climax. Not once while in their custody had she been truly harmed.

The other prisoners came and went, and one day Gillian was awakened for breakfast to discover that none of her original Disciplinary mates were still there. Some of the new ones she recognized from the harem. But she never had a chance to speak to any of them, even on the few occasions when the guards removed their gags and herded them in single file to the shower room. Renier, the guard, had masterful eyes that lorded over them while they entered the stall, two at a time. Silent they remained, blushing and wet as they soaped and scrubbed one another.

At least, Gillian consoled herself, it was not so frustrating or intimidating as when the Mistress had governed her in the shower.

By morning Gillian was awakened by the guard Dylan telling her that it was time to get up. He was raising the pillory when her eyes opened, and this time he unfastened the gag himself. As he helped her to sit up, Gillian saw the Mistress standing close by. The woman had her back to the pillory as she spoke very quietly with Renier. Gillian's heart skipped a beat, but she stifled a whimper as Dylan led her to the chamber pot.

The steady, deep breathing of the other girls revealed that they were still asleep in their pillories. And when Gillian had relieved herself, Dylan took her by the hand and led her to the Mistress.

It was this Mistress who had taken Gillian to the Disciplinary. Sister of the Dhjinn host, this fiercely beautiful being was lithe and majestic of height, with a perfectly oval face and dusky golden skin. She donned now a sleeveless black dress and leather boots that soared to the thighs of her long legs. Her long-lidded hazel eyes regarded Gillian.

The Mistress's smile was almost warm. “Here is my brother's spoiled betrothed,” she said. “Your time here is over. I trust you have learned a lesson that will not be shortly forgotten?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Gillian quickly answered. Her head bowed as swiftly, as if the gesture had become second nature.

Gillian was naked as she followed the Mistress through the hall that led to the heart of the harem. It was just as Gillian remembered, even to the weepy faces that peered at her through the spectacle portals down the exterior wall. But once they'd entered the harem chamber, she felt something was different. As she followed the Mistress through the little groups of harem girls, she realized what it was: Martine was gone. Esther was still there, bossing the girls lined up for their morning bouts in the exercise wheel. And in the very back of the room, sitting in a high-backed chair that allowed him to survey all the room at once, sat a man Gillian did not recognize. He appeared to be a man, anyway. But as she followed the Mistress toward him, she realized this being possessed more Dhjinnish features than human. He was slighter, more refined of features, with hair and thick eyebrows of blue-sheened black. But the scales of his face and hands gave him away. On one of his earlobes was clasped a fan-shaped piece of silver filigree, dotted with tiny dark gems. He wore a wondrous clingy robe of black, over which hung a silvery iron latticework cloth. As he rose to meet them, this latticework, Gillian saw, was not actually part of the robe, but hovered close to the fabric.

The Mistress snapped her fingers toward the floor. Gillian got to her knees in mindless response, and it was then she caught the bitter little dimples at the corners of the creature's mouth.

“This is your temporary harem Master, Gillian,” the Mistress said.

Gillian had an uncomfortable suspicion that Martine was not far away facing her own type of punishment.

“So it seems,” the Master remarked.

The Mistress's eyes narrowed and Gillian could almost feel the antipathy between her and the Master. A bland smile spread across his face, and he reached down and touched the crown of Gillian's head. His fingers brushed through her hair. His touch was much gentler than his bearing.

“Very pretty,” he said contemplatively. “Our king chose well.”

The Mistress said impatiently, “As I said before, have her prepared and ready this evening.”

“I will not forget.”

The Mistress replied in a hard, silky tone, “You had best not.” She stepped close beside the master, and whispered something in his ear. Gillian saw her hand flit to his crotch and fondle his scrotum. He tensed, and his head bowed just as Gillian's own had a little while earlier.

“I will not forget, Mistress,” he promised again.

The Mistress turned and walked out, and Gillian felt the master's arm tremble as he parted her hair over her neck and stroked the nape. He seemed thoughtful as he watched the Mistress depart.

But then he smiled sardonically. “If she were only male, eh, Gillian?”

Gillian flushed. She wasn't sure what he meant, but the words brought back the memories of the Mistress's imperious manner at the shower. Suddenly Gillian realized she might never be alone again with the dominating woman…and an unexpected heaviness filled her heart.

“But I will have you clean and lovely for our comely host,” the Master went on absently. “In the meantime, be sure to behave yourself.”

 

Gillian did obey, and after the morning meal, the Master told Esther that she was to be given a break from the morning workout. So instead of waiting to take her turn inside the exercise wheel, she was at liberty to reacquaint herself with her budding friendship with Lil, Holly, and Summer.

They were all kind enough not to ask about her time in the Disciplinary, nor mention the fact that she, of all the harem girls, had been allowed nothing to wear that day. From time to time Gillian's eyes wandered over to the wall where those serving their time in the spectacle portals kneeled. The line of pink backsides brought heated, mingled emotions, so lenient did this humiliating punishment seem compared to the Disciplinary.

She remembered the gag she'd worn and a part of her seemed lost without the leather bit glutting her mouth.

Once, she saw Esther order two girls, a tall redhead and an ample-breasted blonde, to go up and heighten the punishment of those kneeling. With deft hands they stroked the reared, exposed pussies, until the hips of the punished wriggled and writhed, and their hands clawed at their captured necks. Their tormenters slapped their swaying breasts and pinched their nipples. Esther brought them a long, thick dildo of leather. The pair took turns using it to spank the nether mouths they had excited, until the wet slapping sounds made them rock with laughter. And then, to Gillian's alarm, the redhead pressed the dildo into the anus of one of the punished. As she worked the leather back and forth in her victim's orifice, the blonde massaged the punished one's breasts. Gillian stared at the three, and she saw the slick juices that trickled down the thighs of the punished girl. Her body was suffused all over and gilded brightly with her own sweat.

“Do not feel sorry for her,” Lil said. “Jeya has been nursing a snappy mood for days now. The portal will cure her tart tongue!”

Jeya? Gillian had not recognized her face down the hall. Of course, their faces had all been so red and wet with tears. Gillian could guess the cause for her mood…and wondered now how Abraham fared, and if ever he would have the chance to have Jeya for himself. She sensed now that indeed her suspicion had been right and that Jeya returned his love. Contemplating this, Gillian's resentment for what she had been robbed of returned in force.

She didn't know that she wept until Lil drew her aside from the others and offered her a cloth for her tears.

“You need to stop grieving for this man,” Lil whispered, “it will never gain you the trust of our king.”

Gillian was surprised, and asked with a sniff, “How do you know what's on my mind?”

“It's as clear as your eyes. You must be happy, Gillian…most of us are.” Lil's voice took a cheery lilt, “You should know that the king can be most generous. And oh, think on how handsome he is. Surely you didn't forget this while you were away?”

Gillian shook her head. She confided very quietly, “I don't care, Lil. I love another!”

Lil frowned and rubbed her shoulder. “Ah, but you can love our king as well. He will be a master most affectionate if you let him.”

“I have a master,” Gillian said despondently. “Can't you understand that? I have a master, and he is the only one I will ever love! The king stole away that which I treasure more than anything. He severed me from the other half of my very soul!”

The uncertain expression on the girl's face was telling. Gillian squeezed her eyes against the next stinging tear and said, “You've never loved anyone besides your Dhjinn Master, have you?”

“No.” Lil kissed her cheek. “Oh, Gillian! I hope you will come to know love with your Master. But if you can't, at least, I wish you pleasure.”

Gillian couldn't help but smile a little.

 

After the harem had all taken their customary afternoon naps, the Master escorted Gillian to the bathing pool. He had brought along a basket of bath supplies and towels, and told her that she was to clean herself.

“Without abusing the privilege, of course,” he added with a hard smile.

Inside the cozy cavern with its gem-encrusted walls the pool beckoned to Gillian. All she desired was to wash away the sweat of the Disciplinary. Hidden light imparted a tranquil blue shade to the water, one that Gillian hoped would help give her a little peace from the acute and lingering passion the guards had provoked during her incarceration.

The Master set down the basket and towels and asked, “Now, how do you prefer the temperature of your water?”

“Very warm when possible, Master.”

He knelt down by the poolside and stretched an arm over the water. His forefinger touched the surface, making a soft indentation. She heard him utter some unfamiliar words.

“There,” he said, rising. “I will be back in a short while. I must order the Dame of Wardrobe to bring something very special for you to wear tonight.”

Gillian felt a twinge of new dread, and asked quickly, “May I have permission to speak?”

He gave her a smile that so thoroughly softened his features that for a second he looked human to her. “I know already—you wish to know the meaning of the occasion?”

“Yes.”

“A banquet our king has ordered in honor of Queen Marianne's departure tonight. Are you acquainted with the good queen?”

“Yes.” Gillian felt a blush creep into her cheeks.

“As I hear it, it was for this alone that your release from the Disciplinary was ordered. So be sure, pretty Gillian, to act with utmost grace tonight. This is your opportunity to impress the king's more simple-minded brothers—to show them all that you are indeed worth the possible danger he's put us all in by taking you from Nemi.”

Gillian was startled by the words. She'd almost forgotten about the Ur'theriems. She wondered suddenly why they had not yet come to challenge the king and demand her back. The Ur'theriems were supposed to defend against those who would steal Nemian women. Why had they not come?

And as she looked at the Master's face, she wondered, too, about what he'd just revealed to her.

“Do you not resent me, Master?”

He looked at her, and his countenance was sublime tranquillity. “Why would I? In our world—our realm, our element, as you might say—passion is the foundation of existence. Our king's passion for you is a hallowed thing. I respect him for this, unlike many of our kindred who have transcended the planes of our primary existence. Their limited mindsets refuse to appreciate that which was, is, in all planes and times.”

Gillian frowned and thought on this.
True,
she thought,
and yet I am afraid of those others, the freed kin. And where, oh where, are the Ur'theriems?

Yet, she was torn by a sudden vision of violence and death.

“However,” she heard the Master say quietly, as if he were thinking aloud, “he himself is limited by other ingrained beliefs.”

She didn't know at all what he meant by this. And she was overwhelmed suddenly with guilt. “I am a danger to you all. It would be better if I were to die!”

He lifted a stern brow as he regarded her. “Why should you wish such a thing? There is no real death, Gillian, only the illusion of mortality. As a Disciple of Pleasure, I'd think you had learned that by now.” His countenance softened and he patted her chin affectionately. “You are a component of the Eternal Ones. Your fantasies, those things to which you are drawn, are integral parts of their reality. Whatever your most secret desires, they will manifest, if you only know they will. So enjoy the saga, Gillian—enjoy being. We are as the Eternal Ones wish us all to be. It is when we reject that wish that we divorce ourselves from Them and wed the Great Lie, which is death and its deceits”