The Chieftain’s Daughter (2 page)

Chapter Two

Ishara’s skin blazed like someone had lit it on fire, and if it was not for the gold, her tan, freckled cheeks might have been a shade of soft pink. Thankfully she could not shame herself that much, and once she was in the tent of the Manahotchi chief, she allowed herself to cool down.

The spacious tent was almost too much for just one man, with a cooking pit, a sleeping area, and a space for a spirit shrine. From the burning embers in the fire pit, a warm orange glow shrouded everything surrounding them, warming the space and protecting her from the chilly, autumn bite.

“Follow,” Mechan ordered over his shoulder.

Ishara shook her head.

The chief spun around and approached her in three long strides. He grabbed her by the collar, his breath heating her face. “You will follow.”

Ishara muttered against the gag, but her words all sounded the same—useless. The Manahotchi chief towered inches above her head. He had the same skin tone as her with defined, chiseled muscles throughout his arms, chest, and thighs. The fine lines around his eyes and mouth spoke of age and experience, but this did not make him any less attractive.

The chieftain tugged on her chains and forced her to keep moving. Her feet shuffled in the dirt, leaving long, dragging tracks where she walked. They passed through one tent and into another, smaller, more private area. Piles of animal pelts blanketed the floor. The thick, bristly hair tickled the soles of her feet.

The chief shoved her down by the shoulders to sit. “If I unbind your mouth, and you so much as speak above a whisper, I will bind you again and leave you alone for days.”

Ishara did not move her head this time. Nor did she make a noise. The older man’s large callused hands brushed against her cheeks as he reached behind her head and under her dreads to unknot the gag. The way his fingers worked behind her neck and the proximity of the hulking man took Ishara’s breath away—from fear and something else she’d only had a hint at.

“There.” He sat back once more. “My name is Mechan. I am the chief of this tribe and your new owner.”

“No one owns me,” Ishara said. “Let my people go.”

The chieftain blinked but was otherwise unfazed. “Defiant one. I own you. For the rest of your days, unless I say otherwise, you will be working in my tent, keeping me company, providing for me…doing whatever it is I tell you to do.” Mechan stared across the darkness at Ishara. “And your people will stay here. They are also my slaves now.” The light from the warming fire in the main part of the tent did not reach this secluded place, making Mechan’s eyes dark and inky.

“Perhaps you did not hear me.” Ishara leaned forward, her chains clinking together. “I…belong…to…nobody.”

As soon as the words cleared her mouth, Mechan had his hand around her neck and the cuff that collared her. Anger boiled within his gaze. It was a small victory even if she could hardly breathe. His stern expression softened and the fire in his eyes faded. He released her, and she gasped for air, grasping her throat.

“Who do you belong to?” The chief demanded once more.

Ishara stared at him and did not reply either way. She would keep her small victory, even if it killed her.

He grunted and moved on. “Your name?”

“Ishara.” She would give him that. Her name would be preferable to being called Slave.

“Ishara, daughter of the pig Oolani chieftain.”

She spit at the Manahotchi chief. “My father will always be more a man than you.”

When she thought he would have her head for sure, all the older man did was wipe the spittle off his cheek with the back of his hand. Nothing she did gave her the reaction she wanted.

Silence filled the small space. She shifted in her place, fidgeting with the furs beneath her. It was most dangerous when the world fell silent, or at least, that is what her father taught her. She rearranged herself where she sat, rubbing at where the iron had begun to cut into the soft skin of her wrists.

This drew Mechan’s attention back to her. He grabbed a wooden bowl of water and a cloth. “I will unbind you, but if you run, you will be killed, and I’ve not had to kill a woman in many, many years.”

He stuck a key into the manacle’s lock and the cuffs dropped to the ground, freeing Ishara’s hands. The chief also unbound the binding around her ankles that had begun to wear into her skin. He did not, however, unlock her collar, and the weight of the chains hurt her neck.

“My father will come for me and our people.”

Mechan grabbed one of Ishara’s wrists. She jerked back, but couldn’t break his hold. He ignored the struggle and carefully turned her arms over to expose the undersides where thin cuts marred her wrists. Mechan dragged a cloth over them, wiping away the blood. The gentle brush of the rag increased her heart rate. It beat with both fear and fury. How could a man be so dominating and gentle at the same time?

“That might be so, little one.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Yes. There is no more to say. He may come, and we will be ready for him.” Mechan dropped one of Ishara’s wrists and held out his hand.

She placed her left hand in his without thought, watching him with a scrutinizing gaze. “If he finds me and I am not in the same state that I left my tribe, there will not be any mercy.”

Like some dark creature, Mechan’s gaze flashed over her. “You mean, if you return without your virginity?”

Heat chased her skin beneath the gold dust. “Yes.”

Mechan snorted and dropped her arm. “Don’t worry. You may die a virgin for all I care.”

Stunned, Ishara blinked a few times, and fought the frown tipping the corners of her lips. If he did not release her, and did not use her, she would die in this camp a maiden.

“You are upset? Should this not make you happy?”

Ishara recalled the touch of the women in the tent. She yearned to know more about those mysterious feelings. “Does this not defeat my purpose?”

Again, the chief snorted. “There are many other uses for slaves, little one.”

“Do not call me that,” Ishara demanded.

Her focus shifted down to the hands that had held her so gently. His fingers were much thicker than the women’s.

She wet her dry lips before asking, “Then what will you do with me, if you will not do that?”

“I don’t know,” Mechan responded without looking at her. “It has been many years since I have had a slave. I usually leave them for my men.”

Outside of the tent, Ishara heard some of his men laughing, and between their rowdy guffaws, women wept. It angered her. “How could you let men do that to those poor women?”

“For tonight,” Mechan corrected, “I have plans.” Anger stained his words as he watched her. “I cannot leave this tent without being covered in gold. Your gold.” He grimaced around that fact. “It would be against our tradition, and my people will think me ungrateful. As for those women, your people did it to themselves.”

She scooted back. “You said that I would be a virgin.”

Mechan turned and hurried from the room, returning after he’d retrieved a painted jug. He sat down in front of Ishara and popped the corked wedged into the crude container. Once more his presence immediately filled the entirety of the room. Tipping the mouthpiece in her direction, he finally responded, “You will be.”

He drank from the jug, long drags, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. She thought he might have emptied it all on his own, but when he lowered it and shoved it under her nose, the liquid left inside sloshed around. “Drink.”

Ishara took the jug, but she certainly did not do what she was told. No one ordered her around. Even if he did not want to believe her, she was no one’s slave. Instead, she sniffed the jug, frowning at the coppery, metallic smell. Blood. The same blood from when they had her caged, maybe. “What is this?”

“A potion. You will drink it, and when the morning comes, you’ll have a headache and that is all.” Mechan stared at her, his gaze slowly drifting down her bare chest, over her stomach and lower. The hunger in his eyes, heated her pussy once more. “Drink it.”

She had no choice. There was nowhere for her to go, and if she didn’t listen, he might not let the other women go. She would have to be patient and perhaps earn the chieftain’s trust so that when she did break free, it would be unexpected.

The warm, thick liquid had the aftertaste of blood and strong spirits made from the wild plants growing near her home. It made her body feel tingly and almost numb, but when she drank the rest, confusion settled over her.

Mechan drank nearly three quarters of the brew himself before he reached out with one of his brawny hands and pulled her closer to him with a simple tug to her waist. Compared to her thin, well-toned form, Mechan was large and could easily overpower her.

Dizzy, she found herself in Mechan’s lap, seated with her legs draped over one of his thighs, and her arms sprawled backward over the other. He ran his hand up her body, over the tightness of her stomach and between her breasts. The gold smeared where he touched, and when his fingers reached her neck, Ishara wondered if he would choke her here to teach her a lesson. She couldn’t focus enough to stand her ground, and that wonderful, warm feeling started to grow in her eager cunt once more.

Mechan’s other hand snaked up into Ishara’s dread locks, grabbing a handful of the cords with a fierce tug. A low growl rose in the base of his throat, and under her ass she felt the pressure of his hardening cock. Ishara moaned and arched her back, desperately trying to get the chieftain to touch her again. Whatever she drank had heightened her senses, and when Mechan caressed her, she felt a thousand of his hands on her at once, like the women with the gold dust. Her sight grew red with lust, and she lost herself.

As Ishara pushed her mound against Mechan’s hand, he grasped onto her hair again, keeping her neck tilted back so that she could only see his face. He slid his fingers down past her breasts, which hungered to be touched. Ishara held her breath as his hand continued past her navel and eventually down between her thighs to the shameful heat of her pussy. Mechan rumbled; the sound began to vibrate from his hard stomach pressed against her hip bone.

He pushed his fingers between her slick folds, teasing and tormenting her swollen flesh before retreating. After staring at her mouth, he smeared her warm honey across her lips.

“Taste yourself,” he grunted, forcing his fingers into her mouth.

Ishara had never tasted her own passion before. She never knew of the fire that warmed inside her, causing her to become moist and wet. Lapping at his fingers, she moaned louder when he pulled back on her dreads, forcing her mouth open.

After she’d licked his fingers clean, Mechan wasted no time with pushing them back between her legs. His thumb nudged her nether lips apart, and one of his fingers caressed her little nub. Fiercely, almost too roughly, Mechan circled his fingertip around her clit, and it hardened, becoming more sensitive. Her body jolted with a pleasure never experienced before, and her juices ran down her thighs and onto his. She tried to lift her head up as her back arched, and her hips greedily pushed down into the chieftain’s fingers. Her body worked on its own, driving her to do whatever it was she had to do to seek that release. But as Ishara lifted her head, Mechan pulled her hair down, keeping her in his chosen position—her legs spread, chin back, and neck exposed. Mechan’s cock throbbed against Ishara’s ass, and every time she moved or settled back into his lap, the chief groaned deep within his chest.

Just as Ishara thought she would explode, he stopped. He withdrew his fingers, pulling lines of sweet honey along with them as he set his hand on the inside of her thigh. The chieftain stared down at Ishara, his black eyes unsettling and almost cold.

Ishara wanted to scream at him. Stopping now was so cruel. She yearned to press her thighs together in order to abate the sensation between them, but Mechan pushed on her knee, keeping her legs firmly apart, letting the cool air lap against her swollen clitoris.

“Beg for it,” Mechan growled.

Beg? Ishara smirked and tried to draw her knees together. “I do not beg.”

“You’ll beg if you seek your release, or you’ll not get it before I make you bring on mine.”

A breeze swirled around the tent, and Ishara’s skin formed goose bumps as she shuddered both from the cold and from the torturing, wispy touch against her pussy. Oolani women did not beg—and certainly not the chief’s daughter. Whatever she desired, all she had to do was ask for it, and her father provided it to her.

But this feeling…this feeling overwhelmed her, and she could not stand being on the edge of what could be an exploding, ecstatic moment, or a nagging, torturing presence that would never go away. It could make her insane. It would. She was sure of it.

With no choice left, she submitted. “Please…please do not stop.”

Mechan growled in approval and inched his fingers closer. “Again.”

He angered her now. “Please!” She tried to writhe against him, anything to experience his fingers back on her.

And it worked.

Mechan’s fingers, which were still wet from her cunt juices, returned to her throbbing lips and button. He pinched her clit, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, and jiggled it. Ishara lost control. She bit back a scream with each jolt of pleasure. Her muscles tensed, rigid and uncontrolled, half-aware people outside could probably here her.

When she opened her eyes, her body shuddering with the aftershock of coming, she found the chieftain staring at her. Ishara shifted uncomfortably. The way he looked at her, lustful and unforgiving, excited her even more.

“Now, it is my turn.”

* * *

Mechan’s heart raced. He could not hide the fact that his cock eagerly ached for release. Every time her ass grazed against the head of his shaft, Mechan had to steel himself not to push her down and take her. The chieftain had not had a woman since the death of his wife. It became common practice to relieve his tensions himself, but even jerking off lost its appeal after time.