"It doesn't matter... I think I rather like it like this, actually. I can see the disgust in her eyes but in my arms she'll be nothing but pliable, eh? Do whatever I think to want? Just toss me the rings."
Apologetically, "I cannot yet. They require a technician to reset ownership. A precaution. I've asked one in for tomorrow, but it's a feast day, so overmorrow's the soonest."
"That's fucking absurd, Ryas. You'll just have to stay then. I can't wait. I've heard that once they've had a taste they become insatiable little sluts. Just need to fuck them once and they're addicted, something in our cum. Can you imagine? Look at this!"
He's shoved her legs apart. She's paler there, bare, her outer labia a soft plum purple, paler and creamier in the center. He spreads her with his fingers as if admiring a work of art, revealing a hint of silky pink. The master, Ryas, shrugs his shoulders and sits down near the wall, behind her. "If you wish."
The lord grins at her, pushing her over. She's never felt so exposed, so helpless. With one hand he fondles her chest, painfully twisting her small nipples. He's tugging himself out of his pants, manhood heavy in his hands, purplish and veined and suddenly he's on top of her, putting it up to her entrance. She thinks it won't fit. Surely it won't fit. He's pushing and for a moment she feels victorious, muscles resisting all on their own... and then her body, betraying her, lets him force himself in. One sudden painful inch, then two. Her eyes won't let her cry; they burn, instead. The best she can do is try to not see, try to not feel. He keeps thrusting, pushing, until she's full of him completely and they're joined together. He begins to pull away and she wonders dazedly if it's over before he slams back into her and she realizes, resigned, that it is not and perhaps it never will be.
There are a few traitorous sensations of pleasure, of wanting more, but thankfully almost as soon as they register he's over, spurting inside of her. "Oh, fuck! What a tight little cunt. Yes! Damn," he laughs, stroking a rough finger through her dark tresses, getting to his feet and pulling his pants back on. "Break her in. I want her eager to please by the time she's fully mine," he slurs to Ryas, walking away, urges satisfied.
The master finally comes into view, shutting the door. He turns around and Ariel can do nothing but look at him from the bed. He's blond with short, scruffy hair, a trimmed beard. He doesn't bother to speak to her, simply cocks a finger and forces her to stand, to walk over to a wash basin she hadn't known was there and sponge away what was leaking from between her legs, then return to lie down on the bed. He's visibly hard behind his pants, and she feels the disgust simmering under fear slowly rising. He puts a hand on her but, unexpectedly, does not remove his pants. Instead he has her turn on her front and touches her. Probing, strangely gentle fingers brushing ointment over bruises the lord has left, palming her shoulders, running knuckles down her spine, rubbing a soft unguent into her hips. He has her turn over again and now he's stroking her sore nipples and areola, her abdomen, gliding fingertips over her upper thighs and between her legs until despite herself her mind sinks into a meditative state. She's so tired, limp and used. She's gone days without real sleep, and the people of her Calypso lineage burn swift. He's rubbing in tiny circles around her entrance, and with no conscious desire to, she finds herself growing wet.
Slowly, questingly, he rubs over her clit and now she's leaking. He looks down at her and with no expression on his face, pushes his index finger inside her, and then partially releases her from her paralyses... only one part of her body is now under her control. She clenches down and then tries to stop and fails. She can help it no more than when he was in total control; her body needs it. Even just this tiny amount of pleasure is enough to make her crave more. He seems to know exactly what she's thinking, loosening his drawstring to reveal his long, thick member. He rests it in her hand and, using the ring, forces her to begin stroking it. Her mouth opens despite her fighting against it, all the while clenching down on his finger within her. He pulls the finger out, crouches on the bed, and slowly begins to fuck her mouth. His hand strokes her horns, fingers rubbing their bases and tracing the tips, making her whimper around his cock.
He has her licking the tip with her tongue, her tiny mouth just barely big enough to fit the first few inches of his stiff cock before he forces her throat to relax and starts to shove his way further in. She's terrified, she feels as if she's drowning. Just as she thinks she can't take it any more, he pulls away and comes over her chest with a low groan. He doesn't stop there, but lowers his now-flushed cock to her opening, guiding it in to her velvety pussy. She squeezes him tightly, a perfect fit; he feels a moment of sheer bliss there as she clenches around him again and again, desperate to find her release.
The fight simmers somewhere at the back of her mind. But she's overwhelmed with need, now, and the way she's squeezing him is unmistakeable. He begins to thrust inside her, soft and deep strokes that make her juices soak the sheets below. Her face seems to tingle, and suddenly an orgasm hits her meltingly. When she stops seeing stars, he's still fucking her rhythmically, bringing her to a second crest before he cums again, pumping seed deep inside her. He doesn't let her wash herself this time. Instead, he pulls her to a chair, allows her to sit before a table and chew her way through a loaf of bread and some cheese, a tankard of metallic water to quench her thirst: she still can't control words, though she tries. As she eats and drinks, she feels the wetness pooling below, uncomfortably sticky against her inner thighs. She looks down and wishes she hadn't, the wet, pearly glisten of cum revolting her even as she feels her breath quicken and a warm pulse between her legs. She feels sudden hopelessness washing over her with the knowledge that she'll never truly be free: That whatever happens, she'll always want and need this. Over and over.
