Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Adult Excerpt The Taming of Jaelle'n

The Traming of Jaelle'n by Deirdre O'Dare==buy ink:

Jaelle'n is suspicious and somewhat fearful of Aguilar, her new master, but he still fascinates her. He is just beginning her training here. And we are dipping a toe into some subtle BDSM!!

As if he suddenly recalled where he was, Aguilar looked at her again. "Aye, it is now time to learn how to enjoy complete loss of control. Have you ever been with a man, Jayla?"
"How--er--no, not in that way. It was not permitted. I was to go pure into marriage with my father's choice for his successor as war leader. I was to be the ruler, but a woman could not lead the armies of Cymrydda into war. That much of leadership I must share with he who would father the next high king."
"So you are virgin, as the auctioneer said." He chuckled. "I suspected, but was not sure."
Jaelle'n cursed the fair northern skin that would not hide her blushes. She felt the radiant heat in her face and throat and knew her skin flamed bright. She should no longer be embarrassed, but she was. "A slave has no need of modesty," he had said. "Not by my own choice," she snapped, "but by the necessity of custom. I know I am old for that state, but I was to be wed this high summer's day."
"And how old are you? I would say young in the span of my grandmother's folk, even in my own, since I have enough of that blood to lengthen my life."
"I am eighteen summers."
He nodded. "A good enough age with many fine seasons yet ahead of you. But we will not advertise your age to potential buyers since they have little understanding of these things. If you train well, they will see only your beauty and youthful appearance and be satisfied." He rose from the bed. "Stand."
As she came to her feet, she found herself almost touching him from shoulder to toes and took a hasty step backward.
Again he chuckled. "You have naught to fear, Jayla. Have you not yet learned that my touch does not burn you?"
He reached under the bed and brought out the other two filigreed bands with chains attached. Quickly, slickly, he clasped the bands around her ankles. Then, he reached again under the edge of the bed and came out with four chains--the opposite ends of those that were linked to her bonds.
"A good pleasure slave must know how to receive as well as how to give pleasure. As a virgin, I expect you have no knowledge of these things, so we must teach you all. It is best that you be restrained to get full benefit from the early lessons. If you do not resist, there will be no pain."
Carelessly holding the chains in one hand, he walked to the head of the bed. Jaelle'n followed, taking care not to let the chains pull tight. From her place at the foot of the bed, she had thought the head sat against the wall. She now realized that was not the case. He drew aside the curtains to reveal an alcove behind the bed. On the wall, she saw a series of rings mounted in the stone. Before she could wonder what they were for, she found out.
With a smooth and impersonal touch, he turned her and backed her up to the wall. He visually measured her height against the rings, selected two, near level with her shoulders, and slipped the chains of her wristlets through the rings, drawing them up until her arms were extended straight out from her body. Then he secured her feet, pulling the chains until she stood with her legs apart, the length of at least two of her feet between her ankles.
The wall at her back felt cool and smooth, almost damp. She leaned against it, weakness washing over her as apprehension built in her mind. What's going to happen? What is he going to do? Whatever it was, she could not resist or evade. Indeed, she could not move more than a few inches, and that only by arching her back or pressing herself tight against the wall.
As Aguilar turned away, he gave a sharp whistle. Within moments, three small golden-skinned women appeared. Two carried large plumes and the third a bundle of thin withes. He spoke to them in a language Jaelle'n could not understand. The three all giggled, clearly amused by his orders or explanation.
One went around the bed and returned with a padded bench. Aguilar sat on it, across the alcove from Jaelle'n. Then the three women approached her. One with a huge tawny feather raised the plume and brushed it across Jaelle'n's face. For a moment, she thought she would sneeze, but she controlled the urge.
All over her face the feather traced, tickling and yet tantalizing. Under her chin, down her throat, across her lips, then slowly down between her breasts and across her stomach. Her muscles drew tight, but she held herself still. By exercise of will, she would control her response.
"Too easy," Aguilar said.
He spoke again to one of the small women. She scurried out to return with a silken scarf. Aguilar took it from her. He stepped up to Jaelle'n and quickly wrapped the band around her head, covering her eyes.
What a difference that made. Blind, she could not guess where the next touch would be, the next tickle or stroke. Her skin quivered as she had seen a horse's hide move, trying to shake off a fly. Every bit of her skin tensed, awaiting the next touch. She shivered, gasped and fought to hold still.
Suddenly, sharp stings replaced the silky strokes, once across her upper thighs and again, just beneath her breasts. The strikes left burning tingles, not true pain, but a sharp contrast to the feather's touches. Then she recalled the withes, not just one, but a whole bundle of them. She could be switched to agony! She bit her lip to hold back a moan. This added a whole new dimension to her torment. Tickle or sting? She had no way to know what to expect, no way to prepare for the sensation.
Something that felt like a small animal's soft fur brushed across her stomach, followed by a stinging slash. A feather teased the soft inner skin inside her elbows, behind her knees. It was horrible, but also intensely exciting. Her breasts grew full and heavy, the nipples swelling and stiff. Hot, slick moisture pooled between her legs. She quivered, sagging until the chains pulled on her wrists. Then her whole body drew taut and tense, every muscle going tight, waiting, an aching awareness centering somewhere beneath the arch of her ribs, behind the dimple of her navel and above the moist heat of her nether slit.
She had no way to measure how long the delicious, distressing torture continued. Tickles and slashes, strokes and brushes and cuts. Finally a whimper broke free. "Please, please." She trembled so she could hardly stand, muscles aching with their tension, yet unable to relax. When she sagged slightly, it put painful pressure on her wrists, and her hands grew numb.
"Please what, Slave?"
Aguilar's voice was too close! She felt the whisper of his breath across her throat, her cheeks, now moist with the sheen of sweat. Then hands cupped her breasts, his, by the size and strength of them. He brushed his thumbs across her erect nipples. She felt the touch clear to her toes. He stroked his hands down her sides to her hips and back up to her breasts.
"Is your body awake now, Slave? Does it want, does it need something?"
His words taunted, yet caressed. Smooth, low, calm and husky. They seemed to create a rhythm that matched the slow movements of his hands over her body. The rhythm of her heartbeat, of the blood surging through her veins, of her breath, in and out. If her hands were free, she would have torn the scarf off her face. The need to see, to be able to anticipate, grew greater with each passing second, each unexpected touch, yet she could do naught to satisfy it. She could only wait and let them come as they would. Endure or enjoy--or perhaps both.
"The body of this slave has come awake to sensations." The words were torn from her, without her willing them to be said. "It desires the Master's touch, needs his hands as it craves food and drink."
His hands slipped over her flesh, smoothing, stroking, sliding and seducing. Her skin reached for his touch, her muscles quivered with it. She was so weak she could scarcely stand, and yet she strained toward him, her flesh seeking his. She could not breathe. Her mouth fell open to let more air reach her straining lungs. Then his mouth came against hers, his tongue slipping between her parted lips. Now she really could not breathe, yet she had no desire to withdraw from the pressure of his lips on hers, from the thrusts of his tongue as he tasted and explored her. Dizzy and melting, she felt her legs give way. The bonds on her wrists cut into her arms as she sank against the chains.
In an instant, his arms came around her, lifting and supporting. He spoke a single sharp word, after which she heard a scurrying sound, then a soft jingle. Her arms dropped as the chains released, spilling musically down the wall. He lifted her into his arms, one supporting her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. His body felt hard and hot as he gathered her close. She felt him shift and turn, heard the chains tinkle, dragging from her wrists and ankles as he carried her. The scarf still covered her eyes, but she sensed he left the alcove and went to the bed.
When his arms withdrew, she hung for a moment in space. Then her body sank into the silky covering of the bed. She lay as she fell, sprawling, too drained to move, and yet each cell in her body still cried for relief and release. Deep inside she felt a throbbing, an empty aching hunger. As a bit of strength returned to her limbs, she writhed on the bed. From somewhere above, she heard the low rumble of his chuckle.

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