Free Slavemaster's Woman, The by Angelia Whiting

can’t fathom
how I survived this long without you.”
    If nothing else, she was entertaining.
    Tarken would consider keeping her for
himself if the king hadn’t already laid specific claim to her. His
smile faded. Mecor would abuse her and there was nothing he could
do about it. The thought made him sick, but he brushed it aside.
What the king did was none of his concern. “Has no one ever
attempted to give you pleasure?” What fools …He wondered. Who would forego the passion of this lovely woman in lieu
of satiating his own lust? It was incomprehensible.
    “An impossible task since it couldn’t
interest me less.”
    Tarken studied her. The look of disgrace
that briefly touched her face as she examined herself in the mirror
belied her casual exterior. In just the short time he’d known her,
he already knew several things about Cushla that would assist him
to properly train her, and he doubted that the pretty little slave
even realized how much she’d actually revealed him.
    He was about to put his first method to the
test.
    Walking over to her, Tarken released the
clasp that held the rest of her hair in place and combed his
fingers through it, spreading the satiny mass around her shoulders.
Thoughts of it draping all around him flooded his mind as he
imagine her riding on top of him. He ran his fingers down the
length. It was incredibly silky and pleasing to touch. His gaze
shifted to Cushla’s face. He was seeing her in profile, and she
stared forward.
    Her chest rose and fell evenly, her breaths
easy and quiet, giving him no indication of either nervousness or
arousal. Taking a step, Tarken faced Cushla, forcing her to look
directly at him.
    Her gaze never averted, but there was an
emptiness within them that was sadly cold. It was if she’d
withdrawn into herself becoming a shell of a person oblivious to
the world outside.
    “You do realize I must punish you for your
bad behavior this eve?”
    With her eyes unblinking and no indication
of fear Cushla answered, “Do what you must.”
    “I could use a lash.” Despite the threat,
Tarken felt no need to discipline her in such a manner. He did,
however, have an incredible desire to touch her. Reaching around
her body, Tarken skimmed his hand over the small of her back until
he reached Cushla’s buttocks. He squeezed firmly but painlessly.
Her flesh was smooth and warm. His cock twitched. “You’ve been
lashed before? I saw some scarring.”
    Cushla shrugged.
    The marks he’d seen on her backside were
numerous, some were harsh though others were faint, and she still
had bruises from a recent abusing. Tarken was annoyed by that. It
was difficult for him to fathom why someone would mar something so
beautiful. Yet, he knew by her remarks that she preferred corporal
discipline, so he could only assume that Cushla likely encouraged
at least some of the beatings. It was an ineffective means of
training, particularly when the method is of the slave’s
choosing.
    Removing his hand from her bottom, Tarken
dropped his hand.
    At the same time, Cushla exhaled.
    He was suddenly aware that she held her
breath while he was touching her. To test that that assumption, he
lifted both hands and cupped her breasts. Her intake of air was
silent but he felt her chest rise. He waited for her to exhale.
    And he waited some more.
    He decided to play with her nipples until
she either passed out or absolutely needed to release the breath. Damn if the girl could hold her breath for a lengthy
time.
    Finally, Cushla expelled the air in her
lungs and when she did, her eyes fell shut.
    “I’m sure you understand I could use the
slave band to force your cooperation?”
    “It wouldn’t be the first time.” Cushla’s
lids lifted her glare intrepid.
    That look again . It was as if she
were daring him to do it. Most slavemaster’s would be goaded by the
expression and do exactly that—activate the band. Tarken was now
highly aware of her motive. The pain and semi-stupor that followed
was