The Empress' New Clothes Page 13

  “I don’t want to,” she pleaded, tugging at his hand.

  “’Twill be all right,” Zor insisted, broaching no argument. “Do you remember telling me you enjoyed our time with Ari because it was a part of a ritual as old as time?”

  “Yes,” she admitted hesitantly.

  “So is this nee’ka. ‘Tis ritual and no more.” After explaining that Kil would not be permitted to take his leave of the bedchamber until Kyra no longer feared his ministrations, he turned on his heel and quit their rooms. A guard blocked the door to the bedchamber, making certain she couldn’t leave.

  Kyra had taken one look at Kil, then flew across the bedchamber and locked herself in the nearest closet. It had taken him an hour to coax her from it, during which time he had reminded her repeatedly that the sooner they began the gentling, the sooner it would be over. Eventually, she relented and unlocked the closet door.

  So now Kyra sat perched on a raised table—legs spread open before Kil—allowing him to inspect her body until he’d had his fill, wanting to get the entire thing over with. Grabbing her breasts with both hands, he plumped the nipples and tweaked them, rubbed them and rolled them between his callused fingers, until they were acceptably hard. Much to Kyra’s consternation, her traitorous body was growing aroused.

  “Spread your legs wider for me. I would know all of you.” His voice was a rumble, mysterious and dark, like him. The slash across his right cheek gleamed ominously in the dimmed chamber, giving him a malevolent appearance.

  Kyra did as she was bade, her arousal growing more acute. She was discovering another aspect of her sexuality that she wished she had never learned, namely that this game of domination and submission was turning her on fiercely. “Use your fingers to spread your cunt lips,” he commanded, “show me what ‘tis mine should the goddess decree it.”

  Kil’s eyes feasted on Kyra’s swollen labia and engorged clit. He continued to knead her breasts and plump up her nipples whilst his eyes took it all in. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, beckoning him to sample from what he couldn’t have. He knew he would take to his rooms with the servants, mayhap not surfacing for days, once this session in torture was complete.

  Releasing one breast, Kil trailed his freed hand down her belly and ran his fingers through her fire-berry patch of curls. “’Tis softer than vesha, your pelt.”

  Kyra sucked in her breath, closing her eyes against the pleasure his words brought to her.

  “Nay,” Kil reprimanded her, “you will open your eyes and see who it is that brings you to your woman’s joy.”

  Kyra took a steadying breath, then complied. Kil’s fingers traced lower, gently rimming the folds of her puffed up labia. She moaned, wanting him to touch her clit, needing him to touch it. “Not yet, lusty one. Almost.”

  Kil tweaked one of her nipples, then rolled it between thumb and forefinger, over and over, never stopping, glorying in her passionate moans. His other hand rimmed the oval of her sleek folds again, his fingers saturated. “Do you want me to touch your woman’s bud?” he asked thickly, his voice hoarse.

  “Yes,” she admitted without hesitation. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Please touch my woman’s bud,” she quietly begged, using the Trystonni word for her clit.

  “Say my name,” Kil growled, tugging on her nipple, then rolling it again. “Tell me who you want to touch your woman’s bud.”

  Kyra groaned, almost climaxing. “Kil,” she gasped out, having more and more difficulty keeping her eyes open, “Please Kil, touch my woman’s bud.”

  Kil placed the pad of his thumb on her clit. “Look at me, Kyra. Know who is bringing you to your pleasure.” As her eyelids fluttered open, he began to work the pad of his thumb in circles, slow and agonizing. She moaned, peering into his glowing blue eyes the whole time. Her hips thrust up to meet him. “You want more, beautiful Kyra?”

  “Yes.”

  Kil began to rub her clit briskly, causing her to thrash about, moaning. She cried out, splintering apart, as a climax ripped through her violently.

  Thinking it was over, Kyra was surprised when Kil hoisted her up into his arms and carried her into the bathing pool. Splaying her wide on a raised rock of soft jewel, he repeated the entire process, forcing her to peak repeatedly, commanding her to look at him the entire time.

  An hour later, Kil carried Kyra to a reclining cot by the pool and started his ruminations yet again. A Kefa suckled him to his own violent climax as he continued to milk Kyra’s body of everything it had to offer him. He touched and rubbed, pressed and pulled, fondled and prodded. He accepted no less than Kyra’s complete, whimpering surrender, knowing that when he left this bedchamber, her body would remember and respond to his touch did it become necessary.

  Kil brought her to climax a few more times than what was truly necessary, telling himself it was to ensure that the gentling had been accomplished well and good, but knowing it was because he’d never be permitted to have another gentling session with her again after he quit the rooms.

  Greedily taking the fill that was his right by the holy law, Kil commanded Kyra to ride three of his fingers while he stimulated her clit with the pad of his thumb. She peaked that way, sobbing from the violence of it, then peaked twice more before he released her.

  Kyra slumped against his chest, indicating her trust in Kil to take care of her. He stood up, carried her exhausted, replete body to the bed, and gently deposited her within the soft vesha hides. She was sound asleep within moments.

  Kil tugged at one of her distended nipples a last time, then quit the chamber, taking to his rooms for his comforts.

  * * * * *

  On the training fields, Zor’s mind was dangerously unfocused. His attention was not on his task, but on what his nee’ka and brother where doing together in his bedchamber even now. Deciding ‘twas foolhardy to practice the warring arts whilst distracted, he called in an older warrior named Tym to relieve him of his duties.

  Zor summoned a bottle of matpow and took to his floating conveyance, riding aimlessly about Sand City for hours, drinking but finding no relief from the spirits.

  He could only hope that his brother followed the law and sought no comfort between Kyra’s thighs. And he could only hope his wife forgave him for all of it.

  ‘Twas a boggle, trying to figure out how to break a first dimension woman into the ways of a seventh dimension culture, especially when that culture was the dominant one of Tryston. Her new life was so different from her old.

  Zor couldn’t claim to have firsthand knowledge of Kyra’s former planet beyond the few minutes he’d been there, but he had no doubts that it was a vastly different world. Everything there that involved the body was viewed in a negative light, from what Kyra had mentioned.

  His nee’ka had seemed unnaturally afraid of the gentling, a ritual any highborn woman raised on Tryston would have not only expected, but probably anticipated. Clearly, Kyra had neither anticipated it nor welcomed it.

  And as much as Zor wished it were otherwise, he was grateful to the goddess that his wee one wanted no warrior’s hands touching her but his. By the sands, how he couldn’t wait for this business to be over with, knowing well and good that he would have to bear no more tortures such as this for many moon-risings to come. After the gentling, none other would dare to fondle his woman again, save at royal consummation feasts when all were feeling randy.

  A dark, niggling feeling continued to lap at Zor’s mind. Since the joining, his mind and hearts had grown more and more attuned to Kyra’s emotions with every passing hour. He could sense her embarrassment, her shame in finding pleasure in another’s ministrations. He could feel her sorrow, no doubt wondering what other aspects of Trystonni culture she would be forced to endure without prior knowledge.

  Guilt ate at Zor, tore at him. He should have better prepared Kyra for this. He should have been more sympathetic of her ignorance to Tryston’s ways, teaching her all there was to know, instead of bei
ng arrogant enough to think his way was best, to believe that she should learn of it all on her own.

  Zor commanded his floating conveyance to return to the palace, an apology forming on his lips. He wasn’t certain of everything he would say to his nee’ka, but one thing was for a certainty: he would make sure she realized that never again would she have to bear such a thing. He would even relent and go against his people’s ways, allowing her to skip attendance at royal consummation feasts if ‘twas her desire.

  Anything.

  Zor would do anything to have his wee one forgive him.

  Chapter 17

  Kyra awoke an hour later with tears streaming down her cheeks. The events of the last few hours whipped frenziedly through her mind as she scrambled off of the raised bed and donned the blue qi’ka Zor had summoned from her body after bringing her to their bedchamber with his brother.

  Zor had given her to Kil—given her to him. How could a man who loves his wife give her body to another, most especially to his own brother?

  Fat tears dropped like diamonds from Kyra’s eyes as she considered the very real possibility that Zor didn’t love her at all. To him, she was no doubt just a vessel, a body to empty himself into at night, a body to breed heirs for the Q’an Tal line.

  Humiliation washed over her, battering at her, as she fled from their apartments through the secret door and ran down the long red crystal corridor that was a short-cut to the conveyance launching pad.

  Did everyone in the palace know what Kil had done to her today? Had the many servants that had wandered in and out during the gentling to attend to Kil told others of her screams, of being brought to heel, of being lowered to begging for his touch? Would Zor be told of the way she had sobbed? Of how she had pleaded for more? Of how violently she had climaxed in another warrior’s arms?

  Kyra ran through the corridor, her breasts bobbing up and down, tears coursing down her cheeks, stopping to talk to no one. At the launching pad when five of the palace guards had thought to ask her for her destination, she turned on them like a she-beast, ready to strike out at anybody who stood in her way. “I am the Empress!” she snapped, tears still falling. “I answer to none of you!”

  The guards had studied her tears, then looked quizzically at one another. Thinking it no more than a spat with the High King, they bade her to be on her way, signaling to a tower guard to open the hatch.

  “Go!” Kyra verbally commanded her conveyance. “Drive to the outskirts of Sand City! I don’t care where you go, just go!”

  Suddenly, it was all too much. Her new life was too much. Kyra wanted Geris, she wanted Kara, she needed to be with people who understood her, who were raised in her culture, knew what she found acceptable and what she didn’t. She was tired of the male dominated hedonism of Tryston, tired of all that it encompassed.

  Kyra had grown used to wearing qi’kas so displaying her body no longer bothered her, but the rest was too overwhelming to endure. Sex was everywhere, done with everyone. Fondling was as ordinary as breathing. “I’m a tax accountant!” she screamed into the night, laughing hysterically. “A goddamn tax accountant!”

  The moon shining tonight was Tryston’s dominant red one. The glow it gave off sent color licking at Kyra’s features. She gazed up at the moon, hating it because it wasn’t yellow, despising it because it didn’t belong to earth, to home.

  Covering her face, Kyra broke down and sobbed into her hands. She had to find a way out of here. She had to find a way back home.

  * * * * *

  Zor put off the inevitable confrontation with Kyra for as long as his conscience would allow. Thinking to gage just how bad of a situation he was liable to be walking into, he went first to Kil’s rooms to consider his view on it.

  Zor was not surprised to find Kil’s bed crawling with bound servants, many of whom he had acquired during his last war on Tron, apparently letting the experienced servants teach the initiates what was to be expected of them.

  The lusty Myn, whom Zor himself had shared much bed sport with, was currently suckling his brother to peak, apparently not for the first time. “That is seven tongue lavings,” Kil roared as he climaxed. He pointed to a shy looking blonde woman with magnificent, huge breasts. “Think you that your channel can give me more?”

  The blonde woman cast her eyes demurely to the floor, nodding slowly.

  “Come to me,” Kil commanded her. “See to my release as is your duty.”

  Hesitantly, the blonde climbed up on top of Kil and impaled her body onto his. “Ride,” he ordered her. “Milk me.” He grabbed her bobbing breasts as her hips thrashed about in a series of hard embeddings, pulling at her nipples. She did as she was bade, riding him hard and fast.

  “Master,” she gasped. “Master.” Climaxing around his cock, her tremors set off Kil’s own.

  Zor smiled wryly. He had never had the patience for breaking in bound servants to their duties, which was why he had always relegated Kil to the task. His brother was a true aficionado at the tedious sport. Zor, on the other hand, preferred them already broken in, or he had leastways, before mating. Now he wanted none save Kyra. “I would talk with you brother.”

  Kil glanced up to where Zor stood. He settled comfortably into the servant’s breasts that were pillowing him, then nodded. “For a certainty.” Waving his hand at the blonde to get off his rod, he gestured toward a brunette, indicating ‘twas her turn.

  Zor strolled up to where his brother lay, paying the riding, groaning servant no more attention than was Kil. “Is Kyra all right?”

  “You have yet to see her?” Kil looked surprised.

  “Aye,” Zor admitted, chagrined. “I fear she will be sore angry with me for not telling her of the gentling.”

  “Why did you not prepare her for it?”

  “Arrogance, I suppose. I thought my way best. I thought she should learn everything of Tryston by discovering it for herself.” Zor shrugged his massive shoulders. Absently, more out of habit than anything else, he reached for the breasts of the blonde servant that had just ridden Kil to peak, toying with her nipples while he confided in his brother. “I just hope Kyra will forgive me.”

  “Your nee’ka loves you. She will forgive you.”

  “How can you know?”

  Kil shrugged. In reaction to the brunette’s first orgasm whilst riding him, he automatically rubbed her clit as reward, but paid her no more attention than that. “It took me many hours to gentle her.”

  “Really?” Zor’s heart lightened a considerable degree. He stood up straighter, gently setting the blonde away from him, who was currently trying to free his penis for a suckling.

  “Aye.” Kil grinned, a rarity for Zor’s brother. “Her mind was fierce set against me, brother, hated me she did.”

  “Harrumph.”

  “’Tis true, for a certainty.” Kil shook his head. “By the goddess I swear to you I was gentled long before Kyra.”

  Zor couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed. He could see his Kyra doing that to a warrior, driving him nigh unto daft. He shook his head and grinned. “Thank-you, brother.”

  Kil grunted. “Let us speak no more of it, aye?”

  “Aye.” Zor inclined his head to Kil, flicked a nipple on the blonde one last time, and strolled from his brother’s rooms.

  Kil returned his attention to the task set before him. The majority of these bound servants were to be given away as gifts, so he wanted them broken in the soonest. Mayhap, though, he would keep one or two for himself. The brunette was a lusty rider for a certainty, but of course, the blonde was as well. Mayhap the other ten initiates would prove just as wanton.

  “Come Myn,” Kil beckoned to her, gesturing with his hand, “show these wenches how to suckle again.” He motioned for the brunette to end her ride. “You did well, Frey. Now move to the side and watch Myn. Gret, show them how to suckle from my man sac whilst Myn administers to my staff.”

  Kil sucked in his breath, groaning. “The rest of you watch whil
st contemplating new ways to please me.”

  * * * * *

  Zor’s long, heavy strides toward his bedchamber indicated just how much he needed to see his nee’ka. The talk with Kil had lightened his mood considerably. Somehow, he would coax his wee one into forgiving him and they would get on with their lives.

  It was troubling to the spirits indeed when Zor found their bedchamber empty. Kyra always awaited him here upon the moon-rising, as eager for his physical affection as he was for hers. He put his hands to his hips and took a deep breath. Where could she be? Was she that angry with him?

  Grunting, Zor stalked briskly from their apartments, heading first for Cam’s quarters. He knew Kyra had taken a liking to the young warrior. Mayhap she would visit with him if her spirits were unduly sullen. Feeling guilty, he pounded on Cam’s door.

  No answer.

  Ever a High King, Zor took the liberty of allowing himself into Cam’s suite. Come to think of it, the young warrior hadn’t been at training this morn, the first time ever that he had missed a practice of the warring arts.

  Then Zor knew why.

  Shaking his head at the scene before him, he grinned knowingly. Cam was snoring as loudly as a malfunctioning conveyance, stretched out on his back, thoroughly spent. Muta was still administering to Cam’s semi-flaccid shaft, asleep or no. Zor had been able to hear the familiar sucking sounds before he’d even seen her. “Wake up, Cam. ‘Tis your High King.”

  Cam’s eyes opened slowly. When he registered who it was that was standing above him, he made a move to sit up, then remembered Muta when he was unable to do so.

  Zor held up a palm. “Do not get up. I thought to ask you if you had seen your High Queen, but ‘tis obvious you have been otherwise occupied.”