“Nonsense, he’s adept.” Bisma massaged Zara’s shoulders. “I shall look after you too.”
Zara smiled. Keeping Galen happy had a domino effect. Bisma was much nicer. She hoped they could become friends.
“Do you think it’s wrong for me to get, you know, turned on by this ordeal thingy?”
Bisma chuckled. “Why ever not?”
“Because I shouldn’t?”
“Shouldn’t serve and obey your judge?”
“I suppose I should do,” she murmured. She propped herself up on her elbows. “Except he enjoys punishing me. Isn’t that wrong as well?”
Bisma’s eyes were sparkling with further amusement. “He’s a judge. Think about it, Zara. What would he gain by finding misery in punishing criminals?”
“I’m not a criminal,” Zara retorted with a huff. “Just… a little naughty when I drink.”
“Then, perhaps it is your particular ordeal that brings him satisfaction. Don’t disappoint him, that’s my advice. Rest a while, then you can dress, eat with me, and do some of your studies, yes?”
She rested, then studied. She kept to her texts and didn’t wander into anything else. Zara squirmed on her seat, distracted by images of her spanked bottom and the tattoos, especially his. Concentrating was hard.
The tedious afternoon ended when Bisma called for Zara to join her for a meal. Afterwards, she retreated to her room. She expected him to visit in the evening, but he didn’t. Bisma thought it a good sign.
“You’ve actually worn him out a little. Something to be proud of!”
* * *
In the morning, a brisk shake of her shoulder woke her up. She scrambled out of bed to kneel at his feet. He wore his work clothes. He also had a huge bulge in his pants. She fumbled with the fastening.
“Good girl,” he said, ruffling her hair. “Nice and quick for me, little human.”
She opened her mouth wide and he thrust forward. The pace was swift, his actions needy. Her hair provided a handle for him to grip and control and her scalp stung as he dragged her on and off his cock. He moved at his pace and not hers. She’d no chance to lick or tease his shaft or play with the slit, as she often liked to do. With a throaty groan, he shot his load onto the back of her tongue and stepped back.
“Well done.” He patted her head this time. “The more slavish you behave, the better you get,” he said wryly.
A hint? It had to be. In a moment of spontaneity, she kissed his shiny boots on the caps.
He chuckled. Working toward the door, his erection packaged out of sight, he wagged his finger at her. “Be good.”
The day dragged with the exception of a small highlight. She’d been given permission to exercise in his garden. With the sun high in the sky and the leaves providing shade, Zara tried out her neglected yoga positions. They helped calm her nerves and redirect her thoughts away from Galen and his mighty cock. She battled with another worry—her sister. How was April doing? If only she could send a message.
Bisma spruced her up after a dinner, which they ate together in the kitchen. Bisma said little, as the Vendu preferred to avoid conversation while eating. She received a message from Galen, new instructions. She harried Zara to finish and sent her back to her room.
Chained to the bed, she waited for him to arrive. She didn’t have to wait long. He burst through the door, depleted of his uniform and wearing only jogging pants. With the door slamming shut behind him, he strutted into the room. Today, there was no dragon. He was a wolf. The yellow slit eyes of the creature stared across the room and its mouth licked its lips. How did the tattoos change so quickly? Were they like hers—determined by his subconscious? She bowed her head, lowering it onto the pillow, and lifted her bottom up. Behave like a slave and avoid eye contact. Be demure. Be obedient. The things Bisma had taught her to do.
Galen liked them. He bounded over. “Fuck, your tattoos. You’re a horny girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Abruptly, she started to giggle. She couldn’t exactly deny the evidence.
Oh, my, the shame of it! Yet, still she giggled.
He trailed his fingers down her spine. The shivers and goosebumps chased after them. She moaned, then louder still as he cupped his hand around her sex.
“Wet. So wet.” He slid along her slit. “Plump, too.”
In a trice he was there, behind her, entering her and pounding hard and with vigor. She rocked in time with his thrusts, maximizing his penetrations. Would he let her come? She begged and begged. He denied her, repeatedly.
The duet played out for ages, until her legs collapsed. He dragged her to the edge of the bed, her chains rattling as she moved, and recommenced with her toes on the floor. Such a hunger he had for her.