BrutalDreads
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Joined: 6/22/2010
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Ayala reserved the largest of the Queen’s women for her use as Master of the Chamber. They were muscular and masculine, yet still retained an unfathomable shape—hard curves disappearing into no where, an extremity of shapes still velvety to the touch, both of them dressed in V-shaped body suits that covered their breasts and sex only, both of them collared. They flanked the dungeon doors, following Ayala in as she entered, walking on their toes as if presenting a kind of readiness to pounce. The man was lying on the floor, the glowing gurney flickering and dying beneath him. Ayala directed her eyes to the winter-white blonde. The guard clasped her hands up front and bowed her head, her legs spread, feet placed flatly on the ground. Ayala squeezed her fist tight within the leather glove then pointed to the man before turning her palm upward, raising her arm to eye’s height. Like one mind in two bodies, the guards both dropped to one knee, each taking one of the man’s wrists, enclosing them in sharp metal manacles. The blonde slapped her heavy hand upon the first bond that crossed the man’s chest, a dangerous action that left his upper body freed. Ayala paced around the pillar, behind the slightly smaller guard, trying to gain a sense of how much of the drug was left in his system. The blonde continued to go down the line, freeing the bond from his abdomen, the two of them chaining his ankles before letting go of the last bond covering his legs. As the cleared his body attach the heavy chains, Ayala’s answer came with a glance—his eyes were open, calm and still, and boldly staring into hers.
Without thinking, Ayala tightened both of her fists, forgetting momentarily that the guards had been trained to the sound. But the rattling of the heavy chains across the stone floor continued the work without interruption, and as the two guards walked away from each other, the man arose off the floor. It was here that Ayala could plainly see the true prize that he was. Many was the number of them who had found themselves chained to the pillar all ribs and sinews, all long, featureless torsos, but this one . . . this one, Ayala reasoned, had become more than that by his own hand. Every part of him was big and covered in muscle, not a single rib showing, not a single part of him slack, this perhaps being the by-product of time spent building stone houses in the woods, or time spent deliberately building himself to be biggest and best against all those who would think of themselves as forest kings. Even his sex seemed to carry itself high and tight as it hung helplessly between his spread legs, a crown in the wrong place, unaroused yet generously meaty, enough even to attract the discliplined eye of the blonde guard as she ran a quick and dangerous glance over him.
The guards struggled against the last link of the chain before snapping the ends to a bolt on the floor. They kneeled on both knees within the angles of the chains, coolly facing the pillars. His head dangled momentarily before craning upright. Behind her, Ayala could hear the scurrying of Manala through the chamber doors, the slave bells on her chastity belt tinkling before folding herself to the floor. She was not alone. A second, more delicate ringing fell to the other side of the door just as it closed. In her mind Ayala could see the catty look subtly crossing Manala’s face as it always did when alone with Sallila outside of the Queen’s presence. Ayala turned and pointed towards the wash basin. Sallila clumsily scrambled up off of the floor and grabbed the metal tub, protecting her hands by gathering the tails of her own tunic, sloshing the water sloppily about the pock-marked floor as Manala followed slowly behind, reverently picking the straight razor from the pegs in the wall, her strut clearly contrasting her air of control against the almost crazed stupidity of the girl slapping the wet sponge against the flinching man’s body. “The whole thing, Master? The whole thing? Shall we shave the whole thing?” She said, enthusiastically scrubbing the mud, sticks and leaves off his body.
Ayala glanced at Manala, who rolled her eyes slightly as she stopped to present the razor. With her forearm straight to the finger, Ayala cut her hand against her clavical and pushed it down, a signal to save the beard. “Soak his chest, so that I may shave it, Silly-ya” Manala quipped.
“It’s Sill-li-la.” She spat back with the insolence of a teen, “So what? We’re gonna keep the pubes growing on his face?”
Manala bit her lip as she tightened her grip on the razor, lining it up to his chest, “How quaint of you to second guess the Master of the chamber. If you ask me, it should be you on the pillars next.”
“It should be you on the pillars next.” She said through her nose in a mocking tone, “Who died and made you Queen? Oh wait, you already are a queen.” She said as she soaked his belly.
Manala followed with the razor, not far from Sillila’s head. “Better than being a slutty princess . . . or a piggish whore.”
“Enough.” Warned Ayala, reluctantly allowing the voice to vibrate through the mask, the quarrelling slave sisters absorbing the slight sting of embarrassment.
“Don’t ruin the work.” Manala hissed as they recovered their senses, returning to stripping the man of hair.
As Manala worked her way down to the toes, Sillila jumped to her feet to retrieve towels. She quickly worked his body over and left the skin bone dry and shiny after being freshly shaved, the extent of his work now fully exposed in detail with the hair removed. Together Manala and Sillila kneeled by Ayala’s side, facing him, the hunger in Sillila’s eyes plainly showing as they both gazed upon his brilliant form.
“Leave us.” Ayala commanded, her voice firmly filling the chamber without shaking it, slaves and guards both jumping to their feet to flee the room.
The thick chamber door shut heavily behind them. Ayala and the Man she had captured were alone. The room was silent save for the crackling comments of fire as it burned from the torches and from the great fireplace of the room. The sound of Ayala’s flowing skirts whispered with her steps as she retrieved the collar from her work station. The collar was soft and worn, the evidence of age showing in the fine gray cracks around edge of it. Ayala pressed her thumb behind the heavy center ring to activate the device. She took the in both hands and approached the man from the front but he defiantly wrenched his head away, his neck protected by his full and wooly beard. Ayala fought a knowing smile beneath the mask. With a quick motion of her right hand she grabbed the man by his matted hair and pulled it back, slapping the collar to his neck and clasping it tightly shut before he could wrench himself away again. She took a few steps back and waited for the device to take effect, savoring the look of growing enlightenment dancing behind his whitening eyes. As soon as she was sure that the device was protecting him, Ayala began to speak. “It may seem overwhelming at first, but you will come to understand the words I am saying. You must understand that this ability to hear--and eventually to speak--is a gift from Queen Castia to her former forest subject. Do you understand and accept this gift?”
The man lowered his head to his chest as far as the collar would allow it. With his eyes leering sharply from beneath his bushy brows, he gave a small, wicked smile, pushed his hips forward, and emptied his bladder onto the floor in a strong yellow stream dangerously close to the skirts of Ayala. Ayala chuckled to herself as he finished pissing, suppressing a full out laugh deep within her abdomen as he dribbled on himself from his clumsy position on the chains. “So much for your bath,” She said, fighting the temptation to lower the line of communication between the voice and the device. “It is clear that you have chosen to make things hard on yourself, so allow me to oblige.” She said, taking the formal bull whip in hand, allowing a brief moment of eye contact between herself, the man and the tightly wrapped whip before taking her place behind him. Even at her height in the high boots, the bull whip, unraveled, had length enough to coil partly across the floor. It was not his naked, sublime body that urged and inspired the work, but the weight of the tool in her hand as she raised it upward, the fine sound of the crack as she tested it against the floor, the warning rasp of it as she raked it over where the muscles betrayed his sensitive spine. “Now hear me,” she said, lowering the defense of the device, allowing him to get a sense of the power of her voice, “You will come to call me . . . Master.”
The taunt chains that held his arms vibrated. The man clenched his fists. Ayala raised the whip and brought it across his back. He gritted his teeth but made no sound. A second time Ayala brought the whip across the other side of his back, the tail of it wrapping around his shoulder in a cruel lick. A hissing sound escaped his lips. Ayala’s grip tightened as a red X appeared across his back, guiding new strokes as they came lightening fast, this fine, sadistic tool blessing his skin over and over with a white, stinging pain that stole his very breath with their stroke. His whole body tensed, and when it seemed to raise up on the chains, Ayala halted.
The sound of one single breath echoed through the room as he let it go, followed by the sound of panting, and the sound of the hard bottom of Ayala’s boots pacing, stalking, the work beginning to take hold. From her belt Ayala grabbed the smaller signal whip. Crossing both arms alternately she raked each of them across his back, left and right mercilessly following each after the other without rest, in rhythm, until he could easily feel the subtle ridges in each. He held his breath again and pulled at the chains will all his strength, rising, until one deep strike forced a bellowing scream from deep within his heart.
Ayala hooked the bull whip under his chin and hoisted it back, pressing her cold bare breasts against the red marks criss crossing behind. “The words.” She intoned, the line of communication barely open as the voice hummed through his body, “you will find them.”
The man’s mouth gaped open as the vibration of her voice echoed throughout his chest. The instinct to form an utterance came rising from his throat. His jaw quivered as Ayala ran her gloved hand up his thigh. She removed her hand from his thigh, and finding a slit in the skirts, she dipped her glove into her sex and brought it to his nose, filling his senses with a flood of her pheromones. His eyes rolled as his head fell backwards, surrendering in some small way to Ayala’s shoulder as she indifferently looked over his. She placed her other hand flatly against his chest and pressed him back, digging the whip further against his chin. The sight of his strong erection confirmed all that she needed to know. With his face close to hers she whispered, “Have you words, now?”
The man’s lips patted together softly. His eyes languidly opened and shut as the pleasure of feeling her soft breasts mixed with the searing pain of the whip strokes on his back. The bond was taking place before Ayala’s eyes, and in some way it was even greater than she could take. Then, as if both were experiencing the last resistance asserting itself, the embrace of Master and slave broke with Ayala letting go, the man gritting his teeth and tightening his grip once again, freeing dust from the pillars as the chain grated through the hole. Ayala stood before him, her eyes flashing with power, disabling the device on the collar completely as she commanded with the voice full on her massive, struggling subject. “Cum for me!”
The man’s cock bobbed and he shuddered, thrashing against the chains, his jaw almost snapping to form the words.
“Cum for me!” She commanded again.
His breath held, nipple tightening like the muscles beneath his chest as his body gathered upward again.
“CUM FOR ME!” She echoed and every brick in the chamber shook in their grout.
“Y . . . ye . . . Yes, Ma- ma-MASTER!” He cried as a stream of cum was let loose from him, all muscles shaking and drained as if it were being drained from the very essence of him. In three strong spurts it shot away from him to the floor, to mingle with the piss and the soapy water of his bath.
Ayala closed her eyes, retreating into the blackness, slowing her breath, as he turned white from head to toe, panting, repeating over and over again, “yes master, yes master, yes master . . . “
“You have found the words . . . “Ayala said in a soothing aspect of the voice, her breath slow and controlled as it flowed in through her nostrils.
The chamber door crept open. The long, manicured fingers of Manala wrapped around the edge as she cautiously peered inside. As soon as his head dropped, Ayala turned towards the door, not wanting him to see her knees wobble as she stumbled slightly. “Be careful,” Ayala whispered hoarsely as Manala passed by, “There is enough to test, but he pissed on the floor. You will have to search carefully to gather enough to be untainted.””
Manala threw her arms outward as her Master teetered on the thin heels of the boots, “Yes Master but . . . Master are you okay?”
Ayala shot a withering look up from the mask, her eyes narrow and spiteful purely out of instinct, “Don’t you dare say such things in his presence!”
“What? No! I . . . it wasn’t meant to be a challenge to you!”
“Sillila—gather the product to sample. Manala must go to the Queen!”
“Master, no!”
“GO TO THE QUEEN” Ayala commanded in the voice, grabbing Manala by the collar.
Manala fell back in horror, covering her face with her long fingers as Sillila indifferently pushed her way through the door. Ayala departed them both, using the hallway for support as they passed out of sight, to her room where she could collapse unseen on her own soft bed.
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a QueenDom fantasy with Paranormal/sci-fi leanings - pa... - 
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