Read Punishing The Slave Girl Online
Authors: Chera Zade
Punishing The Slave Girl
Punishing The Slave Girl
(First Time Historical Group Menage)
Chera Zade
© 2015 Chera Zade
Kindle Edition
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
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About This Book:
Sometimes I walk at night time. I leave Henry snoring in the chamber, and I take to the hallways and hidden rooms of my palace. I like the silence that night brings. I like the other things it sometimes brings too. The things I'm not meant to see.
There are a hundred or so staff members here under orders from their king. Half of them I haven't properly been introduced to. I walk past their rooms, my hand stretched out to the wall, my ear to the door as I pass. I hear conversation, noises of sleep, grunts of sex more times than I can count. There is a world beyond these four walls, and a culture existing within it that I'm not even part of.
I go to the gardens and sit for a while on the patio looking out towards the sea. I imagine a long boat coming ashore, tall men with thick blonde beards holding hammers into the sky, coming for me. Savages, barbarians, Vikings.
The moon leaves triangles of carved light on the rippling surface. Tree tops sway in the ethereal mist above me. I hear a crow call. A distant wisp of shadowed sound, falling away into the calm of night. I see a shooting star light up the sky above me and I make a wish. I speak it into my hand, hold it close to my heart and then throw it towards the darkness in front of me, releasing it to the sea. When the wind picks up, I head back inside.
I hear the noise echoing down the corridor long before I see who is making it. Warm and earthy, guttural, like a pair of caged animals, reunited after a long time apart. I'm on the way to the kitchens, not because I'm hungry, but because of the warmth I know I'll find from the open fire there, because of the memories it brings of my childhood. The kitchen isn't usually the place for a Queen, which is why it's somewhere I go to often. I know I'll never be found.
I creep, partly not to disturb them, partly so I'm not heard coming. At the very edge of the doorway, I peer in and see them. She is bent over the preparation table, arms flat, face down. He is behind her, red faced, his hands gripping her hips tightly, working himself quickly, thrusting hard. There is something deeply private about what is happening, something deeply animalistic too. I know I shouldn't look, but I can't take my eyes away. These are the secrets of the night that I always hope to find. These are the moments that make my life measurable.
I adjust my position slightly so I can see him entering her. It involves crossing the open doorway, like a shadow passing. I do so on the very tips of my toes, my night dress gathered together in my hands. If they notice me, they don't break rhythm.
She has the folds of her skirt rucked up across her back, which she has arched like a cat. Her right leg is bent at the knee, lifted slightly so, like a dancer, she takes what little weight she has on the ball of her foot. Her head is turned to the side too, rested on the back of her outstretched hand, her eyes closed, as though swimming through a dream. Her panties have been lowered and left to cling to the skin below her knee, resting there like forgotten laundry.
The tips of his fingers turn white where they grip tightly onto her skin. He moves his other hand over her back, caressing her with loving strokes, before he moves it up to her hair. Wrapping her curls around his wrist, he gathers her up in his hand and tugs gently. She moans, her mouth opening slightly as he pulls.
On the rare occasions my husband wants to have sex with me, he insists I go on top. While I rock myself back and forth on his semi thick cock, hoping that this time he'll last long enough for me to orgasm, he pretends to look interested, reaching from time to time for my breasts to convince me he is.
From here I can see his thick cock parting her pussy lips and driving inside her. I have never seen sex from this angle before. I've seen my husband enter me, and I've seen him enter several of the other women that come to his chamber when he thinks I'm not around to find out about it, but I've never seen it like this. It's turning me on. I want to touch myself, but know I can't risk it. If anyone caught me here, with my fingers in places they shouldn't be, the King would be the first to issue my punishment.
It's not just what I can see either. It's the noises they are both making. At once loving, and purely animalistic. The wet sucking sound of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy, the slapping sound of his balls smacking against her pussy lips on each thrust, the deep guttural gasps he makes, as the pleasure binds its way inside him, and the high pitched trills that end her short breaths, speak of nothing but stolen passion, of deep love and need and rough, primeval union.
I want to be fucked like this. I want to be bent over the kitchen work surface and fucked hard by a big, strong man. I want to have my hips held like that, my ass cheeks slapped, my ass-hole toyed with. Licked, stimulated, penetrated.
They are rising together, his pace increasing. This is a stolen midnight fuck by two people who aren't allowed this pleasure. I'm stealing it too, piggybacking on their prurient show. Tingles break out across my skin. I notice I'm up on tip toes too, mirroring her stance, clung tightly to the door frame, wrapped around it only so much that I can see, hidden still in shadow, close as I can allow myself to be. I lick my lips when I see her lick hers. I reach up for my tits when I see her reach down for hers. I want to be her, spread out, forced like that, taken hard. I can feel my pussy crave it. I can feel the ache deep inside me, the throbbing need to be fulfilled.
'
Oh fuck', she says, her breath peaking. 'Oh fuck, that's it, harder. Fuck me harder.'
He grits his teeth, raising sinewy muscles from his neck. His biceps bulge as he grabs her tighter. She rockets against the hardened surface, his thighs crashing into hers. At full stretch, she holds on.
I can't help myself. Before I realise it, I'm pressed up against the door frame, gyrating into the knotted wood. I lift one leg and let my fingers search for the calls my body refuses to stop making. I feel fire sweep out across my skin, spasms dart up my spine. With deft movements, I lift my nightdress.
'
I'm going to make you come', he says.
My panties are soaking wet. I slip my fingers inside them, desperate to pleasure myself. Unable to hold myself back. As I slide a V around my swollen clitoris, glancing my trembling nub momentarily, I can't help but moan with pleasure, my knees almost buckling beneath me. I am closer than I thought. Somehow the errant sound gets lost on the way through the kitchen, and I continue to remain hidden from them. I press myself into the shadows just in case, while I push my fingers further underneath me, towards my hole.
'
Fuck, oh fuck. Fuck I'm going to come. Just like that, don't stop.'
I am so wet, when I work my two middle fingers up into my hole, they slide inside me effortlessly. I let my thumb settle on my clitoris as I work them back and forth, the sensation already enough to push me over.
She is almost screaming, loud enough for him to put his hand over her mouth to make her quiet. Any noise I make in the midst of this will pale in comparison. I'm squatted down low now, my legs apart, my fingers inside me and one hand gripped onto the door frame, ready to push me immediately out of sight if necessary. I'm working my clitoris with the flat edge of my thumb and I'm ready to let myself go as soon as I want to. I can't keep my eyes of him, pounding away at her like a piece of meat. I'm transfixed by the shape of his body, the muscles in his arms, the tightness of his buttocks, the thickness of his cock.
'
Fuck, that's it, ah, yes, I'm coming.'
I watch her balancing leg drop, bucking at the knee. I see the muscles of her pussy contract on his cock, and her ass-hole open and close like a budding and receding flower. As her orgasm tears through her, I watch her back arch up like a cat, and her right arm spasm out to her side. Her screams muffled by his huge hand, he continues his rapid ascent, holding her up now so he can finish the job.
'
I told you I'd make you come', he says, teeth gritted, eyes wide. Determined.
I circle my clitoris slowly, right on the edge, unable to take my eyes off him. My heart is beating wildly, my arms thick with goosebumps. I know what's coming. I can barely breath for excitement. I can feel it thick within me, pounding hard, waiting to get out. It's like a wild animal that needs to be released. Pushing myself on, careful to time it right, knowing I only have a certain amount of time before it rushing over me, but knowing he has too, I watch.
'
Fuck', he says.
I groan hard, fall forward slightly. It's upon me. Fuck it's strong.
He twists his neck, flattens his palm out across her back and pushes her down into the wood.
It rips through me in waves. Pulses, that explode out across my skin, suck me away into the nothingness, cover me in shooting stars that fall about me like fairy dust, and leave me naked and bare, exposed without shelter. Just before I turn, collapsing against the wall, momentarily hunched over before I lie flat, my palm outstretched to catch my cheek, the fingers of my other hand cupped protectively around my still throbbing sex, I see him pull his mighty cock out of her hole, and explode himself across her quivering anus. Lying there, I come again, shivering with pleasure as it rides itself around my body, refusing to leave.
Table of Contents:
Ravishing The Slave Girl (excerpt)
Punishing The Slave Girl
(First Time Historical Group Menage)
Chera Zade
'
Savages, every single one of them, my Lord. They don't speak the common tongue, they rape and pillage without mercy, and they don't even seem to be trained in swordplay. I would be surprised if this invasion, as the peasants are joyfully calling it, lasts much longer than a month. There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. You can rest assured.'
Kenrick looks at me while he says this, as though his words are for my benefit alone.
'
Have it dealt with', my husband orders, a dismissive wave of the hand enough indication he won't ask again.
'
They have been advancing, Kenrick, have they not?' I ask.
There is a moment of silence. These men aren't used to hearing their Queen speak at these meetings, not least question. Kenrick smiles nervously. He looks at his King and then back to me.
'
Have you not just heard the man?' Henry says, a look of twisted confusion beaten out across his pockmarked face, as though there is no reason for me to involve myself in issues of the realm. Issues that are none of my concern. If he had his way, I wouldn't come to these meetings at all. I only do so for a little light entertainment in an otherwise dreary existence, and because I know it pisses him off.
'
My Queen', Kenrick continues, adopting a patronising tone. 'They are no match for our army. They will not penetrate the city walls. You can rest assured about that.'
'
Yet they are taking the lands all around us', I say.
'
Enough', Henry barks, the slam of his goblet on the table sending wine spraying across the wood. As he continues, Osborne mops the splatter from his forearm. 'Where have you heard this nonsense? I will not have barbarians spoken about in this Kingdom as something to fill us with fear. We will crush those-'
'
Have you heard from my brother yet?' I say, cutting him off.
'
Not yet, my Queen, no', Kenrick says. 'We'll send word out again first thing in the morning.'
I've often thought he looked more like a reptile than a man, the skin gathering thick at the nape of his neck, the slightly pointed tongue, those insidious eyebrows.
'
Have you finished?' Henry complains, turning to me. Based on the distasteful way he has screwed his face up, I think the question would be better phrased, 'you better have finished.'
