The Chieftain’s Daughter (3 page)

Especially with this nubile slave in his lap.

When he demanded his turn, Mechan surprised even himself. Heady and desirous with lust, the ancient love potion had affected his judgment more than he’d anticipated. The chief moved the girl out of his lap and numbingly continued to command her. “Kneel.”

Of course, this did not go without a stubborn argument. “I will not.”

Mechan yanked the young woman by her hair again, forcing her up on her knees in front of him. “Little one, you will soon learn to stop fighting me.”

Her lips still glistened from her sweet, warm honey. Spirits, how he wanted her. He breathed in a shuddering breath and thought of his wife and the devotion that he owed to her, which helped him harden his heart once more.

Untying his loincloth, he let the leather piece fall down around his feet, exposing his generous, stiff cock as it bounced free and at attention. Ishara’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Touch it.”

Her exotic, green gaze shifted from the chief’s prick up to him. Sensing her hesitancy, he reached down, grabbed one of her hands, and laid it on his throbbing member. “I said touch it.”

Ishara curled her fingers around his girth, the whole while looking up at him, meeting his eyes and never dropping her gaze at his erection again. His thighs and hands were covered in gold, and where the dust was smeared off his slave, her tan skin turned a blushing shade of rose. Mechan wrapped his fingers over hers, and began to push her hand up and down, teaching her the motion to jerk him off.

“Mmm. Yes. Just like that,” he almost purred, if beasts like him could purr at all. It had been many years since he experienced a woman’s hand on his dick, and with a touch as gentle as Ishara’s, he was almost ready to come right there and then.

But he didn’t. He would try to hold out and enjoy the moment. He wanted her to please him until he said otherwise. He wanted control.

Mechan looked back down to Ishara’s glistening lips. He had to have her there. “Put your mouth on my cock.”

Her beautiful face twisted in shock. “What?”

“I said, put your mouth on my cock.” Mechan tugged on her dread locks once more, reminding her that she was his.

She was so beautiful. He wanted to claim her and possess her all the more, especially with the smell of her sweet cunt lingering in the air.

Ishara slowly leaned forward—her eyes darting between his cock and his face—and parted her luscious mouth, slipping Mechan’s prick past her lips. It throbbed even more, hot and needy within her mouth, which could barely fit around the head. “Yes…good. Good slave.”

She tried to open her mouth wider, allowing the tip of his cock to sink deeper until it reached the back of her mouth.

His hot seed shot out of his cock in rapid succession, hitting the back of Ishara’s throat. She immediately drew Mechan out of her mouth as she coughed and gagged, caught off guard. In the middle of his orgasm, the chieftain grabbed hold of his cock and pumped it quickly, emptying his hot semen onto Ishara’s beautiful, gold-dusted face. With each pump, Mechan gnashed his teeth together, lowly groaning, careful of the noises escaping his throat.

When the orgasm subsided, his load all over Ishara’s face, Mechan grabbed his loincloth and tied it back around his waist. The chieftain turned and left the private area to seek out a cloth to clean her with. When he returned, he dropped the cloth at her side and stopped to stare. He had caught her touching the sticky fluid and sucking it off her fingers in a private moment. It was enough to almost make him hard again.

But he had to stop himself here, before he went too far. She was just a slave, and he had to be careful not to desire her too much. Mechan wouldn’t betray his wife in that way, and especially not with the daughter of his enemy. He tossed the rag at Ishara’s feet. “Clean yourself. You will sleep in the slave pen tonight.”

Chapter Three

Aloran despised his father. He wanted to keep Ishara for himself. And if not keep her, he wanted to spoil her before giving her over to the chieftain. Aloran
did
capture her after all—Ishara should have been his prize before anyone else’s.

He would have fucked her too, if the other warriors were not victoriously bumbling about with crying slaves tied to crude ropes at the time. He couldn’t find anywhere safe to have her, if for only a few minutes. Aloran had to grit his teeth and put on a front as he honorably presented the enemy chieftain’s, virgin daughter to his lazy father.

The possibility of taking Ishara lingered. Despite the impassioned moaning from the tent, Aloran knew that his father’s attachment to his mother was too strong for him to mate with the girl. Mechan tried to hide this from his people, but the Manahotchi were not all so oblivious. While some men and women raised their mugs and snickered at the groaning and erotic shadow play against the canvas of the tent, there were others who simply rolled their eyes and knew better—Aloran amongst them. Their chieftain was too stubborn to move on.

Aloran would get the girl. He at least had some months before his father started to give in, or at least he hoped that was the case. Ishara was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and in the end, the chieftain was a man, and all men had their needs.

The next week passed by in a blur of games and competition. By the end, Aloran won a slave of his own in a wrestling match. He picked a thick, young woman named Eila, with hips that had clearly already bore a child. Aloran wanted a slave who would know what to do. He didn’t have to waste time in teaching her. While virgins were nice, they were also tedious and time consuming—and he didn’t need the reminder that his virgin currently spent her time pleasing his father. All he’d had to do with Eila was whip her a few times to break her in, then fuck her mouth all night to humble her. When she’d smiled up at him, her lips glistening with his seed, Aloran smirked in surprise. Eila would do for now.

That morning, with the sun rose and the twilight turned the sky the color of bruises, Aloran woke naked and sweaty from sleeping beside Eila all night. Usually he did not allow for his slaves to sleep with him, but he was so exhausted from humping her all night long, he’d passed out with his cock still inside her, half spent.

Now, all Aloran wanted was to wash up. He stepped out of the tent without bothering to lock Eila up. She wouldn’t run. She never wanted anything so badly than Aloran’s prick buried deep inside her. He knew it from the way she serviced him, from the way she always trailed behind him, waiting to be told what to do. The slave would stay put.

Aloran was the only Manahotchi awake in the camp. The night birds sang lazy songs as the morning birds yawned and sleepily began to answer. With his manhood heavy against the inside of his thigh, Aloran sauntered to the creek to draw fresh water he could use to bathe himself, then give to Eila after.

As he passed his father’s tent, he noticed Ishara outside in the slave pen. She watched him with her predatory, green gaze. A smirk tugged at his lips. He padded over to the cage to rattle the bars. “Good morning, pet.”

Ishara said nothing.

Aloran knelt down in front of her, balancing himself on the balls of his feet in a flattering squat. “You do not need to make a sound now, pet, because when I get to you later, you will make plenty of noise.”

Ishara leaned forward, puckered her lips, and spit on Aloran’s face. Her warm mucus stuck to the space between his eyes.

He never stopped grinning, even when he wiped his face, stood, and began to walk away. She was his prize and he would have her. And maybe then, she’d learn her place: no longer a chieftain’s daughter, but the slave of a chieftain’s son.

When Aloran reached the river, other Manahotchi, though few, were gathered to wash as well. Some of the women stood waist-deep in the water with their babes in their arms, planning out their day in quiet conversation. Men washed out wounds and tended to their bruises from the week’s games.

His attention immediately drifted to one of the women who stood alone. She bathed in the shallow water, exposing her naked, lithe body without shame. Her black hair fell down to the curves of her hips, and as she raised her cloth to wash her shoulders, water trickled down the small of her back. Her name was Zari, and she was one of the Manahotchi’s elite. Her brothers, all the men from her father to her father’s father’s father were all great warriors, their ranks almost equal to that of Aloran’s family.

Aloran drifted up behind Zari, and with the tips of his fingers, he discretely brushed his hand across her waist. The woman turned, her hand raised, ready to reprimand the culprit who dared touch her without permission, but Zari stopped and blushed.

“Forgive me, Aloran, I thought you were another man who was being forward. I think during the games, men begin to forget themselves and their places.”

“Of course I forgive you, Zari. How could I blame something so beautiful?” His words were smooth, like the cocoa and milk mixture that the Manahotchi used to help arouse and warm the loins.

Zari stepped toward a row of tall-growing brush, where her clothes were set aside. As she wandered away, she spoke over her shoulder, “You are getting better, Aloran, but there is still some work to be done.”

“When will you give up on my father and give me a chance?” Aloran questioned. Once the two were out of sight from the others, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her against his chest in one fluid motion. His cock stiffened as the smooth skin of her thigh brushed against its length.

“When he is dead and you are the chieftain?” Zari did not sound ashamed to say as much. She was also not too ashamed to push her leg against his hardening erection.

“But I’ve already spoiled you at least a dozen times.” Aloran pushed Zari back into the trunk of a tree. Drawing one of her legs up around his waist, he nudged his cock against her opening, teasing her slick lips with the swollen head. “A dozen and one.”

Zari tightened her legs around his thighs, challenging his intent to fuck her. “Spoil me all you want, Aloran, but until you are the chieftain, my energy will be spent on your father.”

Deep down, it made Aloran angry. Perhaps it was the anger that drove him to push inside her. Without wasting a moment, he pumped furiously into her pussy, grunting once or twice in the process. Zari’s tits bounced with each stroke. Aloran grabbed onto one of them, pinching at her nipple until she yelped in pain, which only tempted him to put his fingers into her mouth, pulling down on her jaw as he snorted out another breath.

With one final moan, Aloran shot his fluids up into her womb. He had been careful about not doing it in the past. He didn’t need to publicly spoil Zari. He did not want to shame her, but the moment called for it. Her words shamed him. The thought of his seed sticky between her legs, a reminder of her mistake for the day, excited him, and aroused him once more.

With a show of self-control, Aloran slid his fingers out of Zari’s mouth and his cock out of her used folds. When he took a step away from the woman, he watched as she slipped her fingers down to her swollen clit, circling it in an effort to bring herself to release. Spirits, he wanted to take her again, but she’d have to learn a lesson today. “Do not make the mistake of lessening me to my father again.”

Zari gasped at her own finger work. “Aloran, you can’t just leave me like…like this.”

Without another word, Aloran turned to leave, his cock heavy and coated with her juices.

* * *

Ishara was happy that the games were over. For days on end, she had to suffer through listening to her fellow Oolani women cry and fight all through the hours. From her slave pen, she witnessed many things. The Manahotchi men taking their new slaves, the newly-enslaved women being put out to work without food until the night—their cries ripped through her heart so-much-so that she forgot her own pain and despair. These were her people, and she could do nothing for them.

The chieftain did not allow Ishara to ever feel the pangs of hunger, but where he showed kindness, he also showed his stubbornness by leaving her out in her cramped pen for days without coming to see her. Another man would deliver her food and water and never once spoke directly to her. At first, it did not bother Ishara that she was being left alone, but the longer she went socially neglected, the more she started to yearn for her home and family.

Pulling her legs up to her chest, she hugged her arms around her knees, staring across the camp, watching mothers with their children as they prepared to go to the river to wash. She always thought it was strange, the relationships between mothers and daughters, mostly because she did not understand it. Ishara never knew her mother. She had died from fever when Ishara was just a few years old.

From behind her, the lock to the cage popped opened. She did not hear Mechan approach. He stood by the bars, staring down at Ishara like she was an animal, a discarded pet. Forgotten.

She looked up at the Manahotchi chief, and without missing a beat, she sneered. It might not have gotten her out of her prison, but Ishara did not want Mechan to think for a second that she had settled in her new place as a slave.

“Come. We’re going to the river.”

“You will go alone,” Ishara snapped back, pushing herself toward the back of the enclosure.

Mechan reached into the cage and forcefully plucked her out, standing Ishara onto her feet beside him. “We’re going to the river.” With a tug, the chieftain started to walk, dragging her along.

“You will let me go. I am the chieftain’s daughter!”

The Manahotchi chief only grunted and continued his way to the river through the broken, bare trees that stood like skeletons, reaching up to the hot, unforgiving sun. Ishara scanned the unfamiliar landscape. In Oolani, their trees were green and filled with life and movement. “Why are your trees dead?”

There was another grunt, but no answer.

Ishara asked again, “Why are your trees dead?”

“The land is dead.”

“Why is your land dead?”

Mechan stopped, jerking Ishara to his side. “The land is dead because of the sun drought. It is only a matter of time before the Oolani land becomes barren as well.”

Ishara laughed and shook her head, “Oh no, our land will not. Your land is probably dead because you don’t have any respect for the spirits. I spit on your land.” To emphasize the point, Ishara pursed her lips and spat into the dust.

Mechan’s eyes never left her when she walked way, but be it from her defiance or the way she swung her hips when she walked, she did not bother to find out. She wanted him to watch her and remember that she’s from better blood than that of a slave.

“Your defiance is remarkable.” The chief caught up to her, then held back a branch of a fronded tree, allowing Ishara to pass without having to manipulate herself around it. She found it strange that the master should make way for a slave, but she chose not to comment on it. “Did your father forget to teach you respect?”

Ishara dug her bare toes into the dirt, refusing to go any farther. “Don’t you let any words about my father come from your lips.”

“I’ll do as I please, little one.”

“You
will not
do this.”

“I’ll do as I please.” Mechan let the branch go and it flung back furiously, leaves breaking off and flurrying down into the dirt. If Ishara had still been standing there, she would have been laid out for days.

She didn’t want Mechan to see that he had hurt her. She felt guilty that she took pleasure from this barbaric man, the man who had given the command to enslave her and her tribe’s women. Now he had the nerve to insult her upbringing, wounding her with his words and callous attitude. “And you? How well did your father raise you? You are a weak man. Other men fight your wars while you hide in the shadows, waiting for your slave women.” Mechan did not hesitate in his step. Ishara’s barb didn’t faze him, angering her even more. “And how have you raised your son? He is angry and vengeful. Heartless. I’ve watched him beat some of the women before he put them into their pens. How do you explain that?”

“Enough.” He calmly spoke the one word.

“Does your tribe find strength in this? Your weak and failed son?”

Mechan grabbed her wrist, yanking her so close to him her nipples brushed against the course hair on his chest. She’d finally found his weakness. “Unhand me.”

Instead of letting her go, the chieftain pulled her by the arm all the way down to the river. He passed the others that washed and sought out his own piece of the banks, where the water pooled and was mostly still. Only when they were out of sight did Mechan let her go, swinging her without warning into the cold water.

The cool liquid engulfed her, and she shrieked. Her soaked dreads clung to her back. She flailed until she found her footing and by that time, Mechan was already in the pool, pouring water over his head with a clay vase.

“You will learn, little one. You are no longer the daughter of a tribe here.” As Mechan lifted the jug over his head, the muscles in his arms rippled. His long hair fell to the base of his neck, where it gathered into a point as water flowed over it. Though Ishara hated him most in this moment, something compelled her to watch him.

She sank into the water, covering her petite form for the first time since her capture. She turned away from Mechan and pulled on the tusk bead in her hair, missing her father more now than ever. She had never felt more helpless and small in her whole life. Perhaps that was why Mechan called her “little one.” It bothered her so much. Ishara did not want to feel small, and worse—so alone.

The water rippled around Ishara’s waist as Mechan walked up behind her, vase in hand. “Don’t sulk. It does not become you.” With a gentle tug of her upper arm, Mechan willed Ishara to turn around and face him. She looked up, her light eyes heavy with the sorrow that she was trying to conceal.