The Warlord's Concubine (5 page)

“You’ll always be a great Princess, my lady. Always.
Even here, among these beasts, they recognize your status and you’ll
be treated well. They won’t hurt you as long as you don’t
make trouble for them.” Her hand stroked along the woman’s
cheek, “I’m trying to help you. To make a deal with that
g— the leader,” she quickly corrected herself to a more
amiable term.

Lifting her watery blue eyes up to her servant, the delicate
princess stared at her with wide wonder, “Make a deal?”
Slowly distaste filled her features, “Is that what you were
doing yesterday when I awoke and you were gone? Consorting with the
enemy?” The young woman’s voice trembled in anger,
disbelief and doubt.

“For you. To try to get you free and safe and back to your
family,” she said calmly, though she forced a twinge of hurt to
her tone. “We can’t fight, Princess. We’re
captured, and if we’re not careful, terrible things might
happen to us. To you. I can’t allow that to happen.”

There was obviously some conflict within her, the trembling, pale
little woman lowering her eyes and darting them about in frustration.
“That’s no excuse to... to barter with the devil!”
she exclaimed in a breathy voice.

This was all too much to handle for the young woman who’d
only once been beyond the city itself, and then simply to be
betrothed to her future husband, a prince of the Empire. Swallowing
down her rage she asked, “What have you done, Mirella?”

“I’ve only looked out for your best interests, my
lady. You are my Princess, and I only ever want what is best for
you,” she responded, obedience in her tone. “I’m
only sorry that you had to wake alone. I so wanted to be there to
ensure you were feeling well.”

She seemed so sincere and downtrodden to be accused of such
things, and her green eyes fell demurely.

The virginal princess could hardly wrap her mind about what had
actually happened, and it seemed apparent she was struggling with the
reality of it all. “I need some time to think,” she said,
though before anything more could be said that familiar sound of
people falling to their knees could be heard behind them.

His was a presence felt before it was seen, and so Mirella was
able to turn in time to see the grand, dark man sweep into the tent.
Once again, where others cowered or bowed, she gazed up longingly.

Her gaze was returned, for the large tyrant approached them both.
His dark gaze moved to the princess however, eying her quivering
little form. “Good morning, princess Flair,” came his
dusky voice, so hard and masculine, using her official title for the
first time.

Mirella had to pull her eyes from him, using all her will to look
back to the Princess, stroking the backs of her fingers against her
lady’s hand. “Princess, please,” she murmured
softly. She wanted the praise of her god, and if she could only warp
the princess to his will...

Why did she have to be so obstinate? Why did her father spoil her
so? Mirella shoved aside the rage, her light caresses so encouraging,
“He can help you.”

The princess didn’t flinch from her touch, which was a good
sign, but she still remained cowering from the visage of the mighty
giant towering over them.

“You needn’t fear me, princess,” he intoned
evenly in that booming voice of his that seemed incapable of doing
anything but commanding attention.

The princess, however, snapped then, “My father will come
and save me! I don’t need you or anyone to take care of me
until then!” Obstinately she pushed away Mirella’s
consoling hand and rose up on shaky limbs, resolutely defiant in her
ignorance of reality.

“Princess!” she gasped as she stood on far more
certain feet. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you get
yourself injured,” she murmured, leaning in to the other
woman’s ear, “Be rational,” she pleaded.

Stumbling upon the cushions that lined the floor as she pushed
Mirella away, Anabelle tried to escape them both but toppled onto a
mound of velvet and silk, crying as she tried to separate herself
from them both. “Leave me alone!” she cried. Mirella knew
that tone of voice well, there would be no consoling the princess
now, not until she had sobbed herself clean of her worries.

However, the greatest disappointment was the look on the ebon
God-King’s face. He said no more, but he chose two other women
then, leaving her there to wait out the sobs of the petulant
princess.

After hours of crying and pouting, Mirella’s anger had
plenty of time to boil. Despite her calming and matronly tone, her
rage at disappointing her god, at being denied him was the most
intense emotion she had ever felt.

At the palace, the Princess’s moods like this could go on
for weeks at a time on occasion. Here, under such dramatic
circumstances, she feared for how stubborn she could be. Sleep
claimed her eventually, and in the midst of the night the
concubine-guards came to her in quiet, shifting through the dim,
candle lit tent to rouse the handmaid from her rest.

There were no words, just a quiet look. Either it was ominous or
they merely wished to not wake the sleeping princess.

She was a light sleeper at the best of times and disentangled
herself from the sleeping princess, whose deep sleep was difficult to
rouse her from at the best of times. Mirella primped as she followed
them back the familiar route to the breakfast nook, and her heart
beat with excitement and fear.

Surely he couldn’t have expected her to win over the
princess so quickly. Perhaps if she had informed the woman of her
dead father, to have instigated her rage sooner, she could have moved
the process along quicker. Her footsteps were fast and she nearly
outpaced the guards as she sought to see her god and bare her
punishment for failure.

Mirella found the man standing beneath the moonlight in almost
nothing. The guard had not dared follow her in, and so she was left
alone with the visage of her new idol, his dark, hard body seeming to
glow in the moonlight. It took her awhile to realize he was
glistening with some light perspiration as he stood there in his
boots and pants only.

Turning around he looked to her passively, and his words shook
reality, “She is a stubborn one.” So simple.

“Yes, Your Greatness,” she sighed as she moved towards
him, her fingers working the ribbon of her dressing gown and leaving
it partially open down the front. It was quite brazen, of course, but
it was done with such a natural ease that it didn’t seem crass.

“I’m considering if her father’s death will help
or hinder your progress with her,” she was no longer speaking
to him, but to his body, her eyes working their way over his form.
There was no jealousy to her, no lamenting why he continued on with
other concubines. She accepted him as is and was only grateful for
time alone with him once more.

She swore she could hear that familiar groan of leather as his
manhood swelled within his pants again. The dark lord reached out and
took her in his hands, held her shoulder and hip as he looked down
over her body with such masculine desire. “You can bend her to
me,” he intoned darkly, and it was only reassuring.

“I will, Your Greatness. If there is any one thing I will do
in this world, it will be to see you happy,” she murmured. Her
softer body yielded towards him as her material gathered around his
wrist, revealing more of her feminine form. She swallowed as her
heartbeat quickened, and she wanted him so badly. To see him happy
with her. To be the one he visited more than any other.

“The Princess is headstrong, but easily led. She will take
her time to be emotional, but she trusts me. I will make sure she
makes the right choice for you,” she tilted her head up,
looking over his muscled chest before finally meeting his eyes.

Brushing his hand over her cheek, he let the dress fall to the
grass while his other hand stroked across her hip to one of her
generous breasts. Standing so close to him, the swell of his manhood
through his pants pressed against her, and she knew he wanted her.
“Tell me, what can I do to soften her heart in the meantime.
Will this stubborn princess be swayed by trinkets? Favours?”

He spoke of the other woman, but as he lowered and tilted his
head, he seemed focussed only on her. He was consumed with desire for
her as he supped at the flesh of her neck, kissing, suckling and
biting her there.

“If you’ve spared some of her friends, it might be a
relief, depending on how supportive they are of you. To gain good
will,” she murmured as her hands pressed against his chest,
feeling out his flesh so desirably. “Clothing, amenities. A
bedroom. Things the princess wants. Return her life to as close as
normalcy, and she will have an easier time processing this. Your men
destroyed most of the things she put value into, and it is making her
more stubborn than usual,” she purred out. One of her hands
swept over the bulge in his pants and she trembled with need.

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his ribs, tracing them so
hungrily as she kissed his flesh, rubbing his manhood with growing
speed and pressure.

The depth of her advice, the cunning of it, seemed to please the
giant of a man at least as much as her touches. “Then I shall
do that,” he said with certainty. “I shall put her back
in her room, restore things as best as can be done...” he
stroked her sleek, dark hair, cupped and squeezed her large breast,
appreciated the beauty of her voluptuous form in its totality. “But
none of her friends likely live. The court had to be eliminated, to
make way for my reign,” he insisted, throbbing against her
touch so thickly. “You are the only friend she can have.”

She smiled as her fingers found that sweet release of his pants,
plucking his throbbing shaft from its confines with such relish. “I
don’t know why that should please me, but it does,” she
said as her fist began to worshipfully massage his member. “Certainly
it isn’t that I enjoy her company, but to have her rely upon
only me...” her grin widened. “Besides, those pissants
deserved to die.”

Her harsh words about the dead nobles seemed to bring a toothy
smile to his face, and he looked down at her as she began to pump his
massive shaft in the night air. The roll of his foreskin exposed the
thick bulging ridge of his crown, and a husky growl of pleasure
brewed from within his chest.

“You’re mine,” he stated possessively, his
fingers knitted into her hair as he stroked her head. “Will it
help your cause if she thinks you were responsible for negotiating
these new arrangements? Or would it be more beneficial to me to take
credit for my gifts?” he asked as his powerful hand, coarse and
strong, kneaded her breast flesh, teased and toyed with her areola
and stiff nipple.

She thought about it, or at the very least tried. Her mind was
quickly beginning to give way to a haze of delight at his hands, his
hardness throbbing against her palms. “Take credit,” she
murmured. “The Princess must see you as her ‘saviour
Prince’. I’m but a lowly handmaiden,” she purred.
It sounded so incredibly selfless, but the deviousness was obvious.

Her body ached for him and that distracting wetness between her
thighs grew as she massaged his member. Again there was no intent for
him to cum, just a pure enjoyment of feeling him in all of his glory.

Leaning down, the obsidian giant plushly placed a kiss against her
pouty lips. “You know your place well,” he husked so
complimentary, “how can I meet with you without raising the
Princess’s suspicions? I need your reports,” he stated,
his voice hanging for just a moment before he squeezed her breast
painfully hard, “I want your flesh.” Despite his
magnificence, his power, when he spoke in that lust laden voice, it
had a way of making her feel like all the world had fallen away and
she was the sole object of his desire.

“She sleeps well, Your Greatness,” she whispered
against his lips. “I need little sleep to be rested, and I
would do without for months if it meant more time with you.”
She swallowed hard, her hand and her stomach trapping his cock in the
heated embrace of her flesh, her large breasts pressed against him as
if encouraging his hard squeezes. The way she moaned with each new
pain seemed to demonstrate her joy quite well.

With his hand in her hair and upon her chest, he twisted her
around. To be manhandled by a god as she was bent over, pushed down
so that she had to rest her hands against the soapstone table where
he’d first taken her.

“You serve well,” he husked as he brought his thick
pillar to her quim, the slickness of her cunny kissing the bulbous
crown. “If you fail to produce me an heir, I shall be saddened
by that.” He stabbed himself into her, forcing that thick girth
to the very base of her quim and yet still more of his length unable
to fit.

She braced herself and for only a second she wondered if this was
where he took the other women before all thought and reason left her.
All that was left was that aching fullness, that needy, hard cock as
it battered into her from a new angle, sending familiar tendrils of
ecstasy up and down her form. Though she didn’t cum right away
as she had last time, her pussy tightened around that gigantic
member, her breasts flattened atop the cold table and the sensation
teasing her higher.

This time was rougher, harder, and more primal than the first. It
was as if in the pale moonlight this beast of a king was fuelled in
his dark desires. He held her generous hips in place, keeping her
from moving too far from his hold as he pounded her from behind. If
this was the kind of treatment he gave other women, there was no
wonder as to why they looked so blown away after their encounters
with him.

The hard, dull thuds of his iron cock shaft impacting her depths
were each a new reminder of the throbbing pain she’d carry from
this experience long afterwards. The slap of his heavy balls against
her sodden clit and mons like a mocking clap in the dark of night.
But the sweet sounds of husky male satisfaction were delicious enough
to make up for it, especially as she felt his member swell and the
flood of thick virile seed to follow.