Selected for Sport Ch. 15

"But you have also been very wayward."

She gasped, dropping her forehead onto the convenient headrest when those knowing fingers teased at her slit from behind. She was quivering, paying scant attention while between brushes of teasing, excruciating desire, each ankle was lifted in turn and secured to a shinpad horizontal to the floor, her knees bent at ninety degrees and held shockingly wide apart in a v-shape.

The fingers withdrew fully. Realisation returned. Alanna reared as well as she could, twisting her head back to peer over her shoulder, shaking it frantically while further wide, leather straps where tightened around the back of her upper calves, completely immobilising her spread legs.

"Shh," murmured Xanir again, bending to brush his lips over her cheek, then gently turning her head to face down, stroking her hair. "First you must promise to be more obedient. More circumspect: you do not know all the dangers surrounding you, princess. Do not try and repeat that trick with your bra. Clever. But risky. Leave it to me to arrange how you pass me information."

"I'm -- I can't move." Despite the kindness in his voice, Alanna's was wavering, although she couldn't quite bring herself to admit that she was scared. Completely defenceless, legs held vulnerably wide, and now he was strapping down her forearms, checking that they were comfortably ensconced on further padded supports parallel to the stone-flagged floor, below the one at chest height. Her breath was coming in shallow, intense pants, but she could feel the excitement trembling through her limbs, too. What was he going to do? The hand stroking down her spine soothed her, even while the fire in her blood seared higher. There was something about being so immobilised. So vulnerable.

"That is the point. Taking the initiative is a bad idea, princess. You must learn not to move except at my will. Although I shall leave your head free today." The words made her tremble: gratitude, wistfulness, indignation and swamping, all-encompassing desire colliding within her.

"Relax for me."

She made a stifled snort of indignant protest.

The moulding underneath her torso narrowed at her centre chest to allow her breasts to dangle. Gentle fingers plumped them, eased them to hang freely. Brushed the nipples. She could feel every hair on her skin straining to full alert, desperate to catch every nuance of sensation, unbearably eager.

"Xanir!" she pleaded. She hadn't been allowed to touch him in days!

"Shh," he reminded her. "Trust me -- this will not hurt. I am also very pleased with you."

A surge of pleasure shot through the tremble inside her. "Xan --."

"Hush now." The implacable note crept back into the deep voice.

Alanna sighed, and tried to relax onto the bizarre bench underneath her. Xanir had turned away. Squinting below her torso, she watched him retrieve a small bottle from a low table a few steps behind her. He rinsed his fingers in a shallow bath, built into the floor, where gently steaming water bubbled to the surface, spread and sank.

Xanir made a noise of displeasure, strode back to her head, grasped her hair, and tilted her face back down, gently but firmly. "Close your eyes," he ordered. "Nosey."

Alanna was terribly excited, but the brief respite from his touch had reawakened the alarm on her skin. That glance had also reminded her of her position, how wide and vulnerable her legs were strapped. The colour raged higher in her cheeks together with her shortened breathing. Exciting.

There were whips on the wall behind him. Frightening.

"Do you want me to blindfold you?"

The hand in her hair yet allowed her to shake her head quickly. Alanna closed her eyes. She could feel the tears welling again, fear rising, somehow blending with the excitement. What else was suspended on the walls? Something about this room: the silence, the darkness, the absolute solitude and her immobility, vulnerability, were reminding her, all over again, that she was completely at this man's mercy. What did she truly know of him?

"Good, little one." Soft lips brushed her cheek again. "Shh. Relax."

Alanna swallowed. She was completely at his mercy wherever she was in this blazing land.

The belt around her waist was released, and flicked aside to dangle. Heavy breathing beside her. A scent she didn't know perfumed the air: delicate, enticing, as exotic as the aphrodisiac fruit and as warming as lavender. Hands rubbed briskly together. She jumped slightly when oil-slick thumbs rubbed gently across her lumber.

"Xanir -."

"Shh," he repeated, low and slightly hoarse. Then, whispered: "By the stars, you are beautiful."

Alanna swallowed, overwhelmed by the feeling in his voice. She subsided, ruefully admitting to herself that this position was actually amazingly comfortable. If she ignored her vulnerable position. Unease and lust rippled, clashed and melded gently again.

Hands began to soothe up her spine. Slowly the simmer in her blood was subdued under the firm touch, and her conscious mind relaxed into the calm kneading of her spine and shoulders. His hands were moulding, stroking, skimming -- worshiping her curves. Occasional kisses brushed her skin, light touches to her hip, her shoulder, the nape of her neck, but nothing sexual, pure delight. Alanna sighed, relaxing more fully against the padded supports. The simmer in her blood sank, but never died, awareness of the strength in those gentle hands keeping it smouldering.

Bliss as he caressed her neck. Shoulders, hanging upper arms -- melting into his touch. The scent, the stroke of his hands was lifting her, floating her in a cocoon of warm contentment. Time filtered out.

Eventually, he moved to stand between her feet. The simmer lifted its head. Xanir smoothed firm fingers down the strong muscles on the outside of her thighs and Alanna sank back into the blissful detachment, relaxing into his hands. Lips brushed her naked buttocks. She jumped, the desire yanking alert again instantly. She began to tremble. His fingers were sliding gently up her inner thighs.

This touch was different. Where before it had been strong, soothing, now feather-light fingertips were skimming teasingly up toward her damp core. Her body was instantly, breathtakingly crying with lust and a soft squeal sounded on the air, a mangled version of his name. Moisture escaped onto her thighs, and her hips bucked. Or tried to: Alanna exploded in a growl, half a groan. Somehow, sometime when she had been sunk in her relaxed stupor, he had re-fastened the belt around her midriff.

His tongue began to lip across her buttocks. Sensuously, slowly. Fingertips were gently massaging her labia. Her breath was coming in hoarse, short pants: groaning, pleading noises not seeming to make it into words.

And then, just as she was there, peaking, poised to spring apart, fly into ecstasy, his fingers withdrew. His lips were again soothing, stroking across her quivering buttocks.

The needy noises resembled curses, as Alanna tried to grind her hips to find something, anything.

"Hush," his lips breathed into her skin, now nibbling little bites on the smooth cheeks. "Patience, little one. You do as I wish."

She growled and tried to buck him off.

He chuckled, resting his chin on her coccyx, kissing the tingling skin of her lumber. "The best things come to those who wait," he quoted

Her voice was hoarse mangled with squeaky: "How would you like me to do this to you?"

Amusement in his tone: "I wouldn't advise you to try to tie me up, princess. Not a recipe for health."

That wicked tongue began to lap back down towards her core, and her spine cramped in gut-wrenching excitement. "Now shh. I will teach you never to take the initiative, but to await my lead. Always."

A muffled groan, although she managed to gasp, "What if you're not available?"

"You still wait." The voice was soft, but implacable. She knew that tone.

*

She had been begging for release for so long that she didn't realise for a moment when his mouth and hands finally lifted. She surfaced when a tassel of rich, golden thread hanging from a circular cup of material was touched to her lips.

"Lick."

How did she still have the capacity to blush? Wearily, skin tingling hopefully at the change, Alanna slurped at the sticky, saturated cloth, the familiar, sugar-claggy taste coating her tongue. Bethesda trained her with these nearly every day. On his orders.

Her nipple screamed with excitement when the wet cup was smoothed over it, and she gasped and writhed to the excruciating, exquisite little ripples as Xanir held it firm while his fingertips carefully eased out the slightest bubble in the sugar-based adhesive.

Panting, shuddering, obediently she licked at the other one presented to her lips, embarrassingly aware of the moisture running slowly down her inner thighs. Please. She was so poised, waiting, wound so tight. Waiting to see what he would do. Waiting for when he would deem she had learned. She voice was whispering in the air Repeating, again, and again.

"I have learned. I have learned." Soon. Please.

"Hush," he repeated, lips brushing her shoulder. She gasped, an inward gulp when the fingertips teased her other nipple to full peak before he smoothed on the second tassel. Her skin was straining with the heavy, almost unbearable awareness.

"Please."

Xanir smiled at the whisper on the air, lifted the rear of the frame, and smoothly rolled it to lock in position. His bride caught her breath, colour flaring scarlet when she took in the huge mirror underneath them, her hanging, tasselled breasts and wide-spread thighs slick with the wetness from the pink slit gaping between them, blatantly visible in a way she had never seen. Never imagined. Never wanted to see.

Alanna's eyes were screwed shut. A hand soothed over her buttocks. There was something comforting in the naked weight that lowered to cover her back. More, excruciatingly exciting was the hard, blunt column that nudged her buttocks, the tip moist. Lips caressed her neck, then Xanir lifted his torso off slightly her violently trembling, panting form, taking his weight on a second set of arm rests above hers. The angle pressed his erection further between her thighs, sliding delicately along the length of her wet slit, drawing a gasp as her eyes flew open again. The contrast of the dark column, rigid against her softly pink folds flared the flush in her cheeks.

"Beautiful. Bewitching. All mine," breathed Xanir, staring over her shoulder at their reflection. His harsh voice deepened the tremble, sweetening the rage in her blood. She slid her buttocks the fraction they would move, flaring the heat as she pressed against him, and groaned when he tilted his hips slightly to remove the exquisite pressure.

"Dance for me," he breathed.

Her lips were parted on a protest when their eyes met in the mirror. The look in those black eyes. Melting under them, her entire body quivering in delight, reading the promise that he would take her to fulfilment this time, take her further, somewhere she had never been but -- oh, she wanted to. Now. For him. With him.

Tentatively, Alanna began to move. She could move very little, rocking herself forwards and back along the support between her breasts. But it was enough. She added the extra little flick that sent her breasts and tassels spinning, and heard a harsh intake of breath from behind, above her, saw his hands clench white-knuckled around the bars he was holding.

Those blazing black eyes lifted from her whirling breasts to meet hers again. Fiercely holding her mesmerised, Xanir tilted his hips back. Alanna gasped when that slick, hard column again nestled against the length of her slit, her slight rocking movement sliding the length of his straining erection through her slick lower lips, nudging the end against that taut, needy bud at the head.

"Keep going," growled Xanir breathlessly when she faltered at the explosion of feeling. His hands clasped her hips; not to guide, not to deflect, but merely enjoying the curves under his fingers.

She was so close. So close. "Please," she gasped, even as she renewed the shimmy. She eyes were drawn by the wanton picture below her, the glowing skin of the girl contrasting sharply with the dark skin of the man poised to enter her, the soft pink wet slit surrounding and rubbing needily against the rock-hard darker column. The fire in the eyes just above her right ear; Xanir was looking where she had, but his gaze moved back to the whirl of the deep red tassels adorning her breasts. His hands tightened on her hips.

Alanna collapsed. "Please!"

The pressure against her slit was amazing, but not enough. It kept slipping away.

"Do you want me inside you?"

Her colour flared again, "Yes."

"You must watch. Do it. Look at me entering you, princess."

The huge bubble of happiness, need, deflated at his words. Xanir noticed. Of course he noticed. She was completely naked, widely vulnerable and plastered under him.

"What is wrong?"

He still didn't call her by name. She could be anyone. Anyone with this body that he craved.

"Nothing," she gasped desperately reaching to sink back into the overwhelming excitement. This was enough.

Xanir withdrew, even the heat of him gone from her back. "Tell me."

Alanna closed her eyes, wishing she could deny him, wishing she could keep herself from needing him this much -- and not just sexually.

Her voice was tiny, a breathless thread of apologetic sound. "Could you please call me by my name?"

She wondered if he even knew it.

There was a brief, silent pause, and then he was beneath her, naked buttocks vivid and mesmerising in the mirror, legs lifting to hook powerfully over her splayed thighs and twine around her calves while he hauled his hips up until his erection was brushing her belly. She was distracted by his face approaching, while those scarred, muscular arms smoothly hauled him up to a breath away from her lips. The tears clung to her cheeks from when she had begged at his earlier lessons. Xanir halted.

"Please kiss me, Alanna," he whispered.

Her blush was different, vulnerable, and her eyelids fluttered. After a short hesitation, her lips tangled with his softly, sweetly, before withdrawing, doubt in her eyes.

"Please kiss me again, Alanna, my beautiful little bride."

She complied. The gentle play of their lips drew her in, caressed her, coaxing her to explore.

"Alanna."

A third kiss, and she was purring to the sure, sweet sweep of his tongue, the nibbling lips. Her eyes were like dreamy stars when he withdrew.

"This you may initiate," Xanir whispered, suckling her lip softly, swirling his tongue. "In here. Or in my garden. No-where else."

She was kissing him freely now.

"In private you may kiss me whenever you wish."

Her colour flared again, and it was a joyous mingling of lips. This was one of the first lessons learned: You do not touch the Tahl. Not unless he has first touched you. The strictest, absolute law, to keep or risk losing a hand.

Yet she was allowed to kiss him. In private. But whenever she wished.

And oh did she wish.

Long moment passed, lost in the soft sweep of lips exploring, eyes closed, savouring the sensation.

"I could spend every minute kissing you," she whispered.

Something hard, delicious and provocative nudged her belly, making her gasp, her lips breaking away.

"Only kissing?" he teased.

Her eyes sparkled and she reached down, pouting when his lips retreated further than she could follow. "I never said I'd only kiss your lips!"

He was already gone. She gasped in excitement when his warmth again covered her back, gleeful eyes appearing behind her head. There was no fear, only a rich, melting pleasure pulling at her, sinking her into the hands which swept up over her belly to grasp her hips.

"To recap," Xanir teased, nibbling her neck while he slid his cock back into place along the folds of her slit. Her gasp turned into a groan, "Please, Xanir."

His head tilted. "Tell me what you want," he breathed into her ear.

Her colour was painful, her limbs trembling with need. "You." Her eyes flitted to where that hard column brushed tantalisingly again. She was already rocking her hips.

"Show me." His weight lifted enough so she could move.

Beginning the soft shimmy, Alanna watched his eyes harden in heat while her breasts began to whirl. The feather touch of the hard column between her thighs was torture, she was panting as she looked down, trying to angle herself to his hard length, but trapped by this infernal contraption. "Please! Xanir!" Her breath was almost a sob. "I promise."

"Good girl."

He lifted back, his face retreating in her line of vision and his hips tilted, a hand angling his erection so the tip pressed against her wet opening. His voice was harsh, strangled: "Keep dancing."

She was. So close! Each whirl of her hips nudged him only a tiny fraction deeper; his hips followed, not withdrawing, but not forcing swiftly in; the sensation was exquisite, tantalising. Relentlessly slow. "Please!" sobbed Alanna.

"Dance!" his breathless voice was harsh, hands on her hips fierce and firm.

Alanna breaths were gasping sobs as she tried to move harder, further, desperately trying to sheathe him in her in one hard thrust. Shame forgotten, her eyes moved to fix to that long, hard column slowly advancing between her thighs with each desperate, restricted lunge of her hips. Her long-awaited climax was rippling through her, the edge so close, just there, but receding with each tiny, incremental advance. Her sobs were growing. "Please, please Xanir, please."

No reply except the tightening of his hands and the deep, hoarse growl: "Dance!"

He was almost fully sheathed, and it was unbearably perfect, but not enough. The fullness, the stretch had her sobbing in pleasure but the peak hovered just beyond her reach. Stretched so taut she was going to explode, but unable to ignite the cataclysm.

"Please Xanir. You do it."

A harsh release of breath behind her, and the rough grip on her hips tilted her a fraction of an inch as he drove home. The surge in her veins was igniting when the blunt end of his erection nudged a painfully taut spot deep inside, breaking the rush with a different, opposite surge of feeling. Her mouth opened on a gasp, head jerking up.

"Xan-." His name cut off on a cry when he slammed back against that spot again, jerking her higher into the lost clouds of nothing but feeling. She was pummelled higher; tighter. She couldn't be tighter, there was no tighter, and yet he drove her to it with those relentless lunges of his hips. It almost hurt, so powerful the feeling as he ruthlessly pounded that same spot. Alanna could hear her voice rising on a never-ending squeal. Her eyes were blacking out, skin and muscles so taut they would break, neck stretched backward and mouth open as she struggled to breathe, to survive, to cling to anything.

Her cry broke when she finally flew apart under him, muscles scrunching tight then convulsing in reaction as she exploded. Xanir shouted, sheathed deep inside her, head flung back while he xursed a long litany of words of glory, of praise, the strong ripples massaging deeper pleasure while he spurted again, and again. So long. So glorious.

*

A vague sensation of being carried, lain somewhere soft, before his warmth joined her. Alanna realised she was snuggled against his side, a hand gently massaging her scalp. She blinked her eyes open. Her fingers were tangled in the soft blue of his low-slung trousers, forehead tucked against the side of his waist. A sofa back curved behind her and Xanir was sitting up, leaning against the arm while he wrote swiftly on a booklet perched on his knees with the other hand. Their eyes met.