The Will of the Gods Ch. 03

He slid his hand from her waist to her shoulder, tracing the edge of her black slave's silk. He ran his finger over the knot, his favorite part of the way this dress tied. With two fingers, he grabbed one end of the knot and gave a slight tug. The knot untied immediately and the fabric pooled around the girl's feet. He heard Regina gasp as she stood suddenly naked before him. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

His hand lingered on her soft, pale skin. He let his fingers trail from her waist to her belly button as he moved behind her. Closing his eyes, he pressed his face against her mane of hair and drank in her scent. She smelled like the Ceremony fire and sweat, the sweetness of a woman, and beneath that, he swore he could smell the scent of her arousal. He licked his lips and took a deep breath.

He could feel her body flex as the hand on her abdomen moved downward to gently cup her mound. Regina, for her part, felt the carnal part of her begin to awaken. His hand sent lightning bolts into the folds of her sex before his fingers had even reached it. There was something buried in her that was becoming stronger than her fear, overpowering her shame.

He felt her hips fidget against him. Overcome with desire, he grabbed her earlobe between his teeth and gave a lascivious growl as she leaned unmistakably into his caress.

By the gods, this girl was testing his patience. All he wanted to do was to bend her over the table again, but this time thrust his cock into her slit.

No, Gregar thought, he would not move so fast. First he wanted to hear her scream. Perhaps he would use the cane on her and watch her writhe at the pain of its stings on her ass. Her face would blush beautifully when he showed her the dripping mess of her cunt on his fingertips. He would make her lick it off him. Then, when her ass was glowing brightly, he would shove his whole shaft inside of her. His hips would pound against her. The soft globes of her ass would still be hot from the caning.

'Shit.' He had to pull himself out of this.

The girl was still in shock from the Ceremony, rendered compliant by the knowledge that the gods had spoken. It was imperative that Gregar monopolize on the moments before she fully understood or rationalized what had happened to her. By the end of the evening, she would understand what it meant to be his slave.

"Eyes front."

Regina did not realize she had moved until he spoke. Her cheek was pressed to his face, her neck arched, mouth open as he caressed her. Dizzy, she snapped her head back to the front, squaring her shoulders. He sounded cross, but she could not understand why. He had won. The gods favored him. Her brain was still trying to take that in, but if anything she was the one who should be angry.

Gregar released the girl, stalked to a chest, and pulled out a long, willowy reed. He came back to stand in front of her. With the knuckle of his index finger, he stroked her cheekbone. His eyes drank in her face as the light from the fire flickered over it. Her mouth was a bright strawberry against the cream of her pale skin. He let his thumb run over it gently.

"Who are you?" The question came low, unexpected. Regina did not pause to think about her answer.

"Princess Regina, Lady of Trandon, heir to—"

With the hand not caressing her face, he landed a blow with the cane. The snap came against her hip, the one without the fresh mark. It bit into her skin, painful enough to distract her momentarily from the ache of the brand. She cried out in surprise, her face contorting in confusion as she brought her eyes up to his.

"Who are you?" Gregar's voice had taken on a low, menacing quality. It was the rumble of thunderstorms again, the imminent volcano. The same tension that could be seen in a flock of seagulls before a hurricane built inside of her, making her fidget nervously. She changed her weight from foot to foot.

She didn't understand the question and whimpered slightly in confusion before speaking again. "Princess Regina, Lady of Tra—"

The stinging bite came against the top of the round globe of her ass. This time she gave a sharp cry.

"Why are you doing thi—"

"Who are you?" He cut her off, hard and unwavering. He let his fingers stroke her neck softly, his thumb running along her collarbone.

Regina stuck her chin into the air. He felt the muscles in her neck tighten stubbornly. When her voice came, it was louder and more assured. "Princess Regina, Lady of—" Her words were interrupted by a pained scream as his strike landed on the inside of her upper thigh. She sobbed and pulled her legs together, which earned her two painfully sharp raps on the back of her knees.

"Do not move from the position where I placed you," Gregar snarled. He spoke slowly, carefully, menacingly. "Spread your legs."

He saw her fighting herself. He imagined everything in her body telling her not to spread her legs—not to make vulnerable the softness of her inner thighs, her sex. But as he watched, she obeyed.

His voice was a hungry growl, "Good girl, wren." Placing his hand on her waist, he bent his head, sucking her nipple into his mouth. She tried to pull away but he held her firm.

"Stay," he demanded with his lips against her flesh. His tongue danced across her nipple and Regina's body leaned involuntarily into his caresses. Her eyes closed as her breath caught in her throat.

With an amused smirk, Gregar stood back up. He replaced his tongue with his index finger. Gently, he flicked the bud of her nipple.

Another blow, on her inner thigh again—a testing blow. This time, he saw her stop herself from pulling her legs together to shield herself from the pain. He caught her eyes with his and noted with pleasure the mixture of arousal and fear that held her in place.

"Who are you?"

"Princess Regina, Lady—" The blow came across her ribs. She sobbed, and tried again without being asked.

"Princess Regi—" Another blow—higher this time. Her heels moved, but she kept her legs still. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Princess—" The wail that interrupted her words was somewhere between a scream and a sob, brought on by the sharp smack of the reed landed against the top of her thigh, close to the crease of her sex.

"What?" she cried in exasperation, bringing her eyes up to search his face. "What do you want me to say?" Her voice desperate, she shook her head in fury.

He clucked approvingly. "What do I want you to say?" He cupped her cheek, trailing his thumb along her jaw, wiping away a tear. "That's a very good question." He let his eyes explore hers.

He began to circle her hardened nipple with his finger. "I'm sure we can reason our way through it together, yes?" She did not respond. He brought the reed down across her stomach and watched her jump. "I asked a question, I expect an answer."

"Yes, Master." She replied with a shiver.

"You were just saying you were the Lady of Trandon, yes?" She nodded. The reed came down on her side, just above her hip. He wanted her fancy titles to become synonymous with the sting of his whip.

"Yes, Master!" She wailed in pain.

"Is that true?"

Her body shook. Green eyes searched his gray ones for the answer he wanted. He kept his face impassive. The answer had to come from her. "I don't under—"

"You don't understand?" His voice was a derisive sneer. He stepped in front of her, towering over her head, his eyes ablaze with arrogant amusement. "It is not a difficult question, wren. You do not strike me as stupid, though you are making me doubtful. Are you or are you not, by the Will of the gods, any longer the Lady of Trandon?"

Her face went slack, bewildered. She gazed up at him. The confusion faded. Her lip began to tremble. Bowing her head, her shoulders slumped. "N—No. I'm not."

The blow fell sharply against her abdomen. For a moment, she looked confounded. He raised the crop again, but she realized her error before it fell. "Master!" She yelled quickly. "No, Master."

Regina desperately longed for the edge of laughter to come back to his voice. Even the whipping over the table before seemed kinder than the words falling from his lips now.

"Good, wren" He began to move around her, eyeing the welts of the day that had accumulated over her skin. Carefully, he made sure there were none he would need to attend to later. They all looked clean. He continued. "And are you, by the Will of the gods, still a lady at all?"

She shook her head quickly, saying nothing. He waited, he could see that she was mustering up the strength to say the words. "No—" her voice broke off with a sob. Tears poured down her ruddy cheeks.

"Louder." He circled her nipple with his middle finger and watched her shiver. Regina hated herself for the response. No matter how cruel he was, she still found herself craving his touch.

"No, Master."

"No, Master... what?" He turned his attention to her other breast, his fingers dancing along the edge of the raised, pink flesh.

"No, Master. I'm not a lady." At her words, he bent again and sucked her nipple into his mouth. She felt his teeth on the edge of her areola, biting just enough to make her whimper.

"Are you a princess?" He did not move his mouth from her flesh as he spoke, the flicker of mischief returning to his eyes.

"No, Master. I'm not a princess." With her nipple fast between his teeth, he traced the tip of the bud with his tongue. Regina felt her knees shake with desire.

"So who are you?" He pulled his head back, eyes dancing over the slightly reddened teeth marks he had made.

"Reg—Regina?"

"Good. What is Regina?"

She knew that princess or lady, the titles with which she had associated herself for her entire life were wrong. "A girl?" Her voice was unsteady, the answer a question.

The blow came down on the creamy white softness of her inner thigh, a hair's breadth away from her slit. She howled, pulling her feet together.

"Legs. Spread." He punctuated each word with a rapid blow that almost fell across the raw skin of her brand, close enough that it felt like he had. With a piteous wail, she spread her legs back out.

He rewarded her obedience with a hand between her legs. His fingers found her swollen bud. He grinned to touch her wetness. For all her piteous sobbing, she was enjoying herself. Regina, for her part, felt how easily his fingers slid along her folds and knew the truth of her arousal without needing to be shown. She could feel it within her, the traitorous little beast inside who cooed and purred and seemed to grow stronger at each sting of the whip.

"What are you?"

She shook her head plaintively, afraid to say the wrong thing, afraid of another mark from the cane, afraid of the low, threatening thunder of his voice. She was afraid, too, that she truly did not know the answer anymore. Princess Regina, Lady of Trandon Trandon would never have given herself over to this beating so willingly. She felt her insides melting against the probing of his hands. That was not how a lady responded.

"What are you?" He asked again, gently squeezing her clit between his fingers. It was enough to make her moan—from pleasure or pain she could not be sure.

"I don't know!"

He removed his hands. The reed landed three times, this time hard against her sex. Her clit was engorged from arousal, ready to respond to the slightest movement of his nimble fingers. The pain from the sudden thrashing was so great that she nearly crumpled to the floor in pain.

His voice burst into her ears before she let herself fall. "Stay standing." She obeyed without considering an alternative.

Stepping behind her, he wrapped his arm around her, dipping his fingers into the moist velvet of her cunt again. He pinched her clit between two fingers, rubbing it gently as he buried his face in the mass of her hair, taking in her sweet scent.

"Regina," he whispered gently and she heard a trickle of amusement slide back into the register of his voice. "Is not a lady or a princess, is she?"

She writhed under his hand, leaning into his chest as he pressed on the button of her clit. "No, Master," she whispered, the words almost a moan.

"You're not even just a girl, are you? A girl is free to roam. A girl is free to do whatever she likes. Are you a girl?"

She shook her head, afraid if she said the wrong answer, the whip would replace the pleasure of his fingers again, and the amusement would leave his voice.

"No, Master," she whimpered finally.

Gregar continued to toy with her clit as he considered her answer. Each motion of his fingers sent shocks flying through Regina's body. She leaned against him, letting her hips rise to meet his fingers. The part of her that still wanted to resist was fettered by the pleasure that rolled through her body and the thought that resistance would be met with more blows from the slim little stick in his other hand.

"So what are you?" His fingers worked faster against her so that she gave little, willowy gasps of pleasure against his ear.

"A slave, Master. I'm a slave" Her voice was a moan. There was no other answer to give save the one she knew he wanted. Her hips began to rock into his fingers.

"Yes," he whispered into her ear. She gave a fawning nod, her hair rubbing against his cheek. He felt himself panting softly with desire as she gave herself to him. His fingers quickened their attentions, rolling her clit between them so rapidly it seemed as if her moans were fluttering against his ear, not quite able to finish before the next one began.

There was something in the way Regina submitted that made Gregar hungry with desire. Her arousal was unparalleled in any of the slaves he had seen. It usually took a few weeks—at least a few days to work a slave into the level of arousal that Regina was showing now. Bending her to his will would only grow easier. He knew he could not sustain this level of submission past tonight. In the morning, when he woke, the process would begin again, but for the moment she was wrapped so tightly around his finger that he could get nearly anything from her. The thought made him growl. He planned to take full advantage.

"What are you?" He moved his hand so that his thumb could continue to work against her clit while he dipped her fingers into her sex, thrusting them in and out so that she all but screamed against him.

"A slave." The words came instantly, breathy against his ear. Her hips rocked faster, in time with his movements.

"Would you like me to make you yield, slave?"

"Yes, Master. Please." She whispered back her voice dripped with desire. Her teeth digging into her lip as her back arched against him.

His fingers stopped, slipping away from her slit. She groaned in protest, fidgeting against him.

"You will yield again when my cock is buried in your cunt, and you will beg me for the privilege." His voice sounded raw against her ear. He stepped back from her.

Without him behind her to lean against, she slid to the floor, panting and trembling on her knees before him. As she heard him walk away, Regina realized that the room felt suddenly colder and empty. She longed for him to wrap his arms around her again. When he was touching her, she could justify to herself the way her sex ached with need. Without his fingers against her, she was just some hedonistic slave, overcome with desire. She wanted his hands on her again. She wanted him to keep playing with her. Some part of her thought she would not mind if he tied her to the table. At least then she could say her reactions were forced.

Touching her hand to her face, Regina wondered what was wrong with her. She had just let him change her name. She had agreed with his every assertion. And for what? Because he toyed with her. The worst part was that she knew if she did it again, she would say the same words—all for the chance to feel his fingers inside of her once more.

"Sit up," he said as he returned, holding a dark strip of cloth in his hand. She obeyed. "Spread your legs."

His voice had lost all the raw sense of arousal he had spoken with moments before. It was all business—hard and practical. She wanted to hear him breathing against her again. The hardness felt like an empty expanse between them. She longed for the heat of him.

With his boot, he kicked her knees wider until her thighs ached slightly. "Like this. Put your hands behind your back and grab your wrists."

She reached behind herself and did so. Regina knew she was being pathetic. She knew she should protest, but he still held the crop, and her sex still dripped. To deny him what he wanted felt like a lie. He was right. The Ceremony was over. She was a slave.

When she had grabbed her wrists in either hand, Regina looked up at him. She was beautiful, Gregar thought. She looked in every sense like a slave. Her hair cascaded in looping tendrils down her back, copper in the light of the fire. With her arms at her back, her breasts were completely at his disposal. He dipped his hand and let his fingers play over them, skimming the rounded flesh appreciatively. He saw her shift slightly, her body rising to the touch of his fingers, completely controlled by the arousal he had woken within her.

His breath caught and he gave a soft growl. He took the strip of cloth he had gathered from the chest and placed it over her eyes. He would prefer to see her eyes looking up at him, watch her arousal in them, watch the submission, but he found it was easier to control a blinded girl. He needed her to feel completely vulnerable for what he would do next.

Once the blindfold was on her, Regina was plunged into complete darkness. He tied it firmly so that no light peeked through at all and stepped back from her. She waited, but nothing happened. It made her nervous to be unable to see what he was doing. She shifted slightly, turning her head in an attempt to hear him move, but the room was still. The only noise she heard was the distant sound of men singing and speaking drunkenly by the firelight, celebrating the victory.

Gregar watched her fidget, but she held the position. He raised his hand to her face, letting the tips of his first two fingers stroke her cheek. She flinched at the unexpected contact, but then stilled and let his fingers trail along her skin. He smiled, loving this reaction to his touch. The fingers on her cheek were still moistened from being within her dripping cunt and left a glistening trail where he touched her.

Regina let his fingers play over her skin, a thrill running through her. He gently cupped her jaw. Like she had after the first time he had brought her to the edge of arousal over the table, she found herself comforted by the smallest gesture of kindness that he gave her.

Without him pressed behind her, she felt very alone. The blindfold amplified that tenfold. It was as if she was almost completely cut off from the world. His fingers felt like an anchor.

His fingers traced the curve of her lip gently, coming to rest at the center of her luscious pink opening.

"Open your mouth," he told her. She parted her lips. "Wider." She let her jaw fall open. "Put out your tongue."

Regina's brow furrowed slightly, but she did as he instructed. She felt his first two fingers slip into her mouth, felt the slight weight of them on her tongue. She could taste the slight sweetness of her cunt on his fingers.

"Close your lips."

She let her mouth close, and felt a sharp pop with the cane on the side of her thigh. It was not nearly as hard of a blow as he had given earlier, but it made her jump.

"I said your lips. Leave your mouth open."

Gregar felt her teeth move away from his fingers. He stroked his finger in and out a few times, feeling the softness of her tongue against his knuckles.

"If you obey me, I will let you sleep in my bed. If you do not, you will sleep chained outside the tent. My men know not to play with my things, but they're drunk and I cannot say they will be able to control themselves this evening. Do you understand?"