Babala's Correction Read online

  Title Page

  BABALA’S CORRECTION

  By

  Bethany Amber

  Publisher Information

  Babala’s Correction first published in 2001 by Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera Books Ltd

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

  Digital Edition Converted and Published by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Bethany Amber. The right of Bethany Amber to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Chapter 1

  Babala was naked and the forest was cold. Rain dripped through the thick canopy of leaves, making the girl’s body slick and silky in the arms of her captor.

  Unheeding of her captive’s chill the Lady Fazath jogged with a long, easy, loping stride along the narrow winding path. She cradled Babala in her strong arms as easily as if the girl was a wraith and no heavier than a sack of feathers, rather than shapely flesh, delicately formed.

  The night was dark and seemed endless, and Babala rested her head upon the moulded bronze that served as her mistress’s breastplate. It was hard against her pale cheek, which felt bruised by the rhythmic bouncing through the forest. The only comfort was the warm grip of her ladyship’s hands. One held Babala firmly about her naked thighs, just below the gentle swell of her buttocks, and the other cupped a bare breast. Her ladyship tweaked it, making the pink nipple painfully tight. This brought a blush to Babala’s cheeks, for it was not as if she yearned the touch of a woman. Her sexual experience was very limited and restricted to one man - not a lover, but a man who was employed by the Prince to prepare the girls of the harem for his use.

  Babala shuddered in her captor’s arms as she felt the memory, like a physical thing, of the Taskmaster’s cock, thick and hard, slipping easily through her maidenhead after hours of sensual preparation. It began by him making her stand with legs wide apart before a looking glass. Had not Babala been the narcissistic maiden that she was her skin would have burned with blushes at this lewd instruction - and at what followed.

  ‘Peel back your love lips, my sweet,’ he commanded. ‘And tell me how you feel.’

  Babala remembered slight flushes stain her cheeks and she bowed her head as she did as she was ordered. Gently, with her forefingers, she opened her outer love lips just a fraction.

  ‘Wider,’ he snapped, and she felt the sting of an open palm upon the fullness of her bottom cheeks. ‘And don’t pretend shame.’ The palm slapped her again. ‘Thrust out your love mound and look into the glass with your head held high. Girls like you are self-absorbed,’ he added knowingly. ‘You like to see your pretty little clitties peeping from their hoods, all pink and shiny. Admit it!’ The palm slapped again and Babala could feel the heat as well as the sting. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

  She lifted her head and, obediently, looked straight into the looking glass. Humiliated though she was, she opened her love lips to the full and saw her sex bud, shining and erect in her virginal slit.

  ‘You are so delicious, Babala,’ he said, tapping the open sex with the very tip of a finger. ‘So unusual, as well as so pliant and obedient; so different from the usual maidens I have to suffer here.’

  He taunted her playfully with fingers and tongue for many minutes, teasing her bud until a less disciplined girl would have screamed.

  As he finally took her completely she was overcome with ecstasy when his cockstem was pulled from her fully and then pushed back, grating her erect clitty as it re-entered. She remembered arching her body over the damask couch upon which he had laid her, and thrusting her pussy mound hard against the crisp curls of the Taskmaster’s groin, the better to feel her approaching orgasm.

  ‘Yes, my darling one,’ grunted the Taskmaster. ‘You clutch my cock and pet its length most expertly. For an inexperienced maiden you are a proficient lover. It will always be so, believe me. I know a willing girl when I feel her cunny gripping about my cock.’

  Babala thought she would faint with the pleasure of her come. She wanted more, but the Taskmaster had already passed her on to the women who would bathe her, cleanse her cunny of his issue and dress her in the short silk shift the Prince required his girls to wear so that their freshly opened cunts were freely available to him.

  She shuddered afresh. The memory did not fade, but rather became more painfully clear in her memory and a terrible feeling of loss stole over her. If only she could escape, but the Lady Fazath was so strong and powerful, so full of vigour. Even with her rain-slicked body, slippery as silk, the girl had no possible chance to escape from this Amazon of a woman.

  True, dressed in a light armour of a snugly fitted breastplate and a short white skirt, the Lady Fazath was dressed for speed rather than battle, although battle she would surely do if the occasion arose. Her muscular arms, the skin a gleaming tawny gold, were bare apart from the broad silver bangles tight about her smooth biceps. A beaten silver belt cinched her waist with a dagger tucked neatly into it, and the short skirt swirled about her taut buttocks that rippled with power as she ran.

  Lustrous midnight hair flowed about her broad shoulders; the shining curls dancing in the double moonlight of Ellipsis. Her onyx eyes slanted as she skipped lithely over fallen logs and her fine patrician nose sniffed the air for any sign of danger. The handsome lips had the softness of a girl’s, but were wide and firm as a man’s.

  Babala, slender as a willow, fragile as the finest porcelain, but fetchingly voluptuous, was destined to be the Prince’s favourite had not the Lady Fazath intervened. She scarcely succeeded in stifling a sob and was squeezed unmercifully by the muscular arms that held her.

  ‘Stop that!’ The words were hissed in her ear and the outpouring of breath stirred the damp cascade of her golden curls. ‘Did you really want to be the Prince’s plaything until he tired of you and tossed you aside like so much kitchen refuse?’

  ‘It was my destiny.’ Babala’s soft voice was all but inaudible above the steady patter of the rain and the rhythmic pounding of the Lady Fazath’s feet. They were more a thought than spoken word. She knew the Prince was especially taken with her stunning beauty, her ripe breasts and splendidly shapely hips and legs. Hadn’t he told her so in just those words? He picked her out from all the girls freshly trained by the Taskmaster, who told her, at his final and intimate inspection, that she could be the Prince’s consort if she behaved herself.

  Unable to contain the quiver of misery that made Babala slip in her captor’s arms, she almost slid to the leafy and muddy ground. A muscular limb gripped her like a vice and a hand as hard and smooth as a paddle was laid sharply upon her vulnerable buttocks. She felt the hot sting of the chastisement and felt her bottom flesh shudder under the blow.

  ‘You are mine, girl.’

  ‘I was to be t
he Prince’s,’ Babala retorted boldly.

  Smacks far harder than the first single slap fell one after the other upon Babala’s rain-wet and glowing bottom.

  ‘You dare to question my actions, you little strumpet? Me? Second only to the Taskmaster in importance at the castle?’ The queries were growled thickly from deep in the womanly breast.

  ‘He wanted me! The Taskmaster told me. And you will never be able to return to the castle now. Never! We are fugitives.’ The girl wept in earnest, her tears blending with the rain that glossed her finely formed features. Amazed at her own boldness, she continued. ‘You had no right to steal me from the Castle Ellipsis, and you are a woman. What possible use could I be to you?’

  Laughter, full-throated and deep, rang through the forest, and the Lady Fazath gently set Babala on the wet ground. The girl’s limbs fell naturally into a sensuous pose, the slender arms were swept up above the golden head, the full breasts pouted firmly and were pert, the shapely legs parted, but twisted to reveal the glowing bottom, tinged from the severe slaps that had been so recently delivered to the pale skin.

  ‘What use?’ Cool fingers stroked the heated hillocks of her bottom, and suddenly Babala was hauled to her feet and pressed against an oak tree. Her wrists were held above her head by the Lady Fazath’s strong fingers. Her smacked bottom chafed against the rough bark and her breasts were further chilled by contact with the mistress’s bronze breastplate. The girl felt the sensitive flesh of her nipples spring to hard and painful erection once more.

  ‘What use?’ Lady Fazath whispered again, changing her grip upon Babala’s wrists to hold them with one hand while the other slid over shapely ribs and upwards to the firm lower slope of a breast.

  The stroke made Babala shudder, not this time with misery cold or fear, but with a strange kind of excitement, not unlike that she remembered feeling in the arms of the Taskmaster. But surely this could not be? The Taskmaster was a man and the Lady Fazath was a woman.

  Lips, as cool and smooth as the silk spun by the silkworms in the mulberry trees in the castle grounds, closed upon the bud of Babala’s tautened nipple. Her smarting bottom, pressed so hard against the bark, arched towards the woman’s lower body. The puff of golden curls upon her mound brushed against the white silk Lady Fazath wore about her narrow hips and this, too, sent a further quiver of naughty excitement through Babala’s helpless body.

  ‘You think you are so knowing,’ said the Lady Fazath, her words muffled by the fulsome flesh of Babala’s breasts. Teeth grated gently on one wrinkled nub, biting and yet not biting upon the tautened skin and sending a wicked frisson of longing to the inner hub of the girl’s body; that delicious parting of flesh lips hiding the newly opened haven. ‘Oh yes, you girls, all opened by the Taskmaster’s flesh sword, think you are so knowing and worldly, but you know nothing of the beauty of a woman’s love. In that way, my sweet, you are still a maiden.’

  Babala gasped as strong fingers slapped her thighs apart, smacking the tender flesh until she was forced to open her legs - but strangely, liquid far warmer and creamier than rain seeped to gloss the golden fronds of her sex nest. She gasped again as fingers that were firm, but sensually gentle, spread her nether lips.

  ‘Now this,’ whispered the Lady Fazath, finding Babala’s nubbin, ‘tells me that you are greatly aroused by my touch.’

  ‘No,’ denied Babala, but she knew this was not true. She felt her nubbin hard and probing out of its little hood. It throbbed against the Lady Fazath’s touch and drew back and forth between her fingers. It was wet and slippery with the cream that seeped from the very depths of Babala’s body.

  ‘Deny all you like,’ murmured the Lady Fazath, sinking to her knees on the leaf-strewn forest floor, uncaring that her bare legs became smeared with mud and leaves.

  Body arched in unbidden passion, Babala thrust against the busy fingers and heard the mistress chuckle, but the sound was soon muffled as lips and tongue replaced fingers in the creamy private place. The soft lips sucked upon the hardened nubbin and Babala threw back her golden head in ecstasy. Rain dripped through the oak leaves and splashed into the upturned sapphire eyes that gazed sightlessly through the forest canopy. She could feel her nubbin throbbing on the Lady Fazath’s expert tongue, and a glorious feeling grew inside her just as it had done when the Taskmaster opened her maiden passage.

  ‘Oh, please...’ Babala murmured. ‘Oh please, no. You must not... I must not. Oh, please, no more!’

  Lady Fazath immediately stopped the caresses and Babala felt the chill of loss. Her nubbin throbbed uselessly, cream glossing its inflamed tip.

  ‘Do you really want me to stop?’ murmured the Lady Fazath, gripping Babala’s spread thighs with vice-like fingers.

  Unable to help herself, Babala bore her hips down. ‘No,’ she admitted meekly, ‘I don’t want you to stop.’

  ‘Do you want to finish your come, my pretty?’ urged the mistress.

  Babala remained silent, only swaying her nether regions about the Lady Fazath’s upturned and handsome face, and blows of such force were rained upon the girl’s tensed thighs that she mewed with pain, and yet the slaps only enhanced the liquid warmth she felt between her cunny lips.

  ‘Answer me!’

  ‘I - I want to come,’ Babala admitted between her sobs.

  ‘And do you want me to make you come?’

  Remembering the time the Taskmaster made her delirious with happiness as he speared his cock through her maidenhead, Babala remained silent.

  ‘Admit that a woman’s love is more gratifying than a man’s,’ ordered the Lady Fazath. ‘Otherwise I shall not kiss your nubbin again.’

  ‘Oh, no...’ Babala bore her bottom down upon her ladyship’s upturned face and felt a new sensation. There was a warm moistness, a gentle pressure at her secret hole, the tight one that the Taskmaster did not enter. A tongue, she thought, blushing furiously, and it was licking her bottom hole. Horrified at such intimacy she gasped and drew herself upward, but she was pulled down again.

  ‘Admit it.’ The order was a rough growl, animal-like in its fervour and muffled by Babala’s open sex flesh.

  ‘I admit it,’ Babala sobbed gratefully, as lips closed once more about her nubbin.

  From somewhere deep in the forest, but still faraway, drifted the faint sound of running feet, but the woman and the girl were too engrossed in taking mutual pleasure to take much heed. Babala could feel the steady throb of her approaching climax, the build up of pleasure within her depths, drawing up from her cunny to her breasts.

  Lady Fazath drank the girl’s creamy issue, which was pleasingly copious, and felt the fluttering of flesh on her busy tongue. She would teach this young hussy how to give pleasure to a woman, she vowed, pushing her fingers between her rain-soaked thighs to rub her own aching clitty...

  ‘The girl is one of those made ready by the Taskmaster.’ The speaker was heavyset, muscular, but his stride was light and easy over the muddy ground. In one hand he held fine thongs of leather that he stroked over the bulge at his groin, barely covered by a roughly fashioned leather skirt. ‘They are trained to please a man.’

  ‘But this one, Graf,’ said one of his three companions, ‘is different.’ Young and wiry, tense in his stride, he stayed close to the older Graf. He was dressed in a short leather tunic like the others, but there was no masculine bulge between his thighs. He was nervous of their assignment to return the two women to the castle.

  ‘You whinge like a girl, Peli,’ said another. ‘Have you thought what fun we can have when we catch them?’

  ‘Bart’s right, and what I look forward to is to truss the Lady Fazath with her legs spread and her arms stretched high above her head, naked as the day she was born.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, Capel,’ said Peli, his voice low with nervousness, ‘she will not let a man near her, let alone make her helpless.’

  Ca
pel, a giant of a man, larger even than Graf, roared with laughter. ‘We are four. I doubt she’ll best us.’

  ‘She is a trained warrior,’ argued Peli. ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  ‘I’ll strip the bitch and splay her on the ground,’ grunted Capel. ‘I’ll take each tit in my mouth until she begs me to fuck her. I’ll tease her. Spread her cunt lips and use the handle of my flail to open her up a little, my hearties. For as you know, my cock is the terror of all the women in Ellipsis.’

  The other men, apart from Peli, chuckled in agreement.

  ‘And what of you, Peli?’ asked Graf. ‘What do you desire of these females?’

  Peli would have stumbled had not Graf caught his arm. ‘In truth,’ he mumbled, his chin low on his chest, ‘I wish we were at home in the castle guardroom. I’ve heard that the other one, Babala, is a magical creature who can turn a man to stone should he pole her with his cock.’

  Again the others laughed.

  ‘Aye,’ said Bart, ‘if you say so. But I hear tell that her nubbin is as prominent as a little cock, straining from its hood, anxious to be petted and excited to a come which will leave her begging to be fucked by each of us, one after the other.’

  ‘No one knows this for sure,’ said Peli.

  ‘‘T’is true!’ Bart insisted. ‘As true as I stand here. The Taskmaster’s manservant told me and the Taskmaster himself told him.’

  ‘But the women belong to the Prince,’ groaned Peli, ‘just as we do.’

  The four men ran along the narrow path in silence for many minutes, each keeping his own council until Graf spoke at last, never slowing his pace. ‘Well, I shall keep quiet about our pleasure in the forest, if I can trust you all to do the same.’

  ‘For the sake of spearing her silken cunt,’ said Bart, ‘I would be willing to have my tongue cut out by the root.’