Babala's Correction Read online

  ‘You will allow me to enter your fine bottom,’ he croaked, his tongue lolling around his wet slack lips.

  Babala sighed. ‘I can do no other, sir,’ she said, ‘for I am a slave to the whole castle.’

  ‘But you enjoy it.’ The servant sunk the tip of his forefinger into her rear opening and she could not help but bear up to his touch. It was true - she did enjoy it. The Taskmaster had taught her well: to be submissive and pliant to everyone and anyone who sought her services. The finger drove into her tight darkness to the hilt, and the pressure of its entry caused her nubbin to pulse excitedly in response. She could not help but writhe sensuously on her hands and knees, seeking relief from the shameful desire that flooded her.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the servant, plunging the finger back and forth. ‘You enjoy it. Would you enjoy my cock flushing that tightness now?’

  ‘If... if it would please you, sir.’

  The servant fell upon her and she felt his slippery bulb trying to gain entry into her tight rear. He slid a hand round to cup the fullness of her sex and open her lips so that his fingers could stroke her yearning sex bud, and as he pleasured the throbbing little morsel of flesh he was able to ease into her rear opening. Babala felt the pressure, felt the slide as her own sap greased his thickness, and sighed a little moan of pleasure as his entry became deeper and her ecstasy grew in intensity... but then she froze as they were interrupted by Maxim’s resonant tones.

  The frantic servant pulled out and drew back, muttering incoherent apologies to his master as his seed spilling in involuntary spurts while he struggled to his feet. Babala looked up from beneath her golden fringe, wondering if she was to be punished yet again, but too weary to care.

  Maxim towered above them. His silken robe was open, and Babala’s eyes were drawn up the honed strength of his legs to the smoothness of his balls and the upright stance of his turgid cock.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ he repeated, making no effort to hide his manhood. ‘What is going on here? This girl may be a slave to be used by the kitchen staff, but not in a public place.’ His face was suffused with anger and his cock seemed to rear up as if to echo that anger.

  ‘Beg pardon, s-sir,’ grovelled the servant, bowing and scraping. ‘I-I misunderstood.’

  Maxim bent to pull Babala to her feet, and she hung her head until he lifted her dainty chin with a forefinger. ‘I want to fuck you again,’ he said quietly. ‘But you must be cleansed before I will put my cock where this fellow has been.’

  ‘In the mistress’s bath house?’ Babala asked humbly.

  ‘No,’ he decided. ‘I shall take you to my own bath chamber. My feelings for Desilla and her cruelty grow less as the hours pass, whereas for you my feelings grow.’

  The servant had gone, slinking away into the shadows, and Maxim led her to his own quarters.

  A heavy perfume hung in the air, making her feel dreamy and heavy-limbed. Channels carved into the stone walls carried the aroma and wisps of it caressed Babala’s naked body like insubstantial fingers, pampering her until she thought she would swoon with delight in Maxim’s arms.

  He handed her over to a small and dowdy woman. ‘Be gentle with her,’ he instructed, but make sure she is thoroughly cleansed.’

  Babala felt afraid when Maxim left, for there was something about the small woman that unsettled her.

  ‘On the bench,’ said the woman, and once again Babala was made to climb upon a table. The woman was rough as she stretched Babala’s arms above her head and she felt the cold hardness of iron manacles clipped about her wrists. She was face down and her legs were spread to the full. Maxim had seemed so caring, and yet he had left her in the hands of a woman who seemed to like nothing better than to be cruel.

  ‘Why?’ murmured Babala. ‘Why are you doing this? I have done nothing to you.’

  ‘Maxim’s orders,’ came the clipped reply, and any further response from the girl was drenched by a deluge of icy-cold water that made her gasp and caught her words in her throat. Another and another followed until she could scarcely breathe and shivered miserably.

  ‘You girls have it too easy,’ said the spiteful servant, putting the third empty bucket on the wet floor as Babala thought how unfair her words were; she would hardly call what she had suffered at Desilla’s hands easy.

  ‘Why are you being so harsh with me?’ she asked again, her voice quiet and pitiful.

  The woman sniffed and went about her tasks. ‘Orders,’ she said sharply. ‘That’s all. I have nothing against you personally.’ She stroked the fullness of Babala’s buttocks and her touch had a strange wistfulness about it. The cold made Babala feel stiff, and when she tried to lift her head to look at the woman she could not. The fetters held her still on the narrow bench, and she could do nothing but listen as the woman moved about the room collecting items, which she laid by her captive’s shivering thighs.

  Fingers prised open Babala’s rear opening and she felt oil being dripped around the tightness. The oil was warm and the feeling was almost unbearably sensual, especially when the woman massaged her sex with the slick ointment.

  Then, not unexpectedly, Babala felt a pressure against her rear and something firm sank deep into the dark passage. She shivered in anticipation of more pleasurable sensations, clutching the invasive item with her rectum. The same was done to her vagina and she could not help but bear down to increase the wanton feeling the phallic pressure gave her. She tried to writhe instinctively and heard the woman cackle with evil laughter at her attempted movement.

  ‘The tubes are for the purpose of flushing you out,’ said the woman, and cackled again as though she had said something hilariously funny. ‘And from what I hear that is something you require badly.’ The snigger died and the woman’s tone became spiteful once more. ‘Once I have poured the cleansing fluid into you the tubes will be removed and you must retain it until I give you permission to release it.’

  A flood of warmth entered Babala’s body, and she couldn’t suppress a pleasurable sigh. Then the tubes were withdrawn and she contracted her muscles to keep the perfumed soapy fluid within her. Never had she been so glad of the Taskmaster’s strict training, for she knew that had she not been taught the fluids would have quickly seeped from her to spill on the bench. She shuddered as she imagined what punishments would be rained down upon her had she released the liquids.

  ‘Hold...’ hissed the woman, cupping Babala’s sex in her hand, and to the girl’s shame she felt her nubbin swelling as the fluids swirled within her, bringing pressure to bear and making it difficult to concentrate.

  ‘This is good, my dear,’ said the woman, and her finger tickled the tip of Babala’s nubbin. ‘Now you can let your pleasure flow and let me feel your sex bud jerk upon my finger.’ The harshness of only moments before was replaced by tender urging, and Babala could not help but welcome her orgasm, her brow furrowed as she strove to hold onto the soothing liquids while she savoured her blissful release.

  ‘Now,’ whispered the woman, bending to stroke Babala’s wet hair from her ear, ‘now you can let the fluids go, let them pulse out in the rhythm of your come,’ and with a shudder of relief Babala relaxed and felt the fluids wash from her vagina and from her bowel, onto the table, from where they cascaded to the floor.

  The fetters were released from her ankles and wrists and Babala was turned over. The woman’s fingers petted her taut chilled breasts and Babala winced as her nipples were coaxed to erection. Her full sex lips were parted and caressed, and then with harsh lips her clitoris was kissed and sucked.

  ‘You lucky girl,’ the woman rasped. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are.’

  ‘W-why?’ Babala whispered, hating but loving the woman’s cold touch. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Once I was a beauty,’ said the woman, ‘sought after by Maxim and his courtiers.’

  ‘And... and what happened?’ Babala asked,
her eyes closed against the ongoing torment, fearing the answer. Warm oil was dribbled over her tummy and breasts as the woman began to massage her flesh in soothing circles. Her breasts received lingering attention, and then the golden fleece on her sex mound was gently preened until she thought she would faint with pleasure. ‘What happened?’ she asked again, dreamily as her belly was massaged in slow circles.

  ‘I was a virgin when I was brought here,’ said the woman, ‘and Maxim was having one of his lavish parties. The guests were very drunk and I was given to a man who was almost insensible with alcohol.’

  The luxurious oil with which Babala was massaged was richly perfumed and made her sex folds especially sensitive. It was heady and she could scarcely concentrate on what the woman was saying.

  ‘He became angry when his cock would not rise to his command,’ the woman continued. ‘In the end he brought many of Maxim’s guests to service me so that he could watch. They came upon me time after time until I thought I would die.’

  The massage continued and Babala almost drifted into sleep, but as the tale reached its conclusion she opened her eyes. ‘How terrible,’ she sympathised, remembering how beautiful the taking of her own virginity was at the hands of the Taskmaster. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I ran away.’

  ‘Down the crag?’

  ‘There was a gatekeeper. He helped me, but I was so weak after my ordeal I had not the strength to carry on.’

  ‘So you were brought back and punished?’

  The woman’s voice, despite her awful tale, was soothing, as were her hands. They strayed to the proud plumpness of Babala’s mound, petting it and stroking the golden curls now gleaming with oil. The touch was firm, but so sensual that Babala could not help but bear up to receive more stimulation. Seeing what was needed her sex lips were spread and a thumb balled the aching tip of her sex bud. Babala gasped as, once more, hot breath washed over her revealed sex and a moist tongue lapped eagerly at her clitoris.

  But Babala was not prepared for what came next. ‘My punishment was a final humiliation.’ The woman’s voice was soft and muffled as she spoke against Babala’s sex flesh.

  ‘What did they do?’ She knew Desilla was over fond of the whip and eager to use it on naked and vulnerable flesh whenever an opportunity arose. It seemed to Babala that it pleasured Desilla to hear the crack of it across an upturned bottom or around a slender waist.

  ‘They circumcised me,’ the woman said frankly, her teeth nibbling Babala’s clitoris and two fingers slipping into the taut passage of her cunny.

  ‘No!’ croaked Babala, horrified, but despite her horror her body was gripped by intensely blissful convulsions. Her orgasm was strong and seemed to go on and on as though it would never end.

  ‘W-will they do that to me?’ she asked fearfully when she regained her breath and the waves of ecstasy had subsided.

  The woman shrugged indifferently. ‘Who knows? Maxim seems to have taken a great liking to you, but Desilla... who knows what she might do to you? Some say she is mad - crazy with jealousy when anyone threatens her position here.’

  The two females said nothing more as the servant sponged away the oil with sweet smelling soap and patted Babala dry.

  Babala’s hair was brushed into a shimmering and golden cascade and the bush on her cunny was fluffed into soft curls.

  ‘You know how Maxim likes you to stand?’ asked the woman, helping Babala down from the bench, who nodded and bowed her head submissively.

  ‘That’s good,’ the woman decreed. ‘If you make sure you please Maxim you should be safe here, but we must hurry for he will be preparing for the banquet.’

  Babala was hurried along the shadowy passages until they came to Maxim’s chambers.

  ‘Were you tended and cleansed properly?’ he asked, cupping her breasts and stroking the silken skin.

  Babala nodded and shuddered as he allowed his hand to drift over the pout of her belly and down to the soft bed of curls between her thighs, and it seemed only natural to shuffle her feet a little further apart to give him easier access to her cunny.

  She heard him sigh as his fingers stroked her inner lips and parted them to touch the very tip of her nubbin, and the pleasure this gave her drove the awful thoughts of what could happen to her at the hands of Desilla from her mind. She ground against his hand, rubbing against the palm as his fingers slid in and out of her slippery vagina.

  ‘You wish me to fuck you, my dear,’ he stated. ‘You wish me to fill you with my seed.’

  Babala nodded, for the power of the man reminded her of the Taskmaster, and she could not resist him. Her very helplessness made her a prisoner, no matter what the consequences, but the threat of a jealous and furious Desilla still lurked somewhere in the back of her mind.

  Maxim pulled her to a damask couch and sat with his cock rising, huge and magnificently rigid from his groin. ‘Straddle me, my dear,’ he said huskily, ‘and sink your soft and willing flesh around me.’

  Even though she trembled uncontrollably she was still drawn to him, and her sex flesh was moist with desire. She sank down slowly, keeping her thighs tense and open, supporting herself upon her bent knees. His globe, thick and smooth, pushed her labia fully open and, as she slid onto him, she felt his fingers glancing over the tip of her clitty. His free hand held her hip, guiding her down upon him. She petted his long length with her sex lips, and heard him groan in ecstasy.

  She must escape, she knew, even as her orgasm sent her soaring to a momentary heaven, even as he erupted into her depths. Somehow she must escape, from the castle, and from the threat of Desilla.

  When their coupling was over he kissed her fondly, stroked her cheek with the tip of his thumb and looked into her eyes with an expression that was both sad and tender. ‘I must return you to the kitchen,’ he said, and she could feel his breath on her cheek as he spoke. ‘The banquet is due to start soon and I need you to entertain my guests.’

  Babala lowered her eyes modestly. ‘Entertain, sir?’

  ‘Hm, that beautiful cunt of yours will make many of my guests, both men and women, very happy.’

  ‘Whatever pleases you, sir,’ she said obediently, but her heart was heavy. Once more she was to be used as a plaything and then looked down upon as a whore.

  Maxim clapped his hands, and from the shadows emerged a very large, fearfully ugly man. ‘Take her to the kitchens and Rata will give her my orders,’ the Slavemaster ordered him. ‘And no one is to touch her again before tonight’s gathering. Do you understand me? No one. I want her fully responsive and attentive where my guests are concerned...’ and with that Babala was dismissed.

  The servant gripped her upper arm and led her from the room, and she dared not struggle for the hold upon her was like a vice and he was formidably strong.

  ‘The master used you well,’ the big man said gruffly as they traipsed along the winding passageways towards the kitchens, and Babala felt her cheeks tinge pink with shame at the truth of what he said.

  ‘I cannot have a woman,’ he added morosely, a few minutes later.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked.

  ‘Because...’ the poor man looked so sad, ‘...because I am so ugly. Ever since I was a child many, many years ago, people told me no female would ever be interested in me - would never want to bed me. And so it has proved...’

  ‘Come now,’ Babala said sweetly, trying to lighten his mood, not liking to see one so obviously lonely, ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  The big man shook his head gloomily. ‘Oh, but it is. I’ve never felt the joys of a woman’s touch. Never felt sweet lips around my cock. Never penetrated a woman’s sex...’

  ‘Well, that may be so, but—’

  ‘Would you be nice to me then?’ he suddenly pressed, stopping and turning to look earnestly into her eyes.

  The abruptness of the question caught Babala off
guard, and she searched for the right words to say without hurting him further. She’d been through enough and had a daunting evening ahead, so she had few emotions to spare for the poor man.

  ‘No, of course you wouldn’t,’ he concluded, shaking his head and turning to lead her on.

  Long minutes passed and they walked in silence. His shoulders were hunched and her pity for the gentle giant increased tenfold.

  ‘Wait,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘Come here,’ and she gave him a cuddle, her arms barely reaching round to his back. In the dingy passageway they stood quietly together like that for a few minutes, Babala with her cheek pressed against his broad chest, surprised at the intense sympathy and affection she suddenly felt for the man. ‘I... I will be nice to you,’ she whispered carefully, feeling something trunk-like swelling against her tummy, ‘if you really want me to.’

  But the man shook his head. ‘No, you don’t really want to. You’re just trying to be nice to a pathetic, ugly wretch.’

  ‘No,’ Babala insisted. ‘You’re not ugly and you’re not a wretch. I think you’re probably a very kind and very gentle man.’ She looked over her shoulder and saw a shadowy alcove behind her. ‘Come,’ she whispered, pulling his hands. ‘Come,’ and she guided him back into the shadowy privacy of the tiny recess.

  Words were now unnecessary, so she reached for the hem of his tunic and slowly lifted it, and his rising penis sprung free, bobbing against her tummy. The look of sheer disbelief etched on the lonely man’s face made her heart weep for him in sympathy.

  He breathed heavily, watching spellbound as one delicate hand let go of the tunic and hovered, and then cool fingers curled around his rigid stalk and he gasped hoarsely. ‘Oh, little miss...’ he sighed.