Babala's Correction Read online

  ‘And to torment the Lady Fazath until she begs for more I should be willing to be made a eunuch,’ Capel said gleefully. ‘What say you, Peli?’

  ‘Leave the lad alone,’ snapped Graf. ‘He has tasted no woman yet.’

  Capel slapped his thigh triumphantly. ‘Just as I thought! The lad’s a virgin, his cock undipped and an orgasm not known except by his own hand.’ He chuckled cruelly and prodded Peli’s back as the lad hung his head in shame and blushed with confusion and embarrassment.

  At that very moment Graf held a warning finger to his lips, ordering silence. ‘Listen!’ he hissed.

  The men stopped and obediently strained their eyes in the darkness, watchful of the path ahead. They craned their necks and cocked their ears. Capel, especially, cupped a hand to his ear and turned his head to focus on any unusual sound in the forest.

  ‘I hear nothing but rain,’ he said irritably. ‘I say we should press on and find the bitches before they escape beyond the borders of Ellipsis.’

  ‘No, Graf’s right,’ said Peli, ‘I hear something. A sound... a soft sound... as if...’ He looked at Graf, searching for help in describing what he could hear.

  ‘That’s the sound of pleasure, my boy,’ supplied Graf. ‘The sound of an orgasm, welcomed and enjoyed.’

  ‘They are near,’ whispered Bart. ‘Just up ahead, and the Lady Fazath is using the maid for her own ends.’

  ‘Circle,’ whispered Graf, pointing the directions in which the men should go. ‘But tread like ghosts through the forest. Surprise them as they take their pleasure.’

  Peli was the first to come upon them and he gasped at the sight that greeted him. The Lady Fazath was on her knees between the shapely spread legs of Babala, who had her head flung back in uncaring bliss. His eyes darted down once more to the woman on her knees. He saw a flicking tongue and the bud that it teased. The others were right; it was truly beautiful, thickened and throbbing, slick with spittle. He felt his organ swell beneath the soft leather of his tunic and his fingers circled his thickness, sliding up and down as he watched the two females.

  ‘There you are, lad.’ It was Graf who whispered and crept up beside him. ‘This won’t do. Pleasuring yourself when you should be binding them.’ He tugged at the silken cord at Peli’s waist. ‘What are you thinking of?’

  ‘Babala’s cunt,’ Peli said hoarsely. ‘It is beautiful, isn’t it? I wish I could kneel between her legs instead of her ladyship. I want to taste her, to suck her, to make her groan like madam did just now.’

  ‘All in good time, my lad,’ Graf said with a low chuckle, freed the silken cord at his own waist, fashioned from it a long loop, and with an easy throw he tossed it expertly over the two writhing figures. It spun silently through the air and tightened about them, holding fast. A shriek rent the forest, followed by a howl of rage as they were dragged, together, through the mud and rotting fallen leaves. Babala began to sob and cupped her hands about her cunny, trying to hide the soft flesh from the sight of the men.

  ‘I’ll have you hanged for this!’ screamed the Lady Fazath.

  ‘We’re only following orders,’ said Bart, who had appeared in the clearing and was looking hungrily at madam’s muddied skirt and the silken midnight thatch bared beneath it. ‘You seem a little moist and flushed between your thighs, mistress, if I may say so.’

  ‘You may not say so!’ With a hiss of rage the Lady Fazath, with something of a struggle in view of the bindings about her and Babala, drew her knife and threw it in Bart’s direction. Deftly he dodged and the knife fell harmlessly into the undergrowth.

  ‘And now it’s my turn,’ he grunted, and slipped his hands between the two roped females and bound the mistress’s wrists with another length of cord. With the Lady Fazath rendered almost harmless the men were free to busy themselves on the girl.

  Peli, on Graf’s orders, bound Babala until he had her body arched, her wrists tied to her ankles, but her knees kept fully apart by a stout length of branch. ‘Do you wish to fulfil your desire, my lad, before we take them somewhere less cold and wet?’

  Babala’s eyes, wide and deep blue as the most rare of sapphires, were moist with tears, making them luminous in the rain-soaked half-light. She looked at Peli, her soft lips trembling and her cheeks still flushed from the orgasm so recently experienced. Her breasts quivered, the teats taut and inviting, and Peli felt his cock rise more stiffly under his tunic, thrusting at the fine leather to poke, full and proud, like a tent pole.

  ‘Go on, lad,’ urged Graf, pushing the young man forward. ‘Or shall I sling her about my neck to make her more available, so you can tongue and prod with your fingers to your heart’s desire.’

  Babala strained at her bonds and felt the silken cord grow tighter at her wrists and ankles, to cut more painfully into her flesh.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch her!’ The Lady Fazath writhed slowly towards Babala across the muddy ground, her progress impeded by her bonds. ‘She is mine! Do you understand? Mine!’

  A whip cut the damp air with a fearsome crack and Capel stood over her ladyship, a triumphant grin on his coarse face as the woman grunted in pain and the muddied skirt was cut by the lash across the slight swell of her belly, fully baring her lushly bushed sex mound.

  ‘We were given to understand she was the Prince’s, mistress,’ he said scathingly. ‘Which is why we were sent after you.’

  The Lady Fazath rolled onto her belly to hide her partial nakedness. ‘The girl had her fill of the coarseness of man when she was fucked by the Taskmaster.’ Her words were full of venom and she tried to crawl towards the girl she so desired, surprised when she flinched away from her touch.

  Babala gasped. ‘Not true,’ she whispered. ‘The Taskmaster’s cock is beautiful, skilful. He did not hurt—’

  ‘Be quiet, stupid girl!’ Lady Fazath again tried to writhe sinuously over the slimy ground, trying to reach Babala, to protect her.

  ‘Yes, be quiet,’ echoed Capel, and the long whip cracked through the air once more to land, this time, upon the Lady Fazath’s upturned buttocks. The blow was so heavily laid that the ill-treated silk skirt fell in shreds about the woman’s tawny hips, leaving the taut hillocks of her bottom bare for all to see, and a glowing red welt crossing the mounds from the upper hip to the lower swell of her buttocks. Capel sank down upon his knees and lifted his tunic, thrusting his groin toward the Lady Fazath’s face in a lewd fashion.

  ‘Hateful creature,’ grunted her ladyship. ‘Filthy man.’

  But for all her protestations Babala could not help noticing that the Lady Fazath’s eyes were riveted, for many moments, upon the dark bloated shaft which speared up from Capel’s crisply curled groin. Babala frowned, trying to interpret the strange expression. Could her ladyship’s tastes be not all that they seemed?

  But then madam again lowered her eyes, diverting them from Capel’s hugeness. ‘You are a man,’ she rasped. ‘I have naught to do with men.’

  ‘So I hear,’ Capel goaded, smoothing a huge hand over madam’s pouting buttocks, paying particular attention to the scarlet welt which stood proud across the paler mounds. ‘Which makes it all the more interesting for me, your ladyship.’ He let a thick finger trail lightly in the crevice between the taut buttocks and grinned when he felt the quiver of flesh under his touch.

  Babala closed her eyes, not wishing to see the Lady Fazath humiliated further, knowing as she did how she protested against their coarseness. Then a scream began low in her throat as she felt herself lifted high in the air and the sensation of hair against her back. Fearfully, she allowed her lashes to flutter open, and was slung above the ground about the thick neck of the man called Graf. Although she could not see exactly how open and vulnerable her cunny was, she could feel the bough pressing into the tender skin of the inner side of her knees, spreading her open, and her body flushed at the humiliation of being laid so bare in front of these strangers
.

  ‘I can see the flesh glistening and droplets coating her open gully,’ said a timid young man’s voice. It was the lad, Peli.

  The man who held Babala about his neck chuckled. ‘The gully is her opening, my lad. Some call it a quim, others call it a cunt. The droplets are to ease the entrance of a good stiff cock.’

  Babala tried to squirm in her humiliation, but Graf held her still, making a sign with his fingers that Peli should touch her sex. Turning her head painfully she saw the sign and it made her blush more deeply. This was so different from the only other time a man used her body - the Taskmaster. He was so gentle, making sure she was ready, massaging balm about her cunny that made her nubbin spring to stiff and swollen erection. She remembered how pleased the Taskmaster was at this, how he complimented her and told her that the Prince would delight in her.

  ‘Come along, lad,’ Graf’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘The rest of us are waiting to take our turn. Touch her. Dip your fingers into her wetness. Touch her clitty until you bring her to a satisfying come.’ He chuckled and held Babala round his neck with one hand, while the other circled his stiffened cock. ‘I doubt you will be able to contain your spunk once you do that.’

  ‘Why don’t we go to the caves and get out of this rain?’ said Bart testily. ‘They’re not far from here, and we can use the females at our leisure. Then we can be on our way back to the castle.’

  ‘A good idea,’ said Graf, already starting down the path. ‘You can feel her to your heart’s content there, lad.’

  Babala could see Peli’s disappointed face as he followed the older man down the path.

  ‘You’ll hang for this!’ shrieked the Lady Fazath. Naked, she was slung about Capel’s neck, her wrists and ankles bound like Babala’s.

  ‘And you will not?’ said Capel, a chuckle breaking his voice.

  Bart led the way, eager to reach the caves, and Babala could feel the first rays of the sun, warm and dry upon her. As they entered the wide opening of the first cave Graf, with a sigh of relief, lowered Babala to the soft sand that formed the floor. He knelt beside her aching body and gently eased the branch from between her knees, then taking his knife from his belt he cut the cord and allowed her limbs to ease free. Unwittingly, she fell into a sensuous pose, her arms above her head on the sand, her breasts uplifted with the teats hard and taut while her legs spread invitingly.

  ‘She asks for it,’ growled Bart, and he lifted his tunic to hold his cock stiffly forward, his sturdy thighs parted. ‘Is it true she has only recently lost her maidenhead? She acts like a whore, to my way of thinking.’

  ‘She’s trained!’ hissed the Lady Fazath. ‘Trained to be sensuous in all ways. Don’t you dare demean her by calling her a whore!’

  Babala screamed as the Lady Fazath felt the sting of Capel’s whip, so he turned on her and pointed a warning finger. ‘Do you want the same, bitch?’ he growled.

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ said Bart impatiently.

  ‘That’s right,’ Capel agreed. ‘Let’s get on with it and then return to the castle. Who will be first, my lads?’

  ‘None of you,’ rasped her ladyship, throwing herself headlong upon Babala. The sound of naked skin slapping against skin was loud in the cave. Peli gave a nervous laugh and Bart cleared his throat.

  ‘Now, now,’ he chided. ‘It’s our bit of fun, you see. As guards we get little chance to relieve ourselves with the harem girls. Allow us that - just this once.’

  ‘Never!’ hissed the Lady Fazath.

  ‘Then take the consequences.’ Capel’s face was a mask of fury.

  Babala whimpered as she felt madam hauled roughly from her and saw her thrown to the sandy floor by the huge man. She heard her ladyship scream as Capel’s cock probed at a cunt that had known no man’s before.

  ‘Don’t hurt her,’ Babala begged.

  ‘And what of you?’ asked Bart, standing over the girl, looking between her inviting legs. ‘Can we hurt you?’

  Babala’s eyes strayed to Peli as if in supplication, but he held back, watching as Bart stroked a stout thumb across the outer margins of her cunny lips, smoothing the fair curls away from the slit, opening it until Babala could not help but part her legs yet further and arch her mound in a gesture of offer.

  ‘Is this what you were taught at the castle?’ he rasped. His mouth was close to her cunny curls now and she could feel the heat of his breath. Nodding meekly she tried to close her eyes, but an open palm slapped her pale cheek, rocking her head from side to side and making her eyes snap open in shock. ‘Look upon my cock, girl,’ he ordered. ‘Is it not as fine as the Taskmaster’s? As stiff, with the skin as smooth and the globe as silky?’

  As if far away Babala could hear the Lady Fazath moaning softly and she turned her head to look into the gloom at the back of the cave. She could see two men, Graf and Peli, eagerly rubbing their cocks, which throbbed and pulsed as she watched. They aimed the warm and creamy issue that spilled from them upon Lady Fazath’s open mouth, and some spillage splashed into the flowing cascade of midnight hair. Capel was pumping into her cunny with his gnarled thickness and she could see his taut balls slapping her ladyship’s buttocks as she lifted her legs higher and tighter about his waist. He had surely changed madam’s preferences, thought Babala, with an unbidden and secret smile.

  ‘Answer me, girl,’ ordered Bart. ‘Is not my cock as fine?’

  ‘Indeed it is, sir,’ answered Babala, coming to her senses. ‘It is so fine that I should dearly love to caress it with my lips and tongue.’

  ‘And will you take young Peli into that mysterious cunny of yours at the same time?’ asked Bart, his voice husky with lust. ‘And perhaps Graf into your bottom hole lying beneath you?’

  ‘If that is what would please you, sir,’ Babala said meekly, remembering all the little nuances taut to her by the Taskmaster.

  ‘Oh, it would please me just fine,’ grunted Bart as he polished the shining globe of his cock with the tip of his forefinger. Babala could see its tiny opening, appearing and disappearing as the finger slipped back and forth. A globule of pre-issue oozed from the pore and spilled warmly upon her forehead. ‘It is decided then,’ Bart croaked eagerly, beckoning to Graf and Peli.

  Through the gloom Babala could see the Lady Fazath thrown upon her belly, her buttocks raised to feel the kiss of Capel’s whip. The woman was not moaning, but mewing, a sound that could be either pleasure or pain. Capel’s eyes were bright with lust as he flung the whip over his shoulder to expertly flick the lower reaches of madam’s buttocks and merely kiss her cunny lips with the very tip. The touch was no more than a tickle, a tease that could only serve to heighten her ladyship’s desire.

  ‘You, Peli, kneel between her thighs and fuck her.’ As Bart spoke he was spreading the outer leaves of Babala’s cunny, once more to reveal the dark and gleaming flesh.

  Peli, rubbing his cock to full stiffness, eager to feel the thrill of orgasm over and over again, threw himself to his knees. He looked so young, so handsome, so innocent, like the pages at the castle, and yet she had heard Graf say he was a fully trained guard. His body trembled, but Babala could not discern whether this was apprehension or passion.

  Holding out her arms she invited him to lie between her spread thighs, but immediately she received a finger slap upon her breasts, first one and then the other, bringing her teats to hard and painful erection and making her breasts swell, pout and glow.

  ‘Allow Graf to slide beneath you, strumpet,’ ordered Bart. ‘Allow him to pole your bottom entrance or it will be the worse for you.’ He cast a telling glance at Fazath, who was now whimpering loudly as each lash petted her bottom.

  ‘But, sir,’ pleaded Babala, ‘my bottom hole is still virgin and very tight. Have you not some balm or salve to ease its opening by?’ Her stomach knotted with apprehension as she looked at Graf’s thick length.

  ‘Kneel,
’ the latter ordered, ‘I shall ease it with spittle and my tongue. Guards do not carry such luxury easements.’

  ‘And while you’re about it, spread your legs,’ commanded Bart, as Babala crouched low on the chill sandy floor of the cave. The grit grated on her knees and shins and, as she crouched lower, it rasped against the fine flesh of her breasts, so recently slapped. ‘Let young Peli finger your cunt; the lad is aching to feel its wet warmth.’

  Babala did as she was bid and spread her thighs wide. She could feel Graf tugging at the plump flesh of her bottom cheeks, pulling the cleft open to reveal the taut bud of her rose-hole. Quivering, she felt Peli’s fingers tentatively spread the puffy leaves of her cunt, stroke the hardened bud of her nubbin and finally plunge two fingers into the darkness of her creamy depths. She was in a quandary. They had called her a whore because of her pliancy and willingness, and yet she was only doing as she was trained to do. Should she struggle? Should she close her legs and fight for her modesty and chastity?

  A wetness filled the pit of her rose-hole and she knew that Graf had filled his mouth with spittle and aimed the slimy globule at her secret entrance. Peli’s fingers slid in and out of her cunny and she found herself bearing back, despite her fears, upon the pleasant sensation, felt her clitty throbbing with a growing fullness.

  ‘Open your mouth,’ rasped Bart. ‘Wide.’ Babala raised her head and saw him kneeling before her, his cock stiff and smooth in its fullness. ‘And I do not wish to feel those sharp little teeth, biting and nipping. Open very wide.’ He waved the smooth globe of his cock across her lips and Babala could taste the salty bitterness that she knew was the taste of a man’s spume.

  As she slowly began to engulf the thick throbbing length she felt a pressure at her bottom hole. It was not unpleasant, especially with the added sensation of Peli thrusting his fingers in and out of her sex and thumbing the very tip of her nubbin. The pressure grew as Graf eased his tongue-tip into the wrinkled pit of her rose-hole. She bore back against it, encouraging the intrusion.