Babala's Correction Page 5

  ‘Then we’ll get rid of the bitches,’ said Capel. ‘I’ll throttle them with my whip.’ He wiped a dew of sweat from his forehead and his eyes seemed to burn as he gazed at Babala. It was as if she could see within his mind, could see herself lying helpless on the muddy ground beneath him, sinking into the slime as he wound the supple whip about her throat. ‘Then we’ll throw their bodies into the lake,’ he added viciously.

  ‘The lake isn’t deep enough,’ said Bart. ‘They’d be found.’

  A keening sound whispered over the scene. It was Peli, rocking back and forth, his uniform streaked with mud, his face contorted with fear and misery. ‘What are we to do, Bart? What?’

  ‘I don’t know, lad.’ He sat on a rock, his head in his hands. ‘We can’t take them back to the palace, but murder isn’t the answer.’ He raised his eyes and shook his head as he looked at Capel.

  Babala shivered in the mud, her raised buttocks quivering with cold and fear as she wondered what fate awaited her with these men. She placed her hands on her head, indicating that she was entirely at their mercy - submissive and willing to do whatever pleased them.

  ‘Ah!’ Graf rose to his feet. ‘The maid has given me an idea.’ He grabbed Babala’s arm, and the mud squelched as he pulled her to her feet. Filth splashed from her breasts and spilled onto Graf’s leather tunic, so he gave her a sharp slap on the buttocks with his free hand and then continued as if there had been no interruption. ‘There is a slave auction at the town of Brentasi, just over the border in the next kingdom.’

  ‘Put them in an auction?’ Bart’s eyes brightened and he jumped to his feet, no longer fearful, but full of enthusiasm for this new adventure. ‘That would solve all our problems and we could return to the palace to say they’d been taken by bandits. There are many around Brentasi.’

  Could Babala’s fate have been any worse, she wondered, had bandits taken her? ‘If we are going to Brentasi,’ she said shyly, her hands held tightly on her head, ‘may I bathe once more in the lake?’

  ‘And escape?’ grunted Capel, shaking her so roughly her breasts swayed.

  ‘She’ll fetch a better price if she is clean,’ observed Peli, and Babala glanced at him gratefully.

  ‘True,’ said Bart, with a nod. ‘Lead her to the lake, Capel.’

  A fierce grimace contorted the guard’s face as he narrowed his cruel eyes at Bart. ‘Aye, if you so order it, master,’ he acquiesced tightly, ‘but she’ll not escape.’ He twisted the supple leather of his whip about Babala’s upper arm and half-pushed and half-pulled her to the lake. ‘This madam will fetch many gold pieces I’ll warrant, and we’ll share the takings, eh?’

  The other men grunted their agreement as they watched Babala dipped to the point of drowning into the icy cold water.

  While Graf, Bart and Capel laughed at Babala’s feeble struggles, Peli was sent to release the Lady Fazath from her chains.

  She glared at him as he entered the gloom of the cave, and spat at him as he approached her.

  ‘Where’s Babala?’ she demanded.

  ‘Bathing,’ said the lad, somewhat nervously. ‘You’re going to auction, both of you.’

  Fazath did not fight the boy as he released the manacles. A plan was forming in her sharp mind. When the chains fell loose from her tired and naked body she almost fell into Peli’s arms, so stiff was she from her long bondage.

  ‘Auction?’ she whispered, as pain took the breath from her body and the muscles regained their blood flow. ‘What auction?’ Her legs would not support her and she knelt at Peli’s feet, her lips level with his scarcely clad cock.

  ‘At Brentasi,’ he said. He could feel the woman’s breath close to his thickening stem. ‘T-two days journey from here.’ Soft lips took his globe within and he gasped with pleasure, but as suddenly as his knob was enclosed it was released, and his eyes flashed wide open with disappointment.

  ‘If I suck your cock and drink down all your come,’ Fazath cooed seductively, ‘will you let me go?’ She brushed her black hair against the lad’s belly and her cheek against the smooth stiffness of his cock. Looking up at him she gave a winning smile and felt his shudder at her caresses.

  ‘Graf and Capel said you did not enjoy the attentions of men... only women.’ He croaked the words, fearful that the others should discover them, and yet his groin was aching with renewed fullness. ‘And what of Babala? Would you leave her and allow my friends to put her up to auction?’

  Fazath snaked her tongue around the lad’s globe, allowing the very tip to tickle the pulsing single eye, and did not speak until the young man was trembling with her attentions. ‘Will you let me go?’ she said, clutching his muscular thighs. ‘Will you?’

  If she could only escape perhaps she could yet rescue Babala and spirit her away to some humble retreat in the forest, where she could delight in the luscious girl forever. Meanwhile, she must degrade herself and suck the youth for all she hated it, hoping she could then run.

  ‘Do it,’ rasped Peli. ‘Do it. My cock is throbbing as if it would burst.’

  Fazath, her midnight hair tumbled and matted by the days and nights of her trials, her body naked and grimy, arched her body backwards. Her full breasts pouted invitingly and she shuffled open her thighs to display the black nest through which flushed pink folds peeped. Peli groaned.

  ‘Do you promise?’ she whispered.

  Peli’s fingers rested at the root of his cock, trembling, aching to finish the pleasuring the woman had started. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he hissed, ‘but do it or my balls will surely burst.’

  With a laugh Fazath opened her mouth and engulfed the full length of the pulsing thickness. Her tongue snaked around the smooth tautness of his skin and her hands cupped his balls, massaging them gently as she used the pad of her thumb to play the sensitive spot between them and his anus. She heard him groan with pleasure and almost gagged as he thrust deeper and deeper into her throat.

  Neither heard the tumble of stones as feet and hands clawed their way up the tortuous slope of the mountain. It was only when a growl of anger filled the cave that they realised they had been discovered.

  But Peli was unable to stop his vigorous thrusting, reaching the point at which he was unable to stop. A moan of pleasure came from his throat and his spume gushed like a fountain into Fazath’s throat, coating her tongue, her teeth, the soft inner lining of her cheeks.

  ‘Well now, young fellow,’ Graf’s deep voice was punctuated with laughter. ‘I came to rescue you from this harridan, but it would appear...’

  Peli staggered back, tugging at his leather skirt, tucking it around his wilting cock and his balls. ‘She - she was enticing me to help her escape!’ he blurted. ‘Without the girl!’

  Like a panther Fazath sprang at the lad, her nails attacking him like claws, every muscle tensed in anger. Her well-developed biceps, recovered from their long bondage, bulged as she threw her arms around the lad’s chest, crushing him until there was no breath left in him, and her calves wrapped about one of his as she threw him to the ground, where they rolled locked in combat.

  ‘A pleasing sight,’ grunted Graf, and Fazath heard the lust in his voice, knowing, even in battle, that men found her toned body enticing. ‘But the time for play is over,’ he added.

  A hand stronger than hers prised her arms from the lad and held her, helpless as a kitten. Peli lay on the ground, gasping for breath while Fazath was mauled between her thighs with fingers that opened her cunny and thrust deep into the moist, yielding depths.

  ‘Let me go!’ She hissed the words.

  ‘Fetch the cords, lad,’ said Graf, never halting the crude invasion of her body. ‘We shall have to tame this wildcat before we take her to Brentasi. Truss her up like a chicken.’

  ‘No one will want me at the auction,’ said Fazath. ‘No one. They want girls like Babala.’

  Graf crushed her to hi
m and she could feel his thickness between her thighs. ‘You’re a handsome woman, Fazath, for all your maturity and your strange taste in sex. Someone will bid for you.’ His mouth claimed hers, his tongue driving between her teeth as one hand kneaded the firm flesh of her breast and rolled a teat until she murmured in pain.

  ‘What’s this?’ Bart’s voice cut through the sudden silence in the cave. ‘Must I do everything myself?’

  Flung from Graf, Fazath was thrown to the floor and Peli stood over her with hanks of rope looped about his hands, looking nervously from one to the other of his superiors.

  ‘The woman struggled,’ said Graf. ‘I was helping Peli to truss her. She can’t be trusted not to run without full bondage.’

  ‘Then do it!’ barked Bart. ‘I can’t trust Capel with the girl. I have to return to the lake to watch him like a hawk. The man has a cruel streak which strikes a chill in my very bones.’ He turned quickly and they could hear him hurrying down the shale on the mountainside.

  ‘Loop her neck, Peli,’ ordered Graf.

  ‘But won’t she choke?’ Peli hesitated with the rope trembling in his hands.

  Fazath was tempted to use all her strength to throw herself once more at both the men. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, trying to control her anger. What tortures was Babala suffering with that animal, Capel? What had they done to her? She was too passive - too submissive. Fazath shuddered at the thought of her beautiful girl in the clutches of that brute Capel.

  ‘Only if she’s stupid and struggles,’ said Graf, after a pause in which he sneered at his captive. He cupped one of her breasts, caressing the lower swell and thumbing the teat again. Fazath bore the humiliation with gritted teeth, thinking of Babala. ‘Make a noose, lad, slip it over her head and let the excess hang down her body.’ The sneer became a grin, leering and lustful, as he watched Peli form a loop and, somewhat anxiously, slip the hemp rope about Fazath’s neck.

  As the rough cord abraded her skin and the noose was tightened, she swallowed hard and painfully. The rest of the length swung between the deep valley of her breasts, rasping first one and then the other. As she took many rapid and shallow breaths the rope dangled against her taut belly and brushed the triangle of blue-black pussy hair. She felt humiliated and used by the men and despised herself for being so pliant, but she was so for Babala, hoping they would use her more kindly.

  ‘Hold your wrists together,’ ordered Graf, still grinning. ‘Grab her elbows, Peli,’ he added over his shoulder. ‘I don’t want any bruises marring my handsomeness.’ He let out a loud guffaw at his own wit, but the laughter faded as Fazath gave him a threatening glare.

  Cruelly, he tugged on the rough rope, pulling it tight about her neck and wrapping it around her wrists. She winced as it rubbed against the wounds left by the manacles and gave several feeble coughs as she tried to catch her breath.

  ‘Now down over your belly and between those sex lips,’ he said, an evil chuckle punctuating his words. ‘It will tickle that nubbin of yours and become wetted with your juices in no time.’ He slapped her inner thighs apart with one hand while taking his time in positioning the cord between her sex folds so that it would rub her clitty at the slightest movement. ‘And now,’ he added, sliding behind her and making sure his cock probed between her buttocks, ‘feel how deliciously prickly it feels against your bottom bud.’

  Fazath made a feeble attempt to struggle against his attentions, and blushed as she admitted privately that the strands of the cords stimulated her rear opening.

  ‘And finally...’ the rope was twisted around her slender waist, lying against the swell of her hips. ‘Of course, we must leave your feet free from bonds until we reach the auction. We don’t want to tire ourselves by carrying you. We’ll save our strength to spend the takings of your sale in the tavern.’ Again he let out a loud guffaw before pushing Fazath towards the cave entrance.

  The way out of the cavern seemed perilously steep, and she tried to turn her head, pleading for help from the two men, but only succeeded in half-choking herself.

  At the foot of the steep slope she saw Babala, water streaming from her golden hair and shimmering on her pale skin. Her hands were bound but otherwise her body was free from bonds. The sapphire eyes widened when she saw her mistress and she opened her lips to protest, but Fazath gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, warning her to hold her tongue.

  The town square of Brentasi was thronged with onlookers; mostly peasants come to bring their produce to the market, but some to watch the auction of slaves, which was always good for an hour’s entertainment. The crowd grew bigger as hundreds more entered the square.

  They were roughly clad in brief tunics which, as they balanced the baskets of fruit and vegetables upon head or hip, rode up to bare their unfettered genitals. The girls and men alike took the opportunity to fondle each other. Slender feminine fingers ringed stiffened cocks while stout fingers, rough from farm work, slipped into warm and willing cunnies.

  And it didn’t end there. The day was hot and it heated the blood. Several couples sank to the cobbled square, the girls with their thighs parted and the men impaled within them. There was nothing like the auction to stimulate a good fuck.

  Babala, tired from the two day march to the town and what had gone before, looked dully at the scene. Even the sounds of couples grunting their pleasure did not arouse her interest, although she heard the excited murmurs of the crowd as she and the Lady Fazath were pushed roughly into the square by the guards. Hands reached out to feel her naked breasts and went further, pushing between her thighs to stroke her fleshpot.

  ‘You can’t afford that one,’ said Bart, giving the perpetrator of the intimacy a sharp blow on the shoulder with his whip. ‘Don’t touch.’

  ‘And this one?’ said the peasant, cupping Fazath’s breasts and not at all put out by Bart’s rebuke. ‘She looks well used. Maybe I could afford her.’

  His companions sniggered and gathered round to join in the fun, their hands reaching between Fazath’s thighs, feeling the rope that had buffed between her sex lips for these two long days. They remarked how saturated the cord was, how hard her clitty had become, how deeply the bond had cut into the valley between her bottom cheeks.

  ‘Enough of this!’ growled Capel. ‘Bid for the woman if you want her, but we warn you, she’s a wild cat.’

  As if to confirm this Fazath made a flying leap with both feet, knocking two of her tormentors to the cobbled ground of the square.

  The Slavemaster, hearing the disturbance and noting the two spectators dragging themselves to their feet from the blow, was quick to leave the podium and stride to the scene. In his hand he held a long whip; leather, softened from years of usage. The handle was intricately carved and bulbous at the end.

  ‘What is all this?’ he demanded, the whip cracked ominously, and he eyed her up and down, noting the fading marks on her breasts and belly. ‘Are these women for the auction?’ He used a finger and thumb to inquisitively grasp one of Babala’s nipples and lift her breast. She whimpered at the action, but held her head high and gave him a defiant stare.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bart. ‘We’ve walked two days to get here. Is there space?’

  The Slavemaster used the handle of his whip to trace the dip of Babala’s waist and the luscious curve of her hip. ‘Are they obedient? Arch your body, girl, so I may inspect your sex.’

  ‘Very obedient,’ Graf said quickly. ‘As you can see, sir.’

  The Slavemaster grunted and used the folded whip to probe between Babala’s thighs.

  ‘She should fetch a good price, sir, eh?’ said Bart eagerly.

  The Slavemaster used the bulb of the handle to open Babala’s sex purse to its fullest extent. He thrust it back and forth within her and thumbed the tip of her clitty. ‘She’s been well used,’ he decided. ‘Very well used, and her skin is marked by the lash.’ He turned to the
men, but did not halt the thrust of the carved wood within Babala. ‘Are you sure she’s obedient?’

  ‘You can see how willing she is, sir,’ said Graf.

  ‘Maybe too willing,’ said the Slavemaster, noting Babala was in the throes of a gentle climax she could not control. The whip handle was pulled from her body unceremoniously, and Babala hung her head in shame at being so easily pleasured before the rough crowd.

  ‘Still,’ he conceded, ‘perhaps some merchant will take her for his plaything. One never knows how these auctions will go.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll fetch a mountain of shekels,’ persuaded Bart.

  ‘Really?’ The Slavemaster raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Well, I am not. And as for this harridan...’ He gave an ironic smirk as he turned to the Lady Fazath. ‘Well-developed muscles,’ he commented, squeezing Fazath’s biceps. ‘Is she, perchance, of military background? She could be of use in Brentasi’s guard.’ He used his whip to part the woman’s buttocks and to examine her rear hole. ‘But perhaps not,’ he concluded, answering his own statement as he fingered the opening to knuckle depth. ‘This has been overused. A military woman would fight for all she was worth to preserve that chastity.’

  The men looked at each other sheepishly and gazed down at their feet, shuffling them uncomfortably in the market debris.

  ‘Why is she bound so?’ asked the Slavemaster, fingering the rope that went from Fazath’s wrists, down over her belly, pressing into the fleshy pad of her pussy mound, causing it to tighten about her neck and over her belly. Fazath coughed, but her expression was far from plaintive; rather her anger was plainly marked on her features and she hissed between gritted teeth at her tormentor.