Mastered By Love Page 7

  “I don’t need that. I don’t!”

  Saturnios smacked her lightly on the hip. “Rule number two: no speaking without permission.”

  Ow! The crop did sting. She rubbed her skin, trying to remove the pain.

  “What are the rules, Tariza?” His voice turned suddenly cold and stern.

  “Um –” She flushed. Rules ... “Do as you’re told and don’t talk unless you have permission.”

  “In first person, please.”

  “Huh?” She gaped at him.

  “Do as I’m told. Go ahead and say it, with the numbers.”

  Her lips tightened as a frown threatened to form.

  He smacked her again, making her jump. “No frowning, scowling, or other unpleasant faces. Now tell me the rules.”

  “Do as I’m told –”

  “Numbers!” He smacked her a third time.

  She bit back a sob of self-pity. “Number one, do as I’m told. Number two, no talking without permission.”

  Saturnios smiled warmly. “Very good.” He clasped her buttocks in both hands, massaging, removing the sting. “Now for Rule number three: gaze must be on the floor at all times unless instructed otherwise. Repeat.” He released her ass and stood ready with the crop.

  “Number three: m-my gaze must be on the floor at all times unless instructed otherwise.”

  “Excellent.” With a gentle hand, he tipped up her chin, bending his head to brush her lips with his.

  Her idiot body responded instantly with a rush of warmth and pleasure.

  “You see?” he murmured. “You’re learning. Rule number four is the manner in which you address me. You are to call me Master, Master Dario, Your Highness or milord. Is that clear?”

  Tariza nodded.

  “Show me.”

  “M-master, Master Dario, Your Highness or milord.”

  “Now repeat all four, with numbers.”

  Maybe if she showed obedience, this particular humiliation would end more quickly. She rattled off the four rules, keeping her gaze down as instructed.

  “Good. Now for your name.”

  Her name? She lifted her chin and her gaze for an instant, before remembering rule number three. Tariza ducked her head, twisting her hands together. Hoping he didn’t mean to impose a new name on her.

  “If someone requests your name,” he said, “this is how you answer. I am Tariza, slave of Prince Dario Saturnios. Now you say it.”

  Goddess. He was really going to make her say that? She flicked a glance toward his riding crop, tap-tapping against the side of his booted calf, and winced.

  “I am Tariza, s-slave of Prince Dario Saturnios,” she repeated thickly.

  “What is your name, slave?”

  “I am T-tariza, s-slave of Prince Dario Saturnios.”

  “Are you a princess of Concordia?”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. “No.”

  Saturnios smacked her left hip with the crop. “No, what?”

  “N-no, Master.” Goddess, that word was hard to force from her lips.

  “Very good, Tariza.” This time, he not only kissed her but cupped her breast, shaping the sensitive curves and pinching her nipple until she gave a little moan of response. “You see, when you obey, you receive pleasure. When you disobey, you receive pain. Wouldn’t you rather have pleasure?”

  “Yes,” she said unsteadily.

  “And I would rather give you pleasure than pain. Remember that. I enjoy rewarding you.”

  Of course he did. His rewards involved mauling her flesh, something that never failed to sexually excite him. She’d used similar rewards for her own slaves – all male, of course. Did he think she knew nothing of slave training?

  “It’s different when you’re on the slave side of things, isn’t it?” he said softly, as if he’d read her mind.

  “Yes.” She had the strange feeling she was falling, falling into a bottomless ravine from which she would never escape.

  “Now we practice.”

  He made her drill, repeating the four rules endlessly, giving her name at random prompts, fetching things for him. Every time he gave an order, he required her to respond with yes, Master. They drilled for what seemed like forever, until her responses felt automatic and she no longer hesitated.

  “You’re doing well,” he said finally. “The other two rules I want you to learn today are how to sit and how to stand.”

  I already know those things. She kept her thoughts to herself. Saturnios wanted her to present herself the same way that blonde did. What was her name? Lola.

  “You will stand with your feet hip-width apart, your head bowed and your hands clasped. Do it.”

  With an inward sigh, she complied. The crop traced a line up her back, around her shoulder to her jaw.

  “You’re getting ready to scowl, slave. Amend your expression.”

  What did he mean, scowl? She wasn’t scowling.

  He whacked her on the ass, drawing a squeak from her. “Relax your jaw and forehead. Assume a pleasant expression.”

  Tariza blinked rapidly. He’d punished her for not looking sweet enough? Her eyes pinched shut and her jaw tightened even more as she fought back tears.

  The crop tapped against the leather of his boot. “Rule number one: do as you’re told. Fix that expression.”

  “I hate you.”

  Saturnios hit her smartly on first one thigh, then the other, hard enough to draw tears from her eyes. “I will mark you if you disrespect me again.” Another series of strikes followed his words.

  She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry! Please stop hitting me.”

  “Use the proper form of address.”

  “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Better.” He gripped her chin, turning up her face for his kiss.

  The tent flap opened and his squire poked his head inside. “Dinner, milord.”

  “Good. I’m starved.” Saturnios waved the young man into the tent.

  Paolo sent Tariza one of his sidelong leers as he bore the dinner tray to the table. He set out a plate laden with slices of roasted game bird, mashed root vegetables and miniature candied apples, along with freshly baked bread and a carafe of wine. Tariza’s stomach rumbled.

  There was only one place setting. Weren’t they going to feed her? Her stomach growled again, even more loudly.

  Saturnios tossed a canvas cushion on the tent floor next to his chair. “Rule number five, Tariza: at meals, you kneel beside the master’s chair and take food from his hand.”

  She stiffened. He would deny her a plate of her own?

  Saturnios tapped her under the chin with his crop. “Fix that expression, slave,” he said, his voice soft yet menacing.

  She blinked and consciously relaxed her jaw.

  “That’s better. Don’t worry. You won’t go hungry. Take your place now.”

  “Yes, Master.” Her skin crawled with the sensation that Paolo was watching her, listening. Smirking.

  Tariza knelt on the cushion, taking the position Saturnios had taught her. The heater had been placed close to provide warmth to the diners and its blessed heat washed over her, keeping the autumn chill off her nakedness.

  “Will that be all, milord?” Paolo said.

  “Yes. You’re dismissed.”

  She couldn’t tell whether the squire sighed with relief or disappointment. All she knew was that she was glad to see him go.

  Saturnios took his seat. Tariza watched out of the corner of her eye as he cut a bite of the poultry and put it in his mouth. He immediately cut another and held it to her lips. She opened her mouth to accept it.

  “Very good. Nearly perfect form.” He smiled down at her and stroked her head. A bewildering welter of resentment at his high-handedness and pleasure at his approval rose up in her heart.

  To be subjected to male control, dependent on male approbation – what had she done to so offend the Goddess that she deserved this punishment, this abject shame?

  Saturnios happily chewed his food,
apparently oblivious to her turmoil. He speared another bite of poultry and offered it to her. It tasted delicious, full of garlic and herbs. She had to admit the Saturnians knew how to cook.

  “Try this,” he said, offering her a bite of the mashed roots.

  They were fluffy, buttery and sweet. She hadn’t eaten decent food in weeks – not since beginning her field assignment.

  “What do you think?”

  She looked up at him, startled.

  “I didn’t give you permission to look at me, slave.”

  Tariza ducked her head. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Did you like the food?”

  “Very much,” she said without looking at him.

  “I like it, too. Have another bite.”

  Next he gave her a sip of wine, holding the goblet to her lips. She kept her eyes downcast as she drank. The last thing she wanted right now was more strikes of the crop.

  “You’re doing remarkably well. I knew you would if you gave it an honest effort.”

  It’s only fear of that damned riding crop keeping me in line.

  But was that really true? Didn’t she yearn for that tone of warm approval in his voice? Didn’t she long for the reward of his kiss or caress?

  His generous offerings of the un-watered wine blunted her sense of shame and despair, replacing it with mellow relaxation. She could puzzle out her feelings later. Right now she was warm and well-fed and that was enough.

  She knelt beside him, drifting in a haze of contentment. His big hand stroked the top of her head, toying with her hair. She gave a little sigh because it felt good. She wouldn’t think about what any of this meant. She wouldn’t think about anything at all.

  “Come up here.” His voice was husky.

  “Milord?” She chanced a quick glance up at him.

  He patted his thighs. “Here.”

  Tariza rose. He pulled her onto his lap. She’d never sat on a man’s lap before. It gave her a strange feeling of vulnerability and safety that made her tremble and look away from him.

  Saturnios caught her chin, guiding her face back toward his. “You’ve done well today. So well I think you deserve a reward.”

  His mouth slanted down across hers, hot and wet and possessing. Tariza surrendered without a thought. She simply opened for him, moaning as his tongue plundered her.

  Deep in her body, she ached. Her pussy throbbed and moistened for him. She felt so empty, the longing to be filled making her squirm and roll her hips against his powerful legs.

  He gave a low laugh, still kissing her, and picked her up and tossed her face down on his bed. His hands spread her legs apart and his mouth found her sex. She cried out loudly as he tongued the sensitive flesh. She tipped up her pelvis to give him better access, shamelessly begging for his attentions.

  He flipped her over on her back. “I’m going to fuck you now, Tariza, and while I fuck you I want you to chant something for me.”

  She just wanted his cock, needed it, needed it now. But Master wanted her to talk ... words ... she tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

  “What is it, Master?”

  “I want you to say I belong to Master Dario. I am Master Dario’s slave. Can you remember that?”

  “Yes.” Could she?

  “Repeat it for me.”

  “I-I belong to Master Dario. I am Master Dario’s slave.”

  “That’s right, Tariza.” He pinched her nipple, causing a rush of pleasure in her womb. “Very good.”

  A sudden thrust of his hips sent his cock plunging deep inside her. She threw her head back with a cry of joy.

  “Say it,” he growled, pumping her.

  “Oh! I belong to – oh! – Master Dario. I – oh! – I’m Master’s slave.”

  “Good.” He groaned on another thrust. “Again.”

  “I belong ... Master ... Dario! Oh, Dario! I ... I am ... slave.” She hardly knew what she was saying.

  “My. Slave.” He stared fiercely into her eyes as he fucked her with ruthless strokes of his cock. “Again. Say it again.”

  “Belong to ...” She moaned as her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “Dario! I am ... Dario’s – Master’s – slave. Oh, please! Please!”

  The power of speech abandoned her. She screamed, writhing beneath him. Dario roared, shuddered, spilled himself inside her. His big body sagged over hers, still trembling, his dark head lowered near to hers.

  Tariza turned her face. Her lips met his hand where it rested against the bed, supporting his weight. She kissed him, kissed his thumb, his wrist, as her arms came around him and clasped him to her.

  “Sweet girl,” he murmured. He captured her mouth in a hot, penetrating kiss. “My sweet treasure.”

  She felt so ... frighteningly good. It had been almost liberating to say those words. How could that be?

  “I am Master Dario’s slave,” she whispered, and felt the statement echo in her soul.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning they set off for Saturnios, Tariza riding in front of the prince as before. The weather had turned bitterly cold. He’d given her layers of warm woolen clothing taken from the other slaves and she was so thoroughly bundled she hardly looked female at all. His arms around her, his body at her back sheltered her from much of the cruel mountain wind and the rocking motion of the horse’s gait helped to lull her into a sense of safety. Really it was perverse how safe she sometimes felt around the prince, when he so delighted in cropping her.

  “Tell me,” his voice rumbled in her ear. “Did you learn to do anything in Concordia besides fight?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Such as?”

  “I – I’m an expert horsewoman.”

  “Anything more feminine than that?”

  Tariza gritted her teeth in sudden annoyance. “What’s wrong with women knowing horses?”

  “Nothing, necessarily. But I was thinking of more indoor pursuits.”

  “Like needlework?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I hate needlework.”

  He laughed softly. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Is there anything else you know how to do? I’m already aware you don’t dance.”

  Tariza began to twist in the saddle so she could look at him, then remembered that was forbidden. “I dance. Just not ballroom dances.”

  “Ah.” He sounded amused. “I see.”

  “Why do you want to know this, anyway?”

  “As your master,” he said in a reproving tone, “I don’t need to explain myself.”

  Tariza hung her head. They couldn’t have anything like a normal conversation with him constantly reminding her of her position. Then again, she’d never had this sort of conversation with a male. In Concordia, they were spoken to, ordered about, not asked for their opinions.

  “I want to get to know you better, Tariza. That’s all.”

  “Get to know me?” she said, surprised.

  “Yes. Didn’t you get to know your slaves back in Concordia?”

  “No. Yes! I don’t know.” And that, she discovered with a creeping sense of shame, was the truth. It had never occurred to her there was anything about them worth knowing, except what sexual skills they possessed.

  “I like to know something about my women.”

  She bit her lip. Just how big a stable of women did he possess?

  “Tell me, Tariza.”

  Oh, fine. “I – I sing.” Sort of. “And play the guitar.”

  “Really? Sing something for me.”

  Ugh. She’d never liked her voice. It was pure soprano, not the treasured alto of the best Concordian singers, and no matter how much she’d practiced as a girl, she could never really get it to drop low enough. But she’d received an order from her master and she couldn’t refuse without feeling the sting of his crop. “Yes, milord,” she said, resigned to embarrassment.

  She sang an old Concordian ballad about a woman whose favorite slave has died. It was s
ad, and suited her voice well, or at least as well as could be expected, given her limitations. It wasn’t until she’d finished the first verse that she realized how inappropriate the subject matter was. Oh, well. He’d asked for it.

  When she finished and her voice died away, Saturnios sat silent for so long she quailed inside. He’d hated it. She heard her mother’s voice telling her to for Goddess’s sake stop her caterwauling.

  Then his arms tightened around her. “That was lovely.” His voice sounded all husky, as if she’d moved him.

  Tariza snorted. “You don’t have to be kind.”

  “Fishing for compliments?” He sounded amused again.

  “No. I know my voice is no good.”

  “That’s not true. You have a beautiful voice. You sounded like an angel.”

  Tariza shook her head. “It’s too high and squeaky.”

  “There’s nothing squeaky about it. Who told you that you couldn’t sing?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Well, they were idiots. You’re gifted, Tariza.”

  She laughed a little. “Thank you, I think.”

  “I would like to hear you play the guitar. I’ll find you an instrument when we get home.”

  Home. Saturnios would never be her home.

  The prince seemed to expect an answer, so she manufactured one. “I would like that, Master.”

  “Good. Very good.” He paused. “I enjoy music.”

  “Do you play an instrument?” she said, mostly to be polite. Because she truly didn’t care whether he did or not. She didn’t even like him.

  “The flute.”

  Tariza began to twist again, wanting to see him. But it wasn’t allowed. She straightened out. “The flute?”

  “Yes. I don’t sing, though.”

  “Perhaps we could play a duet.” She flushed. “If it would please you,” she added, to avoid the crop.

  “It would please me a great deal.”

  We have something in common. How odd.

  The more she learned about him, the more her image of him as an alien, barbarian beast dissolved, to be replaced by she knew not what. It piqued her curiosity, and made her cringe with the unwanted intimacy. Did he feel the same way about her? The sense of discovery, of a strange new country just beginning to reveal itself?