In the Desert Heat (closed)

closed for BlueCollarGirl

I removed my sunglasses; compared to the brilliant midmorning sun outside, the auction space seemed shadowy. A slight haze of a dreamweed smoke -- a mild narcotic popular among the Hatari -- tinged the room. A few hundred occupied the theater, a quiet murmur of conversations filling the air as they awaited the first auction. Nearly all were onlookers just curious about the spectacle. A kesh auction hadn't occurredfornearlythreeyears.

Likethe prevalence of indoor smoking, Hatar in many ways hearkened back to a much older time. The country's hot, arid climate had insulated it from casual visitors over the centuries, so the locals had remained steadfast in their adherence to old customs and ideals. The Hatari still practiced traditions that other modern societies had abandoned centuries ago.

Thekesh auction was easily the most obvious example. Literally translated, it meant "obedience", but in function it was as close to slavery as one could find in present day. At least, in the minds of Westerners always eager to find fault in cultures not their own.

We Hatari knew otherwise. Actual slavery of the weakest in the society had ended centuries ago, but the kesh was something else entirely. In ancient times, it had been reserved for the nobility. Executing royalty tended to create blood feuds and conflict. But taking a powerful lord and reducing him to a servant in a rival's home for several years was sufficient humiliation to punish without need of bloodshed. Today wealth rather than armies determined one's power, but the principle remained unchanged. Thus, the practice had endured.

I only had to look at the first kesh to confirm this truth. A Hatari man in his late 50s, he stared silently at the floor while tears coursed from his eyes. The shame he felt was quite real.

Despitehis age, bidding climbed swiftly. The Hatari elite took a perverse delight in seeing one of their own brought low.Theauctionshappened so rarely inthesemoderntimes--perhaps only oncea year at most and some years had none at all -- that a kesh of any age or condition was highly prized. There was no greater status symbol amongst the wealthy than owning a kesh -- particularly if it happened to be a former business or political rival. Judging by the size of the bids, this Hatari had made several enemies in his prior life. He sold for a tidy sum.

But it was the second kesh that had drawn such an unusually large crowd. A kesh auction was already an uncommon event, but the auction of a foreign kesh hadn't occurred in decades. And a foreign female kesh? Perhaps a first.

I watched as the auctioneer brought her out onto the stage. Like the man before her, she was clad in a simple white tunic belted at the waist. Plain leather sandals adorned her feet. An outfit as old as this building.

The only other "decoration" were the small lengths of chain that encircled her at ankles, wrist, and neck. In ancient times, these would have been heavy iron bands. In modern times, it was a much lighter metal alloy formed into delicate links; properly polished, they looked like silver bracelets. But however lightweight and shiny they were, they marked her as kesh as surely as if they had been chains of iron.

The rumors of her appearance had underrated her appearance. Stepping into the bright beam of sunlight at the front of the stage, her hair gleamed like the morning sunrise. Amongst the dark-haired, dark-skinned, dark-eyed Hatari, her fair locks, milk-white skin, and emerald gaze made her quite exotic. Long legs suggested a height well above average for a local female; enough to rival many shorter Hatari men as well. Full curves strained the tunic slightly -- also well beyond the average Hatari woman -- but her waist seemed impossibly slender in between. She was truly a vision, however simple her clothes.

Bidding climbed rapidly. The overly ambitious mid-level merchants dropped out quickly as the price rose. Within minutes, only a handful of the wealthy remained. I waited till there were two. My rivals turned to me, eyes flashing with anger at my late intrusion. I smirked and upped the bid again. My money was not as old as theirs, but I had far more of it. After a few last bids attempts, they yielded.

Afterwards, I arranged for the transfer of the modest fortune I'd expended for her. The auctioneer's eyes got glassy as he counted the number of zeroes. "Lord Idris, we will clean and dress the kesh, then deliver it to your estate this afternoon," he promised.

"Blindfold her as well," I instructed. He nodded obediently.

I smiled as a I re-entered the harsh midday sun. Oh, the plans I had for this one.

I knew better. Really I did. And yet there I found myself, clad in white with shackles on as people bid on me.

It was beyond terrifying. I knew only of Hatar academically, and even then only of their old ways. How long would I have to remain here once I'd been...purchased? What would I be forced to do?

Who was going to let my parents know where I was, that I was still alive?

I'd come here three weeks ago, hoping to get in some research before heading off to graduate school. Ancient Hatar had been a fascination of mine since I'd see that movie about it when I was a kid, so much so that I dove into a double major of history and comparative religion as an undergrad. I'd taken a few years off of academia to earn some money working at my family's car dealership, and I was finally ready to go off to grad school and earn that PhD.

But I wanted to visit here first, a place I had dreamt about for over a decade. I needed to tread in the steps of Queen Layah, one of the most formidable women to rule any country. I burned to gaze upon the ruins of the Crossroads Market, the trading center of the pre-Christian trading world. I wanted to breathe in the nighttime floral delights of the Moonlight Gardens.

What I hadn't realized, however, was that viewing the sacred Wall of Kings required pre-approval from the Hatari Historical Committee, which I had not gotten before making my way into the grounds. Not only had I violated space I was not (nor would have been) granted permission to visit, I took pictures, which was strictly forbidden by their culture.

They could've just put me in prison. Or they could've executed me - it was well within their customs, though it would've been an international nightmare for them. Somehow selling me into indentured servitude was less controversial apparently, and when given the option between twenty-five years in a jail cell or three years as a "kesh"...well, it seemed the lesser of two evils.

So I surrendered my passport - farewell to Colleen Doyle, hello whatever name I am given - and donned the white.

The bidding appeared to be over, but under the lights I couldn't see who the lucky winner was. They took me away to a bath house where I was bathed, my coppery red hair was washed, and I was lotioned and perfumed before being dressed back in white. The locked silver around my neck, wrists, and ankles remained in place the entire time.

Then I was blindfolded, put into a vehicle which was thankfully air conditioned, and driven off to begin my life as kesh.

I tried my best not to quiver in my sandals as I stood in a silent room. Whoever had brought me into the house left me without a word. Where was I? I strained for any sound that might give me a clue. But there was only the occasional creak or a huff that might've been a breath.

When I inhaled, I could practically smell wealth. Fresh linen, perfumed wood polish, and the lingering scent of expensive tobacco permeated the air. But there was something else underneath those things, something...masculine. I couldn't describe it better than that. I don't know if it was cologne or musk or something else, but it led me to suspect I was not alone.

Not that my suspicion kept me from jumping nearly out of my skin when a deep voice rumbled, "Take off the blindfold." I took a moment to compose myself, to erase the trepidation that suddenly filled me from my face as best I could now that I was coming face to face with the man who had purchased me. My hands only shook a little as I pulled the blindfold from my eyes.

The brightness of the room stabbed into my head, and I blinked reflexive tears out of my eyes. As my vision adjusted to the room, I found myself standing in a study that would normally captivate my attention if not for the man seated and studying me. I felt like a mouse caught out in the open under the shadow of an owl. He rose and moved towards me, and I forced myself not to flinch away from me.

Rather than touch me, though, he inspected me in the way he might prized racehorse. My mouth dried up as I studied him as obliquely as I could. Surprisingly tall for his people, he struck an impressive figure. His age was hard to guess - his darkly tanned face was unlined but his hair was beginning to turn at his temples. Everything about him commanded attention and obedience, even clad only in his robe and slippers.

"I am Lord Idris. You belong to me."

Despite myself, a new shiver worked its way through me, though this time in places much lower on my body. What a strange effect, I mused, not typically so easily aroused by...well, anyone. And yet the intensity of his amber eyes pierced right through me.

What had I gotten myself into?

"What is your name?" He phrased it as a question, but it was clearly a command that left no room for disobedience.

Still, I had to work some moisture back into my mouth before I could acquiesce. "My name is Colleen." I paused before stammering and looking down. "Um...sir." I winced. "My apologies. I don't know the appropriate way to address you, and I do not wish to offend you further."

My ears rang with the sound of my face being slapped. No one had ever hit me before, and it shocked me so deeply that I started babbling as soon as he finished with his lecture. Of course, that only got me a second slap, this on my other cheek.

At least your face is matching, you idiot. Now shut up! I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself not to break down into tears. You agreed to this, whatever this is. Act like a woman and take it.

The smidgen of praise he gave for not speaking again surprised me by warming me inside even as my heart sank. How quickly he terrified me into Stockholm Syndrome. But I knew I wasn't quite so weak willed - my mother always joked about my stubbornness and strident independent streak. No, it was something about him that made me feel good for obeying him. I didn't like that, because I didn't want to like him.

He circled me then, fingers picking at the outfit which they'd dressed me in. I found it uncomfortable as the fit was all wrong. My shoulders were too broad, my chest too endowed, my legs too long for this "uniform". It was clearly made for a man, and one shorter than me. Seemed weird - if women were auctioned off as slaves...sorry, "kesh"...wouldn't you want them in uniforms that either fit or flattered? This white did neither.

Lord Idris did not disagree. "This won't do," he declared as he stood in front of me, a frown lining his forehead. "Take that off. All of it."

My hands moved to acquiesce before my brain caught up. When it did, I paused with my hands on the bottom of the tunic and it pulled partially up my torso. I wore nothing underneath the tunic - the auction house had burned the clothes I'd been wearing when I arrived there, and all of the undergarments they had tried to put on my chest were laughably small and tight.

But his admonition came back to me: "Disobey and you will be punished." I had no doubt he was sincere in that statement, given how easily he slapped my face. I put aside my modesty as best I could and pulled the tunic all the way off. The study was cool and my skin instantly pebbled up. I dropped the top, unsure of what he wanted me to do with it, and pulled off the skirt as well, which I deposited on the rug next to the tunic.

I stood before him, pale skin flushed red with embarrassment, wearing only a baggy pair of underpants and sandals. I forced myself to keep my hands at my sides, which might've been the hardest thing I'd done up to that point, and stared at his chest. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing his face.

I wasn't trying to be defiant or stupid. I truly did not realize he meant the sagging panties, as well. He shocked me with his derisive tone - I did not think he spoke English poorly, and it certainly spoke it better than I spoke Hatari - and the sudden yank to remove the undergarments. I was too afraid to step out of them, and I still could not meet his gaze, feeling more vulnerable than I ever had in my life.

He walked around me, and I stood there, rigid, hardly daring to breathe. Another loud crack, and my ass was on fire. Every muscle in my body tensed as I straightened with a strangled cry lodged in my throat. I felt the imprint of each finger where they landed, a lingering sting that I wanted to rub away. I tightened my fingers into a fist, willing myself to stand there.

Sure enough, he landed a matching slap on the other side, my cheeks again matching. My chest hitched as I blinked away tears of shame. My body betrayed me as I trembled in my sandals. My nipples, already puckered from the cool air, tightened into hard buds, and - to my disbelief - a dampness gathered between my legs. I had never been one of those girls, the ones who enjoyed the gaze of strange men, or who liked being manhandled and roughed up. But each time Lord Idris drew close, my blood pooled in unusual places that embarrassed me.

He stood before me again, ignoring the redness in my face and dampness under my eyes, and barked orders in Hatari. A woman appeared, beautiful in the graceful way so many women in this land seemed to possess, and approached me with something familiar: measuring tape. Her presence calmed me somewhat, restoring a little equilibrium to my upside down world. She gave me some basic instructions in her language, and I understood enough to comply when she had me first lift my arms and them part my legs.

I sensed rather than saw her hesitate as she measured my inseam, and it didn't take me long to understand why. As her fingers brushed the skin of my inner thighs, I felt the dampness she encountered. Lord Idris, sitting back in his chair and observing the process, noticed as well. I turned a whole new shade of red, humiliation radiating off of me in waves, as a few new trickles of tears slid down my burning cheeks.

Rihanna, finally finished, pushed my feet back together and rose smoothly. She leaned her head in close and whispered, "The lord has that effect." Or, at least, I thought that was what she said. I gave her a startled blink, and she offered me a faint curl of her lips before she bowed to him and hurried back out the door from where she'd appeared.

That left me alone once again with the man who held my fate in his hands.

Lord Idris really didn't need to warn me about not leaving his property. I had no idea where I was, and even if I did, I stuck out here like a sore thumb. Between my height and complexion, I doubted there was a single person in this small country who didn't know of me.

And really, I feared how I might be treated if I left and someone other than this man caught me. I had desecrated a holy shrine with my mere presence. I'm sure there were some who would demand my punishment in blood. Though I did not know my owner at all, he clearly wasn't bloodthirsty if bothering with all these rules and setting up a new uniform.

I eyed Jasmine and took his oblique warning: she was not to be trusted. Anything I said, ate, looked at wrong, she would tell him. So I needed to keep on her good side as much as I did his.

Once the servant left, he rose and circled me again. I desperately wanted something - anything - to cover up in, but I had nothing. Until my sentence was up, I was nothing. At least he didn't completely denigrate me. I'd take a mediocre review for my first few hours when I had no idea what was expected of me.

Then, of course, all that changed.

"Your file indicates you are not a virgin, yes?" The deep flush returned to my face, a dark red that rivaled my hair. I didn't want to think about the intrusive exam I'd been subjected to by the authorities, and I certainly didn't want to recall the fumbled and messy end of my virginity in the back of my high school boyfriend’s busted up old car. Our sexual relationship had been brief and unsatisfying, and in college I'd been took focused on my passion (for Hatar) to bother with finding even a friend with benefits.

Boy, are you going to be disappointed to find out not all Western girls are whores with loads of experience, I thought as he pointed to the space on the floor before him.

"Then I shall presume you are familiar with the basics." I nodded, though I didn't offer that The Basics were about all I knew. "Kneel here and unfasten my robe."

My face couldn't grow any redder without catching fire. My breathing grew more shallow as a new fear lit up inside me. But I feared what he might do if I refused to comply. Was I even allowed to do that?

With unsteady legs, I managed to get down to my knees without collapsing. A piece of me wanted to prostrate myself and beg not to do this. But, as with before, there was something about him, about the way he spoke, that made me want to please him. So instead of begging, I reached up with trembling hands and fumbled the knot from the belt around his robe.

When the fabric fell away, I took a moment to drink in his physique. Again, I found it impossible to gage his age. He was powerfully built and in good shape, though the hair on his body had threads of steel woven in with the dark. It was hard, if not impossible, to stare at the manhood hanging there in its thick glory.

Panic washed over me, unsure of what to do next. But when I glanced up at his face from where I knelt, I felt a tug deep inside my damp and hungry sex. It elicited a gasp out of me, my lips parting in surprise, and then my hands moved on their own accord as I continued to stare up at him, watching for his approval

Holy shit, I remember thinking. I had never seen a cock like that one. When my slim fingers encircled it, it twitched and swelled. In no time it was so large using just one of my hands did little. And yet, it grew even fatter.

"Use your mouth," Idris commanded, and I couldn't help the tiny whimper that escaped me. It wasn't that the idea of sucking a man off disgusted me - just because I hadn't done it before didn't mean I found it repulsive. But how the hell was I supposed to fit that monster into my mouth?

Or anywhere else he might demand, my unhelpful brain added.

His hand moved, and I flinched back out of reflex. But he didn't move to slap me again, rather he pulled the sides of the robe further back. My heart raced, still fearful, but it forced me to move.

I rose up off my ankles, where I'd sat, though I remained kneeling. I wasn't tall enough to reach his still expanding cock, so I slid my fingers around it again and pulled it down towards my face. Tentatively I flicked my tongue out and tasted along the ridge. My eyes glanced up to his, trying to gauge any reaction he had. But his face remained stoic, unmoved.

I struggled to be undaunted by his demeanor and his girth, but it was difficult. I take another tentative lick, this time my tongue swirling around the head of his cock. That made him tense, so I did it again. A small pearl of wetness formed there, so - feeling brave - I lapped it up. I'm not sure I could explain the taste it had, but it triggered a tug so deep within me that I managed to wrap my lips around his dick and suck.

His fingers found their way into my hair and put a light pressure on the back of my head. I took the direction and tried taking him deeper into my mouth but I gagged. Worried, I blinked involuntary tears out of my eyes and looked back up at him. Could he tell I had no idea what I was doing? I was sure he could. The question was, did that make it more or less enjoyable?

His cock was so big that when he pulled my head back to a new angle, it never fully left from between my lips. I didn't flinch away when his amber eyes caught mine, and I was grateful to find...not patience, but not consternation either. "Try again. Relax your jaw and throat. Breathe through your nose. Take it in slowly. Just the tip to start. Then take it slowly out. Then take it a little deeper next time. Then do it again."

I heard the control in his voice, control of himself and - now - of me, as well. I couldn't nod with his hand holding my head so I blinked slowly at him. He understood well enough to respond, "Good." He relaxed his hold on my hair and worked it back up to where it had been before. I found his touch strangely comforting, a guide to help me with what he wanted.

I'm not sure I could explain why it was so important to me that I please him. No one informed me that being purchased as a kesh meant buying my sexual services. His presumption that I, as an American over the age of sixteen, must know how to fuck, and fuck well, was clearly ludicrous and more than mildly offensive. Honestly, I wasn't even that worried about corporeal punishment in that moment; yes, he'd slapped me, but in a way that wasn't designed to harm me.

But that piece of me that I'd kept locked away all those years I obsessed over Hatar woke up now that I was here. I had disgraced myself with my overabundance of enthusiasm, something I'd promised I wouldn't do, and if this was the punishment I had to take to redeem my actions, so be it. I might as well enjoy it while serving my penance.

So I did as he bid. I took a deep breath through my nose and slid my head forward, his velvety cock easing along my tongue. As he approached the place where I had gagged before, I stopped and slowly pulled back. Then again, this time a little deeper into my mouth. When pulled back this time, I paused to breathe, letting my tongue brush along his impossibly hard sex. Soon I had worked up a decent rhythm and found I could relax my throat more than I'd expected.

His fingers tightened in my hair as I worked his cock, and soon he set the pace for my mouth. I found it difficult to keep up and had to brace my hands on his thighs for balance. Drool pooled along my bottom lip, dripping off my chin onto the expensive rug the faster he pulled me to him.

Then he pulled me close, more than half his length somehow down my throat, and held me there. I tried pushing back with my head, using my hands on his legs for leverage, but he held me immobile. I panicked and looked up at him with pleading eyes, needing to breathe, to swallow, to move without this enormous blockage in my throat. I whined to convey my distress as the drool felt like a brook trickling down off my face. Please, I silently begged, please let me up!

It felt like dying at first, the choking pressure of his cock in my mouth, my throat. I desperately needed to move, to breathe, but he held firm. I finally managed to get some rapid, shallow breaths in through my nose when his cock suddenly swelled and surged forward a little more.

My eyes widened, in disbelief at how enormous his member had become. Then it tensed and throbbed. I had enough time to think oh shit before his cum shot down my abused throat.

I struggled harder then, to no avail. I felt like I was drowning as he released pulse after pulse after pulse of cum so far down my throat that I didn't even taste it. I vaguely heard him making noises over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. His iron grip held me in place as his pleasure continued.

How it was possible for one man to empty so much at one time eluded me. My stomach complained as it swelled with this surprise. Given that I'd eaten very little in the days since my incarceration, it distended and grumbled at this torrential assault.

Finally, thankfully, his climax ended. His cock began to soften, and he released me. I collapsed backwards, drinking in air with labored, gasping breaths. Oh, it felt like heaven to do so. Which was good because my stomach threatened to revolt on me. I rubbed my waist, shocked to feel it so protruded. Had he just shot a gallon of cum into me?

He gave me a moment to recover before his deep voice rumbled, "Now, clean me off and fasten my robe."

Fuck! Still panting, I returned to my aching knees. Even now, his sex had not retreated much and still twitched under my touch. It was covered in my saliva and mucus, which I found very gross. But I didn't think I could take any form of punishment in my current state, so I licked it clean.

And as I ran my tongue along the head, one last small shot of cum spilled along my tongue. I swallowed it reflexively, much to the chagrin of my stomach. But the taste lingered, a taste that had bypassed me before, and I knew - I knew - that I wanted to taste that more, and more fully, as soon as I could.

Lord Idris dismissed his servant and ignored me. My heart sank, feeling desperately lonely in that moment. I'd earned a bed, okay that sounded like a decent start. But he never acknowledged my presence again once he'd called Jasmine back into the room. I might as well have been a piece of luggage he wanted from one room to another.

That's what you are now, Colleen, I reminded myself. You're his property. His belonging. His plaything, apparently.

And I felt so strange now. Jasmine chatted away, providing me information I probably needed to know, but I couldn't concentrate on her words. Good, he had said as I finished the last of my task. It hadn't been praise exactly, but it was the only thing keeping my mind afloat. I wanted him to say it again. I craved it. Why? I didn't understand it at all.

I stopped short when I realized Jasmine just told me that displeasing my new owner meant I'd be sleeping in a dog crate. That proclamation sent a chill down my spine as I collected one more reason to curry Idris' favor. The servant pointed out the washroom before handing me a pot with instructions on using it. Anything that might protect me from the baking sun I would use, especially if my new "uniform" wasn't ready by the time she took me on the tour; I would be exposing a lot of flesh that didn't get a lot of sunshine.

She left me then, and I looked down at my pallet. My stomach rolled, still pouched from the insane amount of semen I had swallowed. Even though I hadn't eaten much lately, I was grateful to skip dinner. Food on top of that...meal...likely wouldn't stay down anyway. I set the jar on the blanket and popped into the bathroom before turning in.

After relieving myself, I peeked at myself in the mirror to see if I still recognized myself. I was grateful that I did. The color was high in my face, and dark circles lingered under my eyes as they had since I'd been arrested, but otherwise I didn't look different. The metallic circlet around my neck glinted, and I sighed and turned away. My nudity served as sufficient reminder of my station. I didn't need the silver to help.

I flopped down on my pallet, grateful that no one lingered in the hallway when I walked across it. I unscrewed the jar of ointment and found the aroma of it quite pleasant. It smelled familiar somehow, despite the exotic spices that filled the closet. I only needed to use small amounts to cover pretty much all my skin, but I made sure I had full coverage. The last thing I needed was a pair of sunburned boobs.

Once that was done, I laid down and closed my eyes. I found myself suddenly sleepy, though I'd been wide awake moments before. The stress of the day, I mused right before dropping into a fitful sleep. Dreams filled my mind with a replay of my encounter with Lord Idris. I felt his eyes on me, picking me apart inch by inch. His hands slapped my ass over and over, forcing me to relive the feeling of humiliation and shocked arousal at his touch. And, of course, I dreamt of his cock. Each time he came in my dreams, I would clean him off only to find him ready to fill my throat again.

I woke up once in the night - in the pitch darkness, I had no concept of what time it was - to find my hand damp and sticky, wedged between my legs as my clit throbbed. My nipples were so erect they ached. If I hadn't still been half asleep, the entire thing would've shocked me to my core. I wasn't a masturbator, never had been, and yet I couldn't pry my hand away from my sex. The lingering scent of the cream helped lull my brain enough that I was able to rub myself to a shockingly powerful climax. Then I feel right back to sleep, though I continued to dream about Idris, and slept until Jasmine came to wake me in the morning.

Everything about the day confused me, beginning with waking up. My fingers were stiff and crusted, presumably with dried vaginal secretions based on them being wedged between my legs. I didn't remember how or why they were there. I was too groggy to remember anything after being deposited in this closet. Thankfully Jasmine let me wash up a little before taking me on the tour.

After I dressed back into the ill-fitting white outfit, the servant led me through the mansion. The lavish rooms impressed and cowed me, with their rich decor and priceless objects. My eyes widened as we walked through the library, drinking in books I'd heard of in my studies but which were unavailable in the West. I hoped that maybe one day I could beg the favor of being let loose in this place.

The place had an impressive gym, and Jasmine ran me through a series of exercises both with and without weights. By the end I'd worked up a light sweat, but I suspected the expectation was for me to work harder than I just had. It also made me suspect that the brunt of my duties as kesh would be...physical. My heart sank, but my pussy tightened in anticipation.

Like I said, confusing.

They fed me again, which I appreciated after the breakfast only food I'd gotten in prison. Then I was bathed, styled my hair and made up like I might if I'd paid for a spa day. The women who worked in my talked about as though I wasn't there, and I didn't let them know I knew enough Hatari to catch the gist of their comments. Still, they also rubbed more of that protective ointment on me, which renewed my spacey feeling.

As pampered as I had been, once they dressed me I felt...well, not cheap, but definitely reminded of my place. The skimpy top just barely covered my breasts, and I knew the bottom of them hung down under the edge of the fabric. The skirt wasn't as bad on its own, but paired with the ridiculous heels I was put in, I felt like I should hanging out on a streetcorner somewhere.

Jasmine smiled as she nodded when she walked circle around me. "Yes, this will do nicely. Come, it's time for you to serve." I stepped forward and my legs wobbled like a foal in shoes much taller than I was used to. The servant grabbed my arm and forced me upright. "Walk normally. You will do fine."

I nodded and steadied myself. Once I had my balance, I walked again and found myself capable of managing the heels enough to not injure myself, though I doubted I looked very graceful. I followed Jasmine back to the gym, which I couldn't have found on my own still, where we found Lord Idris stretching after an apparent workout.

He wore only a pair of shorts, but his glistening powerful chest seemed more intimidating now as I watched his muscles rippled. His eyes fell on and over me, and I swallowed. "Follow me, kesh." I looked to Jasmine but the servant had disappeared. I walked to where he led. "I enjoy a rub down with those skin oils." He stopped by a massage table, with a smaller table with jars atop it nearby. "Tonight, I have dismissed my masseuse so that you may apply it."

Then he pulled off his shorts, his amber eyes still boring into me. I looked away and found myself staring at his cock again. That was the moment my dreams came back to me, and my surprising self-gratification session, and felt the color in my face rise to match my hair and "outfit". He laid out on the table and instructed, "Begin."

I tore my eyes away from his form and studied the jars. Eventually I found the one that specifically said "massage" and unscrewed the cap. A warm, spicy aroma filled my nose as I poured out some onto my hands to warm. Then I drizzled it from my hands onto his chest.

My fingers trailed the oil along his powerful pecs, and then down along his ribs to his abs. Once he was sufficiently lubricated, I dug my fingers into those muscles. I sensed his eyes on me, on my body, on my breasts as I worked. My hands slid up to work his shoulders and arms, breathing in his scent as mixed in with the oil I brushed on him.

I paused to get some more oil, which I readied before spreading along his legs. But before I could work them, his hand grabbed my wrist. Surprised, my pale eyes met his, and I felt something inside me shift. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to climb on top of him and ride his terrifying cock. My lips parted as I began to pant and, almost on their own, my hands moved up from his thighs to his sex and began to stroke it.

The feel of something large and fleshy in my hand startled me out of my momentary reverie, and I blinked to find myself massaging not his legs but his cock. My breath caught in my throat, shocked that I had done so without his command, or even request. I feared to look at his face, that maybe my presumption would earn me that trip to the dog kennels this night.

To my relief and new brand of dismay, his manhood swelled under my caress. My eyes widened as it grew. Sure, I had seen it up close and personal the prior day, but I thought perhaps I had imagined its magnitude. And yet, here it was, again in my hands, and again bigger than I really ever pictured myself meeting in person.

My fingers slid along its hot surface easily, aided by the massage oils on them. "Good," he sighed, and I dared to glance up at his face. His hooded eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts or feelings, only his intent. "Now take off your top, kesh. I want to feel your tits against my cock."

I went as red as my outfit again at the notion. This was definitely not something I had done before, though I'd seen a video featuring it once at a party in high school. A bunch of the guys afterwards volunteered to be my "practice" for such a thing, which had sent me into nightmares for weeks afterwards. I had been this developed since I'd turned fifteen, and it had made my teen years awful.

But now, well...I didn't have much opportunity to say no, though I knew I was moving much slower than yesterday. Still, my oily hands found the bottom of my top, such as it was, and pulled it over my head. My coppery locks fell down around me, spilling over my breasts and down my back. I shook my hair back, not wanting to get the oil all over it. Then I looked him over, trying to figure out the best way to do this.

Finally, I just climbed up on the end of the table, and he dropped his legs to the sides of it. I stroked him again, his cock well coated with oil, then leaned over. My breasts brushed against his skin, and my nipples instantly stiffened. I exhaled a shuddery breath and sort of wedged his cock between them as i squeezed the outside with my biceps.

He didn't fall out.

One challenge down. So I grabbed my breasts, one in each hand, and began sliding them back and forth along his behemoth length. Between oil on him and on my hands, a pleasant warm sensation spread across my tits, and soon my fingers slid over my rock hard nipples. Oh, the felt so nice to have them brush against my trembling fingers as I worked. I only hoped he was enjoying this, because frankly I had no idea what I was doing again.

When he called, "Enough," I feared the worst. Keeping his cock between my breasts so it didn't slide everywhere had been a challenge, but I didn't think it was going that badly. But when I sat up, my eyes fixated on his monstrous member and it literally throbbed before my eyes. So not terrible, but I had no idea what the pause meant.

He commanded I stand, which was easy enough. When he came to stand behind me, though, fear almost took over. I felt him crouch and then that obscene cock slid between my legs, pressing up against my shockingly wet pussy. I panicked and began to squirm, and he immediately grunted, "Stand still."

I did my best, but the worry about him jamming that thing inside of me left me trembling as he slid it forward. For now, it seemed he was content to have me straddle it. Still, with his height and the pulsating heat radiating off of him, his cock created a definite distraction I had to try and ignore between my legs.

"Now," he said, "use your hands."

I peered down and found several inches of dick sticking out past my body. "Holy shit," I whispered, unable to stop the words from escaping my mouth. Well, hands were better than him shoving it all inside me right now. Is it, though? my mind asked as I bend slightly at the waist to reach him. The movement pressed him up more tightly against my sex, leaving me gasping. Honestly, if he had wanted to fuck me that instant, my body was providing enough lubrication to make it possible.

Instead, he let me run my hands along the length of him I could see. It definitely required two hands for this operation, and my stroking motion continued to bring that throbbing cock against my cunt. After a minute or so of this operation, my hips grew a mind of their own and began to twitch, slowly at first but increasing to where I was grinding myself against him.

"Remove your hands."

I froze, hands wrapped around the head of his cock. My whole body turned red as I realized what I'd been doing. I forced my hands off of him and stood up as straight as I could, trying to prepare myself for the possibility of punishment while hoping desperately for a reward.