Selected for Sport Ch. 09

Alanna Ch 09

"Swallow! Swallow!" ordered Mirjalla impatiently, pushing Alanna's head down. Choking as her throat was forced over the hard, greased leather dildo, Alanna's grip clamped on the wrists holding her, thumbs pressing hard into the pulse points. Instantly, Mirjalla yanked her hands backwards with a shriek, wailing something accusatory. Alanna was already on her feet, eyes flashing at possibly the most stupid of her new gentlewomen, and felt satisfaction unfurl deep inside as the rest of them scattered before her wrath.

Only Bethesda remained unmoved, a faint look of amusement on her face. "You were warned not to force the Tahl-maia in this, Mirjalla," the Mistress of the Chamber cautioned reprovingly. Alanna's interpreter translated in response to her raised eyebrow: despite two months of daily lessons, yet her vocabulary was still rudimentary. Or so she encouraged them to think.

A deep chuckle sounded from the doorway, and Alanna's cheeks reddened as she glanced fleetingly at the muscled back of one of her personal guards. Two months ago, when unbelievably she had resurfaced from the aconite coma, she had found herself attended by eight new guards. At all times. There were always at least two guarding the doorways and windows in her suite, and four would encircle her whenever she left, even on the short walk to her bathing chamber. Despite her initial, furious tirade, they had refused to leave her even there, although neither did they look towards her at any point, always alert for an approaching, external threat. She had grown accustomed. And more than accustomed to the ubiquitous phrase, "It is the will of the Tahl."

End of story.

Well, it would be until he returned and she could present her views to him at least. Much of the vocabulary she recited diligently was to that purpose, but it only drew the occasional amused look.

A second, wary glance at her guard, but he wasn't moving, and she relaxed. They had occasionally turned around; it was not the will of the Tahl that the Tahl-maia manhandle any of the well-born young ladies set to serve her. Or his Mistress of the Chamber. Her chief bodyguard, Limaq, had made the Tahl's will quite clear when she had become indescribably angry at some of the things Bethesda insisted she learn. Faced with the implacable, gentle skill of the men who had restrained her, Alanna had soon realised the futility of protest, both verbal and physical, and they had reached a polite agreement: none of her guards would so much as look at her as she practiced these most humiliating will-of-the-Tahl skills, and she would not use her own martial skills on her tutors.

Apparently, though, she was allowed to stop her idiot gentlewomen from choking her on a replica of his erection.

Despite not having seen Xanir Tahl for nearing eighty days since their wedding, her entire life was bounded by learning to please him. The more innocuous lessons in how to prepare his favourite tea, walk, bow, or offer him a dish were interspersed with scaldingly explicit hours learning to shimmy her hips and twirl her naked, tasselled breasts in intricate dance patterns, to stretch and hold her legs in unnaturally wide splits and squats, or deep-throat that disgusting model. The last she was worst at, rebelling that her throat was just not made to do that.

Alanna sighed and stood quietly while one of her women wiped around her mouth before carefully re-touching her make-up and lip-gloss. Her maids were being meticulous about keeping her well-groomed every minute today. Before first light, she had been awoken abruptly, tugged from her bed, washed, scented and swiftly adorned by her breathlessly excited women while the interpreter, Mia, had explained that the Tahl would arrive home with the dawn and had sent word ahead that his bride be prepared for him.

She had stood motionless while they had fluttered, despising and trying to quell the rush of excitement rising in her blood. Last time had only been that exciting because it had been the first time, she told herself adamantly. She knew better now, what to expect, would control herself.

Even more infuriating had been the stab of disappointment when just as the women were adding the finishing touches a rap on the door had heralded a deep voice calling though the panels to Limaq. She had had to fight not to droop and reveal her understanding before her interpreter had turned and repeated that she was not yet required as the Tahl had to work: a convocation of the lords were awaiting his return, something urgent, as ever. While the other women had gloomily stripped off her bracelets and cleaned her fingers ready for breakfast, Mia had added disconsolately, "Probably last all day."

Once recovered slightly from her anger at both her own despondency at the delay, and the reinforced recognition that she was a toy to be picked up at will when he was not busy, Alanna had noted, slightly puzzled, the keen disappointment in all of her attendants, the listlessness in them lingering until Bethesda had appeared to supervise the day's lessons.

Her cheeks reddened as she noticed the Mistress of the Chamber now advancing toward her with a pair of scarlet nipple tassels and her indescribably revealing coin belt. Must be time for her dancing lesson. They both stilled at the sound of running footsteps approaching the door, eyes meeting, and a voice called, "The Tahl-maia is commanded to bring tea to the Tahl in the something chamber."

Less than five minutes later she was breathing fast, the tray on her head trembling slightly as she crossed a ornately mosaicked room where five corridors met between tall, beautifully-tiled window embrasures. The windows facing the sun were shuttered. Those on the cool side of the building framed bright sunlight, a glimpse of a fountain and a distant, tall tower. Wide-eyed, Alanna drank it in, her light pattering steps slowing as she pretended to adjust this tight, deceptively simple sheath of bright blue silk with one hand. Her guards had never allowed her to even approach this point before, the corridor leading to this star chamber seemed to the limit of the wing of the palace in which she was allowed to roam. Now she wanted to look at the beautiful frescoes.

Eyes dazzled, she blinked when a bevy of colourful figures emerged from the central corridor to which she was being guided, flanked by a squad of muscular males in the livery of some specialised wing of the palace guards. They were all turning towards another exit when they spotted her and halted.

The exquisite face of the foremost woman blinked into view, flawless skin and features wearing an expression so bland it instantly raised Alanna's hackles. The cold black eyes met hers before the women murmured something in a disgustingly melodious voice and sank into a deep obeisance.

The adjective the woman had used before her title was unknown to her. Although judging by the squirms and almost inaudible breaths of laughter from the pack of disturbingly beautiful companions sinking to the floor behind her, it was most likely not an honorific. Coolly, Alanna began to repeat the word in her head: the wider her vocabulary, the better.

The flock of women remained kneeling with the foreheads on the floor, facing her, while she looked doubtfully down at them. In her father's castle she would know how to deal with this kind of covert sneer; here, and with what were no doubt his favoured concubines, she had no idea, having been transported unwillingly into a world which fostered a new level of vindictive sniping.

"Come, my princess," admonished Limaq quietly, but clearly. "The Tahl has sent for you."

Alanna moved on obediently, and a smile curled her lips at the chorus of hissed, indignant breaths drawn behind her. She glanced sideways at her chief bodyguard, evidently more familiar with these bedroom politics than she, and murmured almost inaudibly, "Thank-you."

"You are welcome, my princess." His eyes met hers for the first time in days, and she was heartened by the calm support in the brief glance.

A familiar prickle of unease distracted her as she was shepherded further through courtyards, corridors, hallways and a beautiful domed chamber where patterns of light fell from high windows.

Her disquiet seemed to centre around one of the guards of the women in that courtyard, his movement, his stance. She had been trained all her life to be observant, and the way he had kept motionless in the shadow, turning his head away too swiftly for the vigilance required of the guard -. Her mind flickered back to the tableau in the star chamber, dwelling on the obscured features, hunting for the cause of this tingle of warning on her skin.

Frowning as she chased down the elusive memory, Alanna was barely aware of the rising cacophony of male voices until she stepped out of shade into a vast, sunlit reception chamber.

Her four guards stepped in to flank her more closely as they shepherded her out into the crowd and her breath quickened. The throng were all males, scores of well-dressed adults of all ages and girth, chatting loudly or gravely over cups steaming with heat or chill, and plates of fruit or sticky flaked pastries offered by flittering servants.

Silence fell among the nearest, in the wake of several sharp intakes of breath, and the whole crowd peeled back hurriedly to make a passage for her guards as they continued unswervingly toward the huge double doors at the opposite side of the room. The silence extended, running before her as sibilant whispering broke out behind, sounding like fervent swearing or praying. The tray trembled more strongly in Alanna's grasp, balanced on the crown of her head on a small ring of padding woven from her hair. None of the men were looking at her face. Her cheeks were scorching, but despite the rising tremor she dared not disobey Bethesda's insistence that she hold the tray with both hands at all times. She knew whose will this was.

She met his eyes a second later.

The long room they entered was also flooded with sunlight, the high ceiling holding three enormous circular fans spaced above a heavy table huge enough to seat all the men outside. The polished wooden surface was scattered with papers, quills, inkwells, glasses and bowls of fruit, all discarded during this break in the proceedings. This tea break, called at the desire of one of the two men remaining - the one lounging with one hip hitched onto the table half-way down the left side, speaking softly with one of the four who had attended their marriage consummation.

The look in Xanir's eyes was more scorching than all of those outside. His companion turned to look at her, but despite her inner self-scorn she couldn't pull her eyes away from the glittering black, her heart beginning to thud heavily as the Tahl murmured something quietly to his companion. The lord bowed and passed Alanna with a sweet smile for her and a deep sigh as his gaze dropped to her breasts before he preceded her guards out of the room.

Xanir's breath quickened at the sight of her poised with the tray, eyes tracing over the golden mane cascading down her back, the delicate, slanted cheekbones framing those definant blue eyes. He allowed his gaze to drop and a pulse of urgent lust ran through him. The high curve of her lifted breasts framed by the blue silk that exactly matched her eyes, the soft sweep of her hips; he had been thinking about being inside her all morning and had had to call a break to enable him to get his lust back under control. Skin tightening, he beckoned.

Alanna told herself the growing tremble was anger at the parade, but she could no longer hold his gaze, breathing growing unruly just while approaching to the twist of his hand. It didn't help when her eyes dropped to his chest, the wide shoulders stretching a sleeveless white shirt, a golden ornament around his upper arm flashing in the sun and drawing her gaze to the thick muscle underneath. She was not looking down towards the royal blue material belted across his hips. Not.

The tray was rattling on her head, and she snapped her gaze to the cleared spot on the table behind him. He moved to the side and she slid the tray from her head with shaking hands, almost dropping it. A quiet noise of amusement and he took it from her, fingers brushing hers before he slid it onto the glossy surface. She jerked away with a gasp at the feeling twisting her blood. A pulse ran through her as her eyes leapt to his. Damn her pulse rate. He was not doing this to her again.

His narrowed, the intent look sharpening, and he stepped back, gesturing imperatively towards the tray, eyes commanding. Then they dropped and the fiery sparkle deepened as they roamed from the taut mounds pressed against the bodice to the soft curve of her hip.

This was his way of saying hello?

Trembling, Alanna slipped sideways between his heat and the table, leaning into the wood both to give herself as much space as possible from the annoyingly daunting figure behind, and to try to reach the tray he had slid almost to the centre. Her vision was blurry with internal heat - anger, she swore to herself - while she picked up a cup and the insulated decanter. A gasp escaped when hands gripped her hips and pulled them backward smoothly, away from the table edge, while a foot pressed between her legs, nudging them wider with a twist of his knee.

Colour washed her face and the cup and decanter bounced on the wooden surface with a dull clang as those hands smoothly pulling her hips back, further back until her body was a taut v-shape, buttocks curved into a deep arch. Her hands reached back to close over them. The pull stopped.

A hand turned her deeply blushing face to his stern eyes, and Xanir said imperatively, "Tea!" indicating her abandoned task. Already she knew that implacable look, and her insides trembled, the melting feeling rising faster than she could fight it with the anger. Then his fingers indicated her eyes, and the contents of the tray. She swallowed.

Oh, so she wasn't supposed to look at him today? Good.

She snapped her head back to the tea set. The strong hands returned to smooth over the deep curves of her buttock, and her eyes lost focus, her blush and tremble deepening. He leaned over her and nipped her earlobe with his teeth, nestling his erection between her silk-sheathed buttocks, then squeezed her breasts gently and growled, "Make me tea."

This had not been part of her lessons!

Alright then! Determined to keep her hands from shaking, Alanna reached forwards and righted the cup. Firm hands smoothed over her contours, tracing circles over the silken curves, but she ignored the tingle under her skin, the tremors of fire burning up and down her spine. Truly she did, although it didn't help that her body had been waiting for this all morning. All month. All her life. The cup clattered onto a tiny saucer and she tried to regulate her breathing, burningly aware of the other hand sliding again up the front of her dress to where her nipples ached against the silk. His touch made her bite her lip, head drooping as she braced on one palm, while the fingers gently twisted and pulled her distended nipples.

She moaned when the hand withdrew, breath hitching when it slid back down to rest on her trembling belly. "Tea!" the word growled again, awakening her from her suspended thoughts. The other calloused palm skimmed down the side of her leg toward the hem just above her knees, and she drew in a harsh breath.

Breathing hoarse and pulse rioting, Alanna pulled herself feebly together and managed to rattle the circular strainer into the cup and shake half a packet of tea towards it, determined to ignore the warm hand sliding slowly back up the inside of her leg, lifting the light fabric. Her breathing was loud in the empty room, and stopped abruptly when his feet moved between hers, nudging them wider. The tea packet dropped from her hand. Another whimper escaped when roughened fingertips slid gently between her parted thighs from behind. Her forehead was resting on a smooth wooden surface, harsh breaths misting the polish while she lost to the light touch rioting desire through her.

Xanir smiled down at the sight of his beautiful bride melting onto the table. Her chest rose and fell erratically, faint gasps escaping while he brushed his fingertips against the delicate lips cloaked in a wisp of soaked satin. His cock strained in his breeches at the needy circle of her hips, the breathless, choking sounds and scent of her arousal. He lifted a hand to stroke down over the golden hair to her back, pressing her down as his fingers began to play. Lust surged through him when the curvaceous hips rocked to his touch: she was already so wet, helplessly so. Ready for him.

Alanna was dimly aware of the hand between her shoulder blades, but the heat of it and the scent of scattered tea in her nostrils were eclipsed by the feather light brushes against her swollen lower lips. A soft groan sounded in the room, a second following as the finger slid rhythmically against her, and then the hand on her back moved to twine in her hair and pull her head back.

"I told you to make me tea."

Her glazed eyes noted the discarded decanter in front of them, then her breath hitched again and she focussed, blinking under the sharp, admonitory spank on one barely-clad buttock. "Go on," he ordered, voice soft and coiled with dark pleasure.

Her hand was shaking hard as she tried to pour the hot water, and his closed on the handle to steady it. The fingers began moving between her legs again while he pressed his pulsing erection into her hip and leaned over her to breathe, "Careful" into her ear as together they tilted the insulated jug. Steaming water splashed onto the few leaves that had made it into the cup, while her whole focus remained on the feel of the other hand underneath her skirt, fingertips teasing gently underneath the scrap of clothing between her legs. He must have put the decanter back on the surface, her only awareness was of the finger sliding up into her hot, moist core, causing her to buck back against a hard length that surged against her buttocks. Alanna almost sobbed into the table.

His erection surging firmly against her buttocks, Xanir leaned over to nip her earlobe again, murmuring, "Tea!"

"It needs to brew," she whispered weakly, trembling at the riot of heat and want washing through her body while his fingers continued to tease the aching need within her.

A soft laugh, and suddenly he lifted her upright, the damp finger of one hand thrust into her mouth while the other pulled loose the halter tie that unravelled her dress. Hands cupped her naked breasts briefly, then he pushed her flat against the surface before sliding her soaked panties down far enough to cut them free with a swift snick of the dagger from his belt. "Very well, let's fill in the time."

Her breath caught as his hands pulled her back into the taut v-shape, where only chest and head were resting on the surface, buttocks curved at full stretch towards him. Impatience now seemed to be streaming off him, shocking higher the excitement in her, and Xanir pushed her legs wider, murmuring an unknown phrase warningly.

Her breath was harsh with need as she quivered, listening to the click of belt and rustle of cloth, and a second later she cried out as he breached her, the burning wide length plunging into her wet, aching depths, rocking her forcefully onto her toes. Her hands clenched on the table edge as he withdrew equally swiftly, and then all she could only hold on, swamped under the deluge of urgent thrusts which drove her moans higher and higher, voicing the rising need combusting inside her under this fierce, harsh friction.