Always Lady Basti

When I was young, I was an axe - bloody, yes, and dangerous, but without subtlety. Even during the times before I was a leader, when I was merely my father's bargaining tool, a decorative toy, I ruled my own bedroom and my slaves with force and cruelty. My wise old tutor would sigh, understanding my anger but trying vainly to teach me that being feared and hated was only part of what rulership required. I hadn't the patience then to understand what he meant. My father's murder had tempered and shaped me, and I had learned the finer arts of rulership, things too subtle for a younger mind. No longer an axe, I was now a slim dagger, swift, silent and sharp, and far more dangerous.

How interesting it is not to force them to submit, as I once did. How fascinating to work instead with the mind and body, to sculpt and tempt those desires into being. And how much further they were capable of going into surrender, into that hypnosis which made them prophetic, angelic, and truly loyal, loyal enough to kill or die for me. How devoted they became, and how, truthfully, devoted I was to them. Rule through love if possible, fear if necessary, Niankhaset used to say. How true, both in the populace and here, here in the chamber where I could make a slave lose consciousness from pain and pleasure and awaken ready to place his life in my hands.

I trace a finger down my new toy's spine, slow and sharp. His back arches and he shudders; he is shaking all over. My fingernail continues down, a pinpoint line over the whole length of the valley, lingering there over the dark gate, and then to cup the fruit, stroke his phallus, and back again. He moans. There is such desire here. I trace back and linger at the dark gate, pressing slightly. His cock leaps and I can tell by his breath he is nearly senseless with arousal, with anticipation. He is discovering a whole new set of sensations, deep and powerful and strange.

I pull the rope and Ask and Embla enter silently. I gesture toward the weapons chest, and they understand. Embla brings a shapely bottle of new olive oil and sets it on a tray. Ask takes the rolled brocade from under the weapons, and brings it to me. They stand together, asking with their gazes for my next wish. I nod, and they know what to do.

Sweet little Embla moves to his head and kneels carefully in front of him, lifting his head to rest on her thighs. He inhales deeply, confused and hypnotized by her scent and her soft skin. Before he can think too much, Embla leans forward, gently but firmly trapping his head there between her thighs. She presses her palms onto his head, and he relaxes at the sweet firmness, letting his head be held down without resistance. Ask kneels behind her and takes hold of Khu's wrists, pressing them down. Suddenly Khu realizes what has happened. His body tenses completely; though I cannot see his face I know there are many expressions shifting over it at this moment. Ask's firm grip has translated; Khu realizes he cannot move.

Many would struggle, or kick, or writhe, but this one is different. He spoke the truth when he protested that he belonged to me already, body and mind. He is trembling all over, but in fact his only motion is to arch his back even further, and to draw his knees wider apart. I cannot even bear to try to frighten him now; I am surging suddenly with deep hunger. This one is sweet, and wants me, wants me.

I unroll the brocade and select a small wand, smooth lapis and no bigger than my thumb, carved with a rounded spiral along its length. I uncap the oil and pour it directly onto his tailbone, so that it runs cool down the length of his valley and drips down his thighs and cock. His whole body rocks with the sensation of it. I draw the lapis lengthwise, and then set the tip of it against him, pressing just slightly. He doesn't rock forward as some do, trying to escape the sensation. He actually starts to move backwards, onto the wand. Then he catches himself, too late.

I did not say you could move, slave.

His voice is muffled, and his hands clench and unclench against the carpets. My deepest apologies, My Lady. Oh please forgive me, oh please...

But I have already gotten up and found the horse crop. Truth be told, I would have anyway; he is far too aroused already and must be spread out if I'm to have him at my whim for more than a moment or two... His sentence is interrupted; he cries out as the crop strikes him. Once, twice... then I wait.

I gesture to Embla and she reaches forward. I cannot see, but I know what she is doing, since I trained her. Her slim fingers have found his nipples and gripped them, hard enough that he jumps and gasps.

Now, I say, perhaps you will not find any reason to move without permission.

Yes, My Lady, he says, almost moaning. His head is swimming with new sensations. The crop, the pain in his nipples, everything is becoming pleasure now, everything translates into desire and his mind is dwindling to a single idea, only the thought of me, of where I may send him and what I may do next.

I can't bear to crop him any more, although I should. It is too tempting, the little wand lying there, and I pick it up and press it in again, this time slightly inward. He moans. It is taking all of his considerable strength to hold still. I reach down with my other hand to fondle him. His voice rises further. Already the juice drips from the tip of his cock. He's too close; I must not touch him at all. I slide the wand, slowly, further, in one long and complete motion, and begin to move it, slow, quick, nine shallow and one deep the way Nia taught me, and I get caught up in the rhythm. Khu is groaning and cannot help spreading his knees even further apart.

I take the wand away, without warning, and leave him trembling there, desperate. He is mad to know what I will do, but he cannot see or move. Ask still holds his wrists in a powerful grip, and Embla's fingers imprison his nipples as her thighs imprison his head. They are both small and lovely, but they are very strong indeed.

They love this play, and I notice that they are both whimpering a bit, looking up at me in mute petition as I pause, the tip of the lapis wand still trembling, a finger's width inside the juicy opening. I know what they want, and I also know that it will raise the energy of this new slave to see them play and know the singular freedom they experience with me. I smile at Embla, whose sweet breasts are framed in a loose harness of gold chain. She bows her head and lowers her eyes in gratitude, and then lifts her hips up, just a bit, so that Ask, kneeling behind her, can slide his cock into her. Neither of them loosens the grip they have on Khu, but he can now see, his head still trapped between Embla's thighs, Ask's thick phallus sliding slowly into her lotus. His body tenses with hunger, and I slide the lapis wand back into him, deep and steady. Let him associate this sensation with pleasure of all sorts and he will always hunger for it...

I take him, assaulting him with the wand, over and over. Ask's hands press down on his wrists, holding him firmly down, and he is forced to watch as only fingerwidths from his face the thick phallus slides rhythmically in and out of Embla's bright, sweet lotus, now dripping with honey. How he must long to taste it, how maddening that scent must be, that vision so close and yet untouchable. Khu's cock is hard as stone, leaping with hunger, on the edge of climax even without being touched, just from the vision he has and the sensation of the phallus thrusting deeply into him. He is in uncharted territory now, so far beyond the sexual sensations he knew before this...

Embla's face begs me for release. They are my complete slaves in every way, never daring to climax without my permission. I smile at her but shake my head. Not yet, little one, not yet, but don't worry. I will not leave you hungry forever, my sweetest pet. She understands my look, and her body trembles with the effort she makes to hold herself away from the peak. I do not want to satisfy Khu with even the portrait of satisfaction. Not just yet. Both Ask and Embla are moaning and cooing with pleasure. Mute they may be, but their voices are real, and sweet... Every one of Khu's senses is enslaved at this moment - his tongue desperate to taste the juice that drips just out of its reach, his nose assaulted by the earth fragrance of their joining, his eyes locked on that lovely union of lotus and wand, his ears hearing only their moans and his own, his body entranced by the swift and determined slide of the wand into him. I want my voice to be part of this hypnotism.

Lovely Khu-Neferu, I hiss at him, you are mine, you see, as they are. You belong completely to me. I will assault every part of you, and there will be no moment at which you do not think of me, speak my name, worship me wherever I am. I hold your pain and ecstasy in my hand, I hold your life and your death, and I hold this...

And I quicken and deepen the wand, making him cry out with hunger and rage and pleasure. He cannot climax from this alone, not yet, but if I let even a feather touch his phallus at this moment he would rise in a heartbeat and spill his seed. Perhaps there is still some belief in him that I will have mercy, that I will let him be satisfied tonight. And I have so much hunger to do so, to see his face as he takes that edge and scales the peak, to hear his complete surrender. But that is not the way I have learned to enslave both body and mind, and I force myself to be patient.

I draw the wand away and he gasps with hunger. I gesture to Ask and Embla to be still. They have learned my little hand signals, over time, and it is not just because of deafness that this has become convenient. They can, in fact, read spoken speech, which makes them ideal and indispensable spies for me. But in a moment like this it is best for Khu to hear nothing but my whispered commands in his own ear.

My little pets hold perfectly still, still joined, trembling with desire. Ask's grip tightens on Khu's wrists - perhaps he channels his frustration at being told he cannot satisfy himself just yet. I stand slowly, stretching to loosen my muscles from the crouch.

There are still some things I must test in this new slave. He is a gift from a rival, and Nehebka's reputation for subterfuge is widely known. It would not be unheard of for her - or for me, for that matter - to indulge in tricks during this negotiation. It's so common a practice that there's a name for it - giving a Gilded Asp. A gift, a tribute to a rival with whom you are in negotiations, a gift with hidden poison. And a slave like my lovely Khu was the perfect Gilded Asp - appealing, seemingly cooperative, but trained as an assassin or a spy, ready to turn and bite me the moment I let my guard down.

For my part, knowing that Nehebka had no reason to trust me, I chose a gift that was clearly an asp, but one that would appeal to her. My spies had informed me that her tastes ranged to women, and to bedroom slaves who were not easily tamed. She had a reputation not unlike my own, though I believe hers was more deserved.

My solution was to gift her with a slave in whom there was no question of false loyalty - a new acquisition from the north, a lovely but wild, feral young woman who spoke nothing but curses in her own guttural tongue, who strained at her bonds and spat at her keepers and ignored the lashes she got in response. Nehebka would take great joy in taming this one, with her pale skin, pale eyes, her hair the color of sand. And it was a perfect way to avoid any possibility of mistrust between us, since there was no question of this little slave's desire to kill anyone who came close enough for her sharp little claws to find purchase. Nehebka had seemed genuinely pleased by the gift - - but did I sense something in her face as she had presented me with Khu, so well-trained and seemingly tractable? I knew her, knew what she was capable of...

He is too appealing, too lovely, and entirely too willing. I suspect a gilded asp, and I am determined to let him know that however fond of him I may seem, however much I lust after his fine strong form, he is nothing I trust... and I can anticipate every trick he might have.

From the chest I draw my favorite blade - a flint knife with a carved ivory handle, inherited from my father after his assassination. This very blade had been bathed with the hot blood of his assassins, in the nights that followed his death. How vulnerable those men had been, seduced by my seeming innocence and fear, my desperate willingness to please their bodies and make their alliance as they fought like vultures over the remnants of his kingdom... I had delighted in killing them as the seed they had squirted was still warm on my skin... Then, yes, I had truly been the Blood Princess, bathing myself in blood and juice, the last fluids those men would ever generate...

Now, though, to a purpose much more subtle. I take up a rough rope and stand across the room.

Khu trembles, still on his hands and knees, still trapped by Embla's pale thighs.

Stand up, Khu, I command, and Ask sees my command and releases his grip on Khu's wrists. My pets wait silently, still joined, still hungry. Later, dear ones. I will not forget you. Go to my bed and rest, and wait. They uncoil, separate, and climb silently onto the bed, curling together there like patient cats to await my desires. Their eyes follow my every move. They know me well, and they know that I will be especially determined to test this new toy.

Other men may not have had the strength to stand, after what Khu has been through. But I need to test his strength, and I offer him no assistance. His body shakes with the effort, but he is strong, very strong, this one. He stands properly, hands behind him, head bowed, and shows little sign of his exhaustion or his arousal, save that lovely phallus, now a deep scarlet and still powerfully hard. His legs are slightly apart to give him a stronger stance, and he sways almost imperceptibly.

He doesn't dare look at my face but I know that he can see the rope and blade in my hands as I move toward him, because his body stiffens in suspense. I set the blade down on the floor, partly to free my hands, but also to test him - if he is an assassin, he may try to lunge for it, and that will mean his instant death. But he does not move. His breathing quickens - perhaps he is considering it, or perhaps he is simply fearful of my next action, given what he has heard of me.

He may think I'm going to bind his hands or feet with this rough rope, or perhaps that I will strangle him, but instead I move suddenly to take hold of his cock, and he gasps in surprise - and hunger. Roughly, randomly, I wrap the length of rope around his organs, tightening it with knots here and there. First phallus and scrotum, and a hard knot at the top, then another wrap with a knot at the bottom. A groan escapes him and I pause, allowing him to think I will punish him for the noise. He quickly controls his breathing and becomes still again. Then I wrap a spiral around his shaft, with both ends of the rope, and a knot just under the head of his phallus. I am being deliberately desultory about my work, tying him as one would casually leash a goat, and I tug purposefully on the cord, making his phallus leap and throb, making him wince, more out of fear than discomfort.

Now the purple head of his shaft juts out from its sheath of rope. I do love that look - somehow it makes a phallus seem stronger, more powerful, to be wound in thick cords this way. And it assures that it will be more difficult for him to accidentally climax.

Mine, I hiss again in his ear. Mine to do with exactly as I like. Mine to take, if I choose, mine to remove, or mine to please...

And I stroke the exposed head of it, smoothly, cupping and then roughly squeezing his scrotum with my other hand. He groans, gritting his teeth. He is again close to the peak, just from the touch of the rope and my hands. And he is frightened as well - he has not lost track of the idea that the flint blade lies on the floor within my reach.

I slap his phallus, once, twice, and then a third time very hard. Now he cannot control his voice - the combination of fear, pleasure and sharp pain is sending him into new places, new ideas about sensation. He exclaims something in his own guttural tongue, some involuntary curse...

What was that? I ask. What did you say?

Forgive me please, My Lady, forgive me, I did not mean to speak.

He knows better than to defend himself, and lowers his head even further, unsure about whether he should kneel again and beg me for mercy.

I will forgive the error, perhaps, if you tell me the truth. What did you say, what did it mean?

It must have been a curse, since he is reluctant to tell me. Say it again, I command.

He pronounces something, softly, with a certain embarrassment. It is indeed the word he used - though the sounds are strange I can tell they are the same. His native tongue is sibilant, full of odd breathy consonants. Sheeaw-nogh - the last sound almost swallowed, a choked breath in the back of the throat. I try to pronounce it and cannot.

What does it mean?

He is silent. His breath is rapid - he dares not lie to me; he knows I am the sort of person who knows when she is being lied to.

What does it MEAN, slave? I slap his phallus, hard. Tell me the truth.

It is difficult to translate, he says. It means...wolf.

I know better than that. It is a curse word, a slang term, and I intend to know its full meaning. Secretly, I am not displeased. In my position one learns to take those sorts of curses as compliments, and even to take pleasure in them. They imply that I am being effective...

It means a great deal more than that, I say. Tell me what it MEANS.

I know better than to try to force it out of him with pain or threats - he is too strong and could easily resist me. But a slow, agonizing circular stroke around the head of his bound phallus, making him grit his teeth and moan again, is a torturous incentive.

Between gasps, between moans, he explains, and I know it is the truth. Wolf, he says, female wolf...ahhhh... it means...uhnngggg... a woman..... a c c-cruel... woman... O, my Lady, I beg you....

We have a similar word, one I am very familiar with. Strangely, it also is based on an animal, a female jackal. And it is often used for women such as myself, or Nehebka. A powerful woman, an evil woman... Bemused, I consider how alike we all are, however far apart our language or our ways. We observe the wolves, the jackal mothers, fighting for their young, yes, but also fighting just to fight, just to draw blood... And we see how similar they are to the powerful women. The rulers. The bitches.

Secretly, I love that I have inspired him to break down so quickly and show his true colors, his will, his resistance. But I must punish such a strong transgression, and demonstrate that there is no purpose in resisting me, and that whatever remains of the Gilded Asp in him will be killed, decisively, without remorse.

You dare call me that? I say. And I pick up the blade.