Always Lady Basti

The blade is only sharpened, truly sharpened to a razor edge, on one side. But he does not know that. I move close to him and then suddenly wind myself around him, smoothing my thigh over his erect cock and draping my arms like snakes around his shoulders. He is tall, but so am I. I purr into his ear, and slowly bring the blade point down against his back, pressing in just enough for him to feel it.

You are right, I say softly into his ear. I am sheaw-nogh. A bitch. And now you'll understand just how much.

I draw the blade down the center of his back in a sinuous line, still curving one thigh around his leg, his cock sliding, still bound in the rope, between my legs. I use the flat edge, so that he can feel a sharp sting but it will not draw blood at all. He thinks it has, though, and the cold line it leaves tingling on his flesh will feel just enough like a trickle, for a moment. He cannot help but suck in his breath.

Yes, slave, I will do exactly as I like with you. Remember that. I do not trust you, I do not love you, and I hold your fate – and I take his cock firmly in my other hand – in my hands. And I'll show you what happens to those who gain my trust and then betray it.

I bring the blade round to his chest, and this time I am using the sharpened edge. I trace a fast, simple, lovely line that curves gracefully across his left breast, ending near his heart. It does leave a mark this time. A line so thin that it does not immediately bleed. I am very skilled with the knife, even when I am distracted by the sensation of a thick phallus, bound with layers of rough rope, throbbing in my hand.

Watch now, I say to him. Look.

Now, only now, the hair-thin red line begins to squeeze out a brighter red, and thickens, widening the line to an obvious cut. It is a test of the sharpness of the blade and the skill of the wielder, how long it takes the blood to bead. If there are no variations in depth or speed, the blood will spread straight out, at least for a while. He cannot help it, he watches the blood emerge, fascinated. It is, truly, beautiful.

And terrifying. He realizes what a light touch I used just then, and thinks again about the line he can still feel on his back.

But I have other ideas now, and I unwind myself from him suddenly. Ask and Embla look up from their coiled trance. I have surprised them. I go to the door and speak a command to the guard outside. He barks an order.

While I wait I move back toward Khu and with one hand I lay the blade flat against his chest, so that he feels the solid cold of it. My other hand toys, almost casually, with his cock.

You must understand, slave, I say to him, that I do not forget. Neither love nor hatred do I forget. And the times when I am angry are the times my mind works at its peak.

Just then the door opens, and a man is shoved roughly into the room. He stumbles, since the ropes give him very little freedom to move. He is bound roughly, artlessly and completely. I allow my eager new soldiers to do it when it needs to be done. My hands never touch him. Not any more.

That One, I say to Khu, does not have a name. I have taken it away from him. I love him deeply, and dearly, and so his ba and his ka will remain with him for the moment, since I still have hope for him in this life. But he chose wrongly, a long time ago, and he had so gained my love and trust that it pained me deeply when he betrayed me.

I do not bear gracefully that sort of needless and idiotic pain. True pain is necessary and a pleasure. That is a different thing. That One caused me pain, after I had done nothing but good for him.

That One spits on the floor. Embla, looking shocked, runs to find a cleaning cloth. Ask rises angrily and whips the a gag from a low chest in the corner. He ties the rag through That One's teeth and winds it round thickly. He looks at me questioningly. He would like to strike That One for his insolence. I smile gently, and shake my head. No gag. That One must always be allowed the freedom to speak. Ask reluctantly unwinds the gag and stands to the side, glaring at That One venomously.

Ask and Embla do not understand my tolerance of That One's behavior. I do not expect them to. Striking That One will not teach him anything. It will not help him understand. I let him live, and I try to show him the way to redemption. And if I do so with a certain cruelty, well, that is the anger. That is the pain. In the next life, if not this one, perhaps he will not repeat his mistakes.

This will be an object lesson for Khu. One that I will enjoy, and one that I did not expect to give him so soon.

I nod to Ask and he brings a small stool for That One to sit on. I can tell That One does not understand why I have brought him here. I have primarily ignored him for years, allowing him to live and work with the kitchen slaves. He was once my most trusted retainer. A long time ago. He was far more than that, as well.

But I am quite sure that over the years That One has not forgotten what we had, and what might have been, if he had not made that one selfish choice, that one mistake in choosing to hate me. He chose hate over love. He could choose differently, at any time, and all would be forgotten. He knows this. For the first three years, I sent a messenger to him every day, with the single question, which was: Will you speak?

Every day, he answered with silence. After three years I sent the messenger once a week. Now it is a ceremony, once a month on the full moon. He refuses still this simple gesture. And thus he brings himself to this place, bound now to a low chair, comfortable but about to be in terrible, terrible pain. Without a single touch from my hand.

Khu is afraid, and I will not tell him that now, only now, he needn't be. For the sake of That One, he will have a much pleasanter time than the one he might deserve.

Watch, slave. Watch carefully.

I advance on That One, the sharp blade balanced lightly in my hand. He knows this blade well. It has made sweet and beautiful red lines on his own skin, so thin that they would heal without a mark. He has begged me to leave marks, and I have done that too. He carries, because he requested it, my name on his back. It is the only name he has left,

I hold the blade up to him and I hear a shift and whimper on the bed. Embla loves the blade, loves the cool edge, loves to be marked as mine. She is fiercely jealous at the idea that I might use it on That One. I look sideways at Embla, and her face is petulant, pleading. She tries not to be contrary, but the envy overwhelms her. I move closer to That One, flipping the blade in my hand, and I lick the edge, looking him deeply in the eye. As much as he would like to present nothing but disdain, I can see his breath quicken, and his cock rises. Oh yes, he remembers.

I linger there, enough to allow him to believe, to allow Ask and Embla to believe, that I may actually touch him with the edge, carve myself into his flesh as I once did, when our blood flowed together both in battle and love, when the touch of the blade meant unimaginable ecstasy to him.

And then I turn my face to Embla, and I smile. With a coo of pure ecstasy, she leaps off the bed and kneels in front of me, stroking my feet and calves in little trembling movements, so aroused her hips move involuntarily.

That One's eyes flash. I have surprised him, and pained him greatly. Good. Then this will do even more. I raise Embla up, and stroke her skin everywhere, pinching her dusky little nipples, tickling her nether flower, setting her high up on my thigh, to ride it with her desperately juicy lotus, and she winds her arms around me, caressing my back. With one arm I clasp her firmly round her waist, so that she can bend back, arching herself away from me, to expose her lovely round breasts. When I lower the blade tip onto her skin, I pause and look first at Khu. His eyes are wide. He cannot fathom Embla's ecstatic response.

Her little wet lotus moves rhythmically against my thigh, and it is a dance, as I hold her tightly and rock her back and forth. She is already close to her peak, just at the idea of what will happen.

I flip the blade round in my hand, and wet my finger between my lips, so that I can trace a cool line with my fingertip, round her nipples, up the center of her chest. She gasps, and her spine trembles against my arm. I watch That One out of the corner of my eye, pretending to ignore him, though we are only an arm's length away from where he is bound.

Then, to make it sweeter still, I motion to Ask. He comes to me, and I nod at Embla. He stands behind her, supporting her as she bends deeply backward, completely receptive to my touch. With my free hand I can now stroke down, and find my way between her legs, where I slide fingers inside her, probing and smoothing my way in to that hot, pulsing tunnel. It is desperate for me to be inside it, and I thrust up, again and again, making her coo and moan in complete surrender.

That One is trying to keep his eyes closed, but he cannot help but watch. No matter. He can hear, and he knows what is about to happen, since it has happened to him.

I take her, now, take her up and over, circling my thumb on her little key, so that she begins to tremble, and when her voice leaps up and I hear the familiar sounds of her peak, I dip the knifeblade down onto her chest and with precise and looping curves I draw the glyphs of my own name across her supple flesh, quick and graceful as a serpent. The sharp pain sends her higher than her climax ever could, blending with the throbbing explosion in her hips, mixing to create an explosion of surrender in her mind. I say my name to her as I mark it into her flesh, say my name, over and over again. If she could speak, she would say it too, but her voice makes a name for me nonetheless, with a sweet cry of pure agony, owned in every way by my hands.

I smile at Ask, and he knows what to do. He bends her toward me and enters her, thrusting deeply, while I hold her against my chest. The blood that only now begins to trickle from the cuts smears across my skin, and her howls of pleasure are muffled against my breasts. She stays at the peak, and stays and stays, and I cup her chin in my hand and turn her face up to look at mine. Her hysterical gaze fixes on me, only me, and her eyes meet mine in pure and divine worship, and I say my name to her, gently, over and over again. If she could speak she would sing my name, but only her smooth, wild sounds, without shape, can name me. She is entirely, utterly mine; I am her universe, the giver of all pleasure, the deity of love, consuming her heart.

Ask takes her to peak after peak, but I do not want him to lose his own essence just yet. I have other plans for it. Eventually, when Embla is limp and trembling in my arms, I coo to her, speaking her own name in her ear until tears of gratitude stream from her eyes, and she leans heavily back against Ask. I nod, and he draws reluctantly out of her and helps her over to the bed, where they coil back into their inseparable weave of limbs. She dabs proudly, if limply, at the blood on her chest. I can tell she is a little discontented that it was not deeper; it will be healed within a few days and will leave no mark. But the lines of red against her skin, smeared as they are, look very frightening to Khu, who does not understand how shallow they truly are.

The important part is the effect it has had upon That One to witness this scene. Oh yes, he remembers. As if it were yesterday, he remembers a similar ecstasy, a similar pride in the scars he wore for days. The satiety that Embla now feels is familiar to him, deeply familiar, and the hardness of his cock betrays him, regardless of how he tries to manage the look on his face.

It is time to turn my attention back to Khu, for a moment. I have decided that his education will be very thorough tonight, that he is bright enough to begin to understand my mind. He has great potential, and he will make far more than a slave if I manage him correctly at this stage. It is better to be loved than feared, but it is best to be both. Both in equal and intense measure.

That One did not fear me quite as much as he loved me, and in that was his mistake. On this night, after years of waiting, I have suddenly decided that I have waited long enough. He will not speak; he sees this as a battle of wills and does not understand what he loses in order to win. There is nothing to be done here, and I know this, but I cannot resist offering him one final opportunity for redemption, or perhaps one last chance to hurt him for the way he hurt me.

I turn to him, and for the first time in years I look him in the eye. He understands this moment, looking back at me. I could give him back his name, his tribe, his family, his eternal life. I could grant it in an instant, and I require only that he say my name. No abject apology, no humility, no surrender but the powerful gesture of saying my name. It has always been this way; for years, I have asked only that, and for years he has refused.

Once a month he has heard this question, since these days it has been relegated to the ceremonial. No one believes it will actually change, but I sent the soldier, every moon cycle, to ask, regardless. Now, for the first time in years, I ask it myself.

Will you speak?

The pain, the sheer agony which greets me as he raises his eyes, nearly knocks me over. I cannot understand why he wills himself away from love, away from everything he has claimed to value. I will never understand this instinct, to alienate himself from that which is most valuable to him. But looking in his eyes, I know already that he will refuse.

And I know how angry that makes me.

He remains silent. His hands clench against the edge of the chair. And he causes himself more pain with this choice than I can ever cause him.

But I will try. One final time. And Khu will help me.

That One's eyes harden, and I know the answer. He has officially given it now, and now I take it as a license to take my anger out, quite thoroughly, upon him, before the end. The end for this life.

In a way, a lush night unfolds before me now because of That One. Instead of training a new slave, I am exposing Khu to the consequences of disloyalty, of the refusal of my love and patronage. I believe he will learn, but in the meantime he will learn to love me in ways he has not imagined he could love.

Ask and Embla have finally understood my goal, and they wait excitedly for my next choice. They do not have the nostalgic fondness that I hold for That One; they witnessed the betrayal with their own eyes, witnessed the pain it caused me, and have begged, with their silent eyes, many times for the privilege of dispatching That One from this life, without a name, without redemption. I have always stopped them. I consider the possibility of allowing them to kill him tonight, the way they have begged me to do. But they do not entirely understand. The hell of living is far worse, sometimes, than the hell of death. My father taught me that, and Niankhaset taught me the same, in his way.

I show him, the rest of the night, all the things he remembers, wishes for, dreams of. And he sits, bound to the low stool, forced to witness, mute, stubborn to the point of death.

And what I show to him is this.

Ask knows well how to be a throne for me, and what I truly want. I motion to him, and suddenly he, as well as Embla, understand my intent for the rest of the night. They see that I am taking That One back, back to the days when we loved with a fierce joy that surpassed understanding.

Ask lays himself back on the low chair, next to the bed, his lovely cock already standing straight. He offers himself as a throne. For the first time since Khu arrived in my room, I begin to disrobe, to show Khu the body that has to this point caused him as much pleasure as pain, even veiled as it has been. I loosen the soft white linen that has bound my breasts at their base, and as it drops free I allow, for just a moment, Khu's eyes to range over my flesh. Despite the battle scars, it is a young, strong body even still, and neither the battles nor the single secret daughter I bore long ago has hurt the look of my flesh too much. I can still stand proudly, clad only with the air, and know that I can make the secret flesh of men swell despite their fear.

And now, finally, there is a part of me that demands to be satisfied, that shouts louder than the discipline, the politics, the armies and negotiations, louder even than the pain I feel at That One's betrayal, louder than my desire for one final scene of vengeance. I am hungry, hungry for flesh, for touch, for the final satisfaction.

I move gently toward Ask, and I am now unclothed, proud of the way my body still stands the test, proud of my gently rounded belly. My legs, my arms, my breasts, are still young and firm, and my muscles ripple as I straddle the lovely throne that Ask provides for me, seat myself regally onto his thick phallus, and slide down with a sigh. Satisfaction will come to me tonight, and it will outweigh the anger, the bitterness in my heart over what I must do.

I take a moment to attend to the sensations, the thick and lovely satisfaction of Ask's warm phallus inside me, eager to move, trembling but motionless except for the heartbeat of his arousal inside me. And I take Khu's eye, lock his gaze to my own. He cannot take his eyes from me; he has never seen such a matter-of-fact joining, such a simple thing as a woman making a cock hard with a glance and then settling herself down upon it with such straightforward desire. I settle myself in, go inward to feel the thick length of this sun-hot wand splitting me open in my most intimate space, invading me.

Embla waits quietly next to me, still a bit weakened by the ecstasy of the blade, and I sign to her that she is to bring Khu over to me and force him to kneel. She smiles and moves toward him and her tiny frame radiates sudden mastery, as she holds him fiercely with her gaze and takes hold of the collar he wears. Quite without warning she pulls hard on the collar and rakes her knee behind one of his, so that he is forced down to his knees. His look of shock reveals that he had not thought of her as one of my soldiers until now. No, she is no mere plaything. Lovely as she is, delicate as she seems, she could kill him in half a dozen ways before he even realized what was happening.

As quick as a snake she has unwrapped her sash and bound his hands behind his back and joined his forearms together, wrapping the rope in a tight spiral all the way to his elbows. His chest is thrust out and his shoulders widened by the pose. It is a good look. Another length of sash is just as quickly knotted at his collar, and with this lead wrapped tightly round her fist she urges him forward toward me, making him walk awkwardly on his knees.

When I held the blade his fear had overwhelmed his desire, and that sensation has stayed with him. But he is not stupid, and he understands enough to know with relative assurance, whether he understands exactly the reasons why my rage is now turned toward this stranger bound against the nearby wall, that he will likely not die tonight. The thought second only to that in his whirling mind is his hunger, the bewildering and overwhelming desire that keeps his cock hard even now, still bound in the rope.

When he has approached and his face is only an arms length from me, I say to Embla, Untie his staff. Anoint him. She kneels beside him and begins to slowly unwrap the length of rope from his phallus, artfully precise. His thick staff responds to her stroking hands, and his look reveals that he had nearly forgotten that it was bound. In this single night he has seen so many things that his mind may never have even conceived of, and his body has felt more strange arousal, more hunger, prolonged, foreign, intense hunger, than he has ever dreamed.