Selected For Sport Ch 02

The bedchamber was huge, and beautiful, with many wall ensconces holding flickering candles, warmth brightening the gleaming tapestries and rich rugs, despite sunlight blazing in squat, dazzling squares through the slit windows. Alanna's eyes were inevitably drawn to the huge bed with the Tahl'm arms emblazoned on the bedspread, raised on a dais, dominating the centre of the room.

She swallowed against her dry throat, and heard the Tahl-Mat beside her snap out several orders in their liquid language, clapping her hands to the ladies surrounding them. Two shimmered forwards, and carefully folded back the heavy bedspread, revealing an expanse of soft white fabric loaded with white cushions. Alanna felt a smooth tightening in her stomach and a rush of heat between her thighs as her heart speeded up further. She was barely aware of the ladies around her freshening her face and washing the slight stickiness from her fingers, her awareness was inward as she remembered the gleam in the Tahl's eye and realised with a slightly panicked feeling that this was the end of her journey. Two weeks' travel over mountains, sea and desert, and she was about to be deposited on the bed of the Great Tahl, selected because of a suggestive poem by a lovelorn troubadour.

Another lady touched perfume to her nape, wrists, and, with a giggle, cleavage, and Alanna lifted her chin slightly, blush burning in her cheeks. She focussed on her friend, the Lady Helene, who was advancing with a small bowl that had been placed on an ornamental table beside the bed. The pleasant, musky scent, a gentle background presence in the large room, emanated more pungently from the slices of strange fruit, glistening with juice, in the bowl. The scent teased at Alanna's nostrils and she enjoyed the heady fragrance, feeling the scent soothe her senses as she took a long inhalation.

Feeling slightly divorced from reality, Alanna put out a hand to lift one of the slices from the bowl, and was stopped by the firm grasp of the Tahl-Mat's fingers at her wrist. With a little mimed guidance, she instead obediently opened her mouth for Helene to place one of the segments on her tongue. Chewing carefully and swallowing the slippery, tart, yet sweet segment, Alanna was briefly distracted from the strange ebb and tide of heat and cold within her veins. Then she stopped breathing as all the ladies stepped back to form a ring around her, smiling.

A soft, thick cloth suddenly descended over her eyes and she gave a choked cry , lifting her hands, but again felt her wrists grasped and held gently but firmly as the knot was pulled tight and secured. The ladies holding her hands with speaking soothingly in Tahl'mese, she knew not what, while Helene stuttered, "It's only a.. a bl- blindfold, my Lady. Just a blindfold. The .. the queen is tying it. Must be one of the customs here."

With her vision removed, Alanna suddenly became acutely aware that her sensitive nipples were still aroused and aching, brushing teasingly against the bodice of her gown as she was guided up the steps to the edge of what must be the bed, and pressed to sit by the murmuring ladies around her. The Tahl'mese obviously knew how sharply a person became aware of the other senses when blindfolded; she blushed again, and felt the hot tingle in her stomach shimmer softly down to the junction of her thighs.

The bed was higher than she had expected, and she was guided, by giggling ladies, to slide back among the cushions until her feet left the floor. Her shoes were removed, and a damp, scented cloth stroked over her feet as they arranged her on the mattress. With no floor support, they coaxed her hands behind her and pressed her to lean back on them. Alanna flushed again as the position pressed her nipples firmly into her bodice, and a twinge of heat caused them to ache even more fiercely, partly from the sensation of the fabric against her sensitive flesh, and partly due to the knowledge that she was being arranged, displayed, with her breasts pushed out towards the door through which the Tahl would enter.

Damn him. This was so blatant.

A tap to Alanna's reddened cheek, and the Tahl-Mat announced something, satisfied. The jangle of her bracelets as she again clapped her hands was echoed after a short pause by the soft shimmering rhythm of a cymbal, soon joined by a muffled drumbeat sounding to the beat of Alanna's heart. The sounds seemed to come from under the bed, and Alanna started, jerking upright in shock and embarrassment on a gasp.

'Musicians under the bed!' she thought incredulously, "to play envigorating tunes while... while...!' The flush in her cheeks was crimson, and her heart was fluttering in her throat. The sudden shift in her weight caused her to begin to slip, and only the sudden pressure of many hands prevented her from sliding forward off the edge of the bed and rolling ignominiously down the carpeted steps of the dais.

A flautist joined the percussion beats emanating from beneath her, and suddenly a ripple of harpstrings played a delicate counterpoise to the flute melody. As she was pressed back into her display, Alanna became aware of Helene whispering to her, the words slowly penetrating the pounding of half-angry, half-panicked blood echoing in her ears. "There is a pipe system to carry the music from underneath, Al. They can't see anything, it is only the sound travelling through the pipes. Just sound."

'Sound travels both ways', thought Al. And flushed more deeply. But she nodded abruptly, and stopped resisting the hands against her, obediently allowing them to arrange her back in her posed position. It was not as though she had had any choice in this anyway. She was a very long way from home now, and even in the safety of her father's castle, the Great Tahl had been able to click his fingers and demand that she be sent to him. To here. His bed.

She remembered his graceful pose across the table from her at the meal, the easy lounge of a predator watching a prey he knows cannot escape. Even as she felt a surge of anger at being treated as a plaything - and so openly - she felt a different flush of heat run through her as she recalled the strength of that graceful pose, the taut muscles of his thighs outlined against the silk trousers, the column of his throat. The pounding in her heart picked up and the ache in her nipples intensified.

'If anything he's ugly', she thought crossly to herself, reminding herself of his blunt cut features, the scar creasing his temple. 'Ugly', she told herself firmly, ignoring the tingle at the base of her spine whispering of another reading of that scar. Lean, a fighter, and very powerful. Not just politically. Liquid heat shivered in the pit of her stomach.

The rustle of skirts descending the steps and receding towards the door intruded on her jumbled thoughts, telling her that the ladies were leaving, whispering and still giggling among themselves. A swift kiss on her cheek was Helene saying goodbye, as she whispered, "My Lady". A quick breath, half-sob, " Al.", and Helene kissed her again before hurrying after the others. Alanna heard the door close, and the ladies sweeping away down the corridor.

She swallowed, and eased her slight frame on the bed as much as she dared. So, here she was, sitting, blindfolded on the side of the bed of the damn Great Tahl, waiting for him to come and do – whatever he wished to. Her family had been in no position to argue, not after the prolonged war with Vinkorg. Despite the Tahl's reputation with women, his vast court of concubines and list of previous, annulled marriages, the proposal of alliance against a common enemy obliged her father to listen to the bittersweet offers from the ruler of the vast Empire to the south. That March Kjeldahl had a beautiful daughter had come to the Tahl's ears, and, consequently, she had been brought to his bed.

The terms, for her, were humiliating. As for all of the Tahl's previous wives, she would only become a true wife if she produced offspring. If she did not perform, he could return her after one year of enjoying her body. Only his first wife had become pregnant, the fabled Hajima, and it was common knowledge that the Tahl had buried his heart with her when she died giving birth to their son. With the succession secure, he had since wedded fifteen other ladies of impeccable beauty, and each had been sent home childless after one year. "An interesting way of securing alliances", had been her father's dry comment. She was glad of the blindfold that absorbed her tear, as she recalled the bleak expression on his face when he had said it. He had given her the choice, but he, like her, had known there was no choice.

Enjoying her. She swallowed again, as she heard footstep advancing down the hall, male voices rumbling, the occasional crack of laughter. The Tahl was approaching, with his lords.

Desperately, Alanna tried to straighten her spine to look as dignified as her position would allow. Which was insignificant, lost on the edge of the huge bed, her breasts peaked towards the door as she had to lean her weight on her hands behind her to prevent herself from sliding and rolling down to his feet. The latch clicked, the hinges creaked, and suddenly the chords and drumbeat sounding beneath her stopped, only the soft shimmer of the cymbal echoing in the silence caused by the sudden halt of the male voices. A light draft of air whispered over her exposed shoulders, brushing over her skin, telling her of the door held wide. In the heavy, shimmering silence she could hear only her own breathing, soft pants, half of fear, half arousal.

She could feel their eyes upon her.

The silence lengthened until she could feel it drumming in her ears, and her breasts swelled, arching against the fabric, pushing hard to escape the prison, throbbing with her swift, shallow breaths. The Tahl cleared his throat and gave a gruff order, and the men around him responded with teasing comments and back-slappings. The door closed, and she could hear the escort retreating down the corridor again.

The silence continued.

'Oh gods, where was he?' The shimmer of the cymbals muffled any noise that may have been made by footsteps on the thick floor rugs. The lack of footfalls seemed to press upon her, the knowledge of his presence, without knowing exactly where he stood, and Alanna squirmed slightly, easing upright, squeezing her thighs together against the faint ache between her legs.

A soft chuckle came from in front of her – not at all far in front – and she gasped, sitting bolt upright. Abruptly she was sliding helplessly forward, fingers clutching unavailing at the smooth sheet, when she heard two swift steps and strong hands clasped her waist and lifted her to steady her, placing her back on the bed. A knee nudged between her own, twisted, and before she knew how, Alanna's thighs were open beneath her skirt, and the Tahl had advanced between them, up against the edge of the mattress, spreading them further.

Shocked by the sudden advance, she recoiled backwards, but was restrained by the hands holding her waist, and found herself bent, bow-shaped, over his firm clasp, breasts thrust upwards toward his face. Before she could react and jerk upright, he muttered something husky in his own language, and she sensed his body leaning closer over hers. One arm swiftly shifted to support her lumber, and he entwined the fingers of the other in her hair, holding her still in the arch. Xanir then pushed against her back, lifting her belly and breasts further towards him, perfecting the curve as he bent her over his arm. He watched the ripe, perfect globes heaving repeatedly against the fabric to the time of those short, panting breaths and could feel his swelling, surging cock aching with the need to pound into her, to make those breasts bounce to a new rhythm, set by him.

Zjama, Xanir cursed himself, he should have taken Bezella before he came in, he was going to split this girl in two with his lust. But for once the dancer hadn't interested him. He wanted this one. Zjama!, but he wanted this one. A slight, twisted smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Half the world wanted this one. And he was going to have her.

His fingers tightened in her hair as he tried to ignore the enticing rhythm of those breasts, to remember that she needed arousing, that she was new to this, and untrained, and she would be sore for weeks if he did what his body was urging and just pushed up the skirt, freed himself, and took her. Now.

Angrily, and a little fearful, Alanna squirmed to escape the tightened hold on her hair, and heard the sharp intake of breath above her as her movement caused her breasts to bounce free from the encasing fabric, the intense arch of her spine curving them from the top of the stiff bodice cups. Xanir cursed something, and barked out a bitter laugh, before bending forwards to fasten his lips fiercely on the delicate skin of her neck, suckling hard as he yanked her up towards him, hauling her hips in to cradle his while he surged urgently against her.

'Slowly. Slowly', he cursed himself, struggling against the pulse of lust that washed over his senses as the girl whimpered, a mixture of fear and fervour. 'Control measures the man.' Quoting proverbs at himself was not helping.

But he gentled, his fingers brushing delicately over the aching peaks of her breasts as his lips explored her neck and shoulders, nipping and licking over her sensistive flesh. Alanna could feel the shiver of his fingers over her nipples causing sensation to ripple down into her belly, to tighten and tease the molten ache within her. The shiver of apprehension at being touched so intimately, awareness of the barely leased fierceness, was swiftly followed by an ripple of pure want.

Separate, sensual touches teased at her skin, and she had a feeling of being tugged slowly into a vortex, her senses beginning to spin out of her control. Lips against her pulse; teeth grazing her jawline; fingers plucking at a taut nipple as his other hand caressed her naked back. Gods, he was good at this. 'He should be, the number of times he's so-called married', Al reminded herself, trying desperately to hold onto some vestige of herself, of dignity, against this onslaught. She was a Kjeldahl. She would remain a proud Kjeldahl, and he would return her in a year.

She gasped and arched involuntarily as his nails grazed an aching peak, but then she stubbornly dragged her thoughts back from the edge she could feel looming. He had had her brought here only to be a plaything in his bed and she was damned if she was going to act the part to his satisfaction, she reminded herself faintly, trying to ignore the intoxicating tingle of his fingers on her skin, pulse leaping at his touch. He had even had her blindfolded so she wouldn't be reminded how ugl...

His skilled lips whispered down her collarbone toward the valley between her breasts, and her breathing hitched, heartbeat staccato thundering in her chest, as her defiance was shrouded in a shimmer of blind heat. She was surrounded by the musky scent of him, the sense of him, and no longer noticed that she could not see, as her other senses were slowly overwhelmed.

Stroking slow laps to frame her full, sensitive breasts, circling, nearing, but never reaching the peaks; blowing gently on the taut nipples, nipping at the soft flesh surrounding them, his hands caressed down the back of her bodice, and teased apart the hooks. Alanna sank into a tide of lust, skin tingling fiercely from the onslaught of his possessive teeth and tongue, moaning gently as he grazed along the edge of her breasts. Suddenly she arched involuntarily, a cry escaping as his mouth closed fully over an exposed mound, swirling his tongue in a circle once, twice, before sliding back to tease her tingling, aching nipple with his teeth. He lapped at the taut bud, his hands on her forearms and weight across her thighs holding her steady as she writhed, whimpered, and thrashed her head.

Xanir closed his eyes, savouring the squirms of the girl beneath him as he tormented her exposed breasts. He had been aching to expose them since she had first been presented to him yesterday, and the perfect spheres of smooth white flesh, the small red peaks, were begging for his touch. His raging cock was pressed firmly into the crease of her hip as he arched over her, and he experimented to see what would make her arch and writhe most fiercely, masturbating his member between their bodies until he had to retreat to regain some control again. He had seen her resistance in the proud jut of her chin, a silent defiance, and it had aroused him, amused him. Now he wanted her molten; not wet – molten, begging yet incoherent, when he finally mounted her.