The Will Of The Gods Ch 02

Gregar woke her when they arrived at the camp with the toe of his boot in the curve of her stomach. It was a gentle push, not a kick, but it was not the most pleasant way to wake up, nonetheless. It was dark outside. She had slept the whole day, having gotten very little sleep the previous evening. Her body was stiff from the floorboards and she stretched a little as she tried to stand.

Impatient, Gregar lifted her from the cart. A large, blond man approached, a broad smile on his face, his eyes on the princess. Pulling at her thin shift, she sidestepped in an attempt to hide herself behind the cart.

"No, no princess. No hiding." He wrapped an arm around her waist in what looked like a casual gesture, but she could feel the tension in his muscles and knew she would not be able to move if she tried.

"You did it, you ballsy bastard," the man said and pulled Gregar into a bearlike hug, kissing him on the cheek. "I was just about to break camp and turn the men home."

"Like fuck you were, Jameson" Gregar replied with a smile. "I'd have had you flogged for your lack of confidence in the crown. This is Jameson, our master of horse," he told her as if she were wondering. As if she were a visiting friend. As if she were not nearly naked. As if she hadn't just had her world turned on its head.

"Horse and every other ruddy thing. Is this her, then? The princess?" At Gregar's nod, the man began to look her over. "Small, isn't she?"

Regina's lips tightened over the gag. Her nose crinkled in displeasure.

Gregar laughed when he saw her face. Jameson raised an eyebrow.

"Got a ways to go with that filly."

Gregar smiled. "She'll learn. Get the fires started for the Ceremony, will you? And tell Tochar we'll be needing some slave silks."

"Aye, your Highness." Jameson turned to Ivan as Gregar began to steer his captive away from the conversation. "You owe me a gold crown. You said it wouldn't work."

Ivan clapped the man on the back. "Didn't think I'd ever have to pay you, Jameson. Thought I'd be dead, didn't I?"

Away from the cart, Regina found herself on display as they passed through the camp. She wriggled against Gregar's arm, which was still wrapped tightly around her waist as he guided her through the encampment. Men and women alike let their eyes rake up and down her form. She wished she could pull at her shift. The thin material clung to her more personal parts.

"That hair," whispered a female soldier sharpening her sword as Regina walked past her. "Did the king get a Fadran slave?"

"No," whispered the man beside her. "That's the princess."

"No princess wears a dress like that," said another woman.

"Didn't you hear?" Asked a dark haired slave girl. "That's where the king was these past few days. He went to take her."

The whispers followed her, debates, rumors, and guesses floated to her ears until her cheeks burned. When Gregar lifted the flap of a large tent, she could not help but sigh in relief as she stepped inside.

The interior of the tent was luxurious, all covered in the black and dark blue of House Heilaun. In the front corner of the tent, there was a small but richly carved ebony table. Soft furs lined the whole floor of the tent. Across from a well-ordered desk, casting a dancing light over the otherwise dark room, was a large fire. In the far corner of the tent, stood a huge, low bed. It, too, was thickly covered with furs. A large metal pole held up the ceiling, but something about the gleaming steel seemed out of place in the luxurious decor. There were hooks on it at varying heights reaching from roughly the height of her knees to what would be about four feet above her head where the pole met the fabric of the ceiling.

"Would you like me to remove your bindings?" He asked her. She nodded, turning around to let him undo them.

Instead, Gregar walked over to a chest and began to rummage through it. He pulled out a set of manacles with a long piece of chain between the two ends. In his other hand he held two cuffs. They shone gold in the firelight, but Regina assumed they were steel with a gold overlay—Still lovely, but dangerous.

Bending down, Gregar grabbed her ankle and tugged. Her feet were yanked out from under her and she landed hard against the furs of the ground. The wind went out of her, but he did not seem to mind as he dragged her to the middle of the room. He locked one end of the manacle around the steel pole she had been examining moments before. The other end, he clamped around her ankle.

"Can't have you running off, can we?" He smiled derisively and tweaked her chin with one curved finger. "Turn around now. I'll get your arms." She did, still wheezing from the impact of her body against the floor.

He sawed at her bindings with his knife until they came undone, the pieces falling to the floor at her sides. At her wrist, he placed two cuffs. Each had a metal loop where a chain or hook could be fastened, but at the moment they were not attached to anything. She let out a relieved sigh as she stretched her arms out to her sides. The sudden rush of blood made her wince in pain. She rubbed her arms, trying to relieve the feeling of pins and needles. He ruffled her hair, picking up the bindings on the ground and walking to the door to toss them outside the tent.

As she regained feeling in her arms once more, Regina reached up her suddenly functional fingers and began to claw at the gag behind her head.

"Wren," an amused warning came from behind her. There was a scorch to his voice that made her fingers stop instantly. "Are you attempting to remove a binding yourself?"

Her blood felt cold and sluggish in her veins, like that moment in a nightmare where you try to run, but your body won't obey. She pushed past it. She wasn't helpless and sitting in his lap anymore. She would not allow him to intimidate her.

Quickly, she found the buckle of the gag, unfastened it and spit out the leather ball. As she did it, something else occurred to her, somewhere in the traitorous recesses of her mind. A small little thought buried so deep inside of her that she did not realize until now that it existed burst forth. She knew that taking the gag out of her mouth was wrong. She knew that if their positions were swapped, she unquestionably punish a slave who removed a restraint. Perhaps there was some part of her that wanted to see what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a punishment.

Before she could process the disgusting thought that had just invaded her mind, his hand was in her hair. He dragged her to her feet and yanked her across the room. Shoving her over the table, he felt along the far edge until he felt a small lock. He fastened the lock around the cuff at her wrist. He grabbed the other one and fastened it into the lock as well, so that her torso stretched across the table.

"Unwise move, wren." He said with a dangerous lilt. Standing up, he admired the way her ass moved as she writhed, desperately attempting to free herself, then turned away. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him walk back towards the chest.

"This is insane, Gregar. I am the Princess of Eldon. My father and Crestoff will come for me." She pulled at the chain, trying to unfasten it from the hook.

Turning her focus back to him, she gasped. He had pulled out a whip.

He unfurled it. Raising it above his head with a flourish, he let it crack in the air so close to her skin she could feel the pop of air through her shift. She flinched. Gregar grinned.

"You've made two mistakes since you walked into the tent, what are they?"

Regina shook her head, still trying to free herself. She could feel his gaze wander over her skin. She could feel him leering at the curve of her ass, feel his eyes studying the contours of her thighs.

"Come on, Regina. You've owned slaves. Recently, in fact." He reached forward, gliding his hand over the round curve of her ass. His fingers sent barbs of electricity surging through her. It was as if her body had developed a latent memory of the cart ride and wanted it repeated.

She felt an aching in her slit. She shifted her hips, trying to brush the sensation away from her. It did not lessen.

He continued insistently. "Tell me what you've done wrong and I'll go easy on you for your first session."

"Stop! Gregar, you're way out of your depth here. This is ridiculous." Her voice was more hurried than she wanted it to sound. Her stomach clenched, fearing he would not have taken the whip out if he did not intend to use it.

He stepped back and brought the whip down over her back. It felt as if her skin had been ripped off of her body. She screamed as the pain flashed white hot before her eyes.

Gregar's calm smile widened at the sound. He had not even ripped the fabric of her gown. The spoiled princess had never pain inflicted upon her before. That made things easier.

"You have made two mistakes since you walked into the tent," he began again. "What are they?"

She shook her head. She knew what he was doing. She had seen it done a hundred times at the castle. Because the protocols of slave behavior are so humiliatingly different than the protocols of behavior of a free person, it is especially effective if you get the slave to say why they are being punished. It gives a second, more intense reinforcement of the behavior.

The whip fell across her again, this time cracking against her left buttock. She let out a wail of pain, white heat exploding behind her eyes. Gregar gave her enough time to take a breath and then brought the whip down on her right cheek. The girl shrieked, her head shaking. She would not say it. She would not let him have that satisfaction. Already, he had unwillingly brought her to orgasm. She would not give more fuel to the fire.

The whip kissed her skin again. She cried out. This one was harder. Much harder. The fabric of her shift tore, revealing a small gash of pale skin marred by a long red welt. He brought two more down in quick succession, both tearing her garment again. Her legs gave out so that her shoulders screamed in pain as they held most of her weight in the awkward position. Regaining herself, she struggled back to her feet.

As soon as she was standing again, he let the whip kiss her three more times. They were so fast, she hardly felt the individual marks until they were over. Then the sensation ripped through her. White hot pain splintered across her consciousness. She tried to undo the clasps, yanking at them, tried to maneuver herself out of his way, but she was completely trapped. Her head dropped to the table, and she pressed her forehead into the cool, carved wood.

His voice came again, the rumble of danger so low it iced her blood. "You have made two mistakes since you—"

"I took off my gag," she whispered before he could finish.

"Louder, Regina." She could hear his hands sliding over the leather of the whip.

"I took off my gag," she said, her voice a whimper, but audible this time.

"And?"

She closed her eyes against the table. "And I called you by your name."

"Good," he purred and stepped closer to her. He ran his right hand along her spine gently, watching goosebumps rise along the pale flesh of her arms and shoulders at his touch. "How should you have addressed me?"

"Please stop."

"Try again." He smacked her ass with the open palm of his hand so that the slap landed against the welts he had just made. She let out a satisfying, high pitched yelp and he rubbed her cheek soothingly. "How should you have addressed me?"

"Sir."

"Not quite." He swatted her ass again. Harder this time. He grinned as the flesh bounced merrily beneath her shift, a red handprint visible through the fabric.

"Milord." The word was a plea.

"Closer." The smack came again, bringing tears to her eyes.

Regina nearly screamed in frustration, her breath coming in rapid gasps.

"You will call me Your Highness... or Master once you're marked."

"No."

This time he did not respond. The silence stretched out, almost deafening. She heard him move closer to her. He let his hand slide gently down her ass, then along her slender thigh, creeping lower until he coiled his fingers in the fabric of her shift. He pulled the cotton up until her naked ass was completely exposed. She could feel the air hit coldly against her slit. He rubbed her ass gently, warm from his strikes. Her supple form tensed at the touch of his hand on her naked flesh, and he felt his cock straining as he admired her laying there helpless.

Gregar let his fingers wander, kneading her flesh. They danced over the welts he had made, making her gasp at the resurging pain and the strange, unwanted intimacy. Regina could feel the tension coiling in her stomach. She found herself anticipating when he would say something. Do something. Her breath began to come quicker as the anticipation built. He seemed so calm, and yet she could feel that he was not. It was as if his irritation radiated from the tips of his fingers as they moved against her flesh.

Without warning, he kicked her legs apart. She gasped. The sudden knowledge that he could see her sex was an almost physical touch. Gregar smiled. The hair of her mound was the same auburn shade as the hair on her head. All he wanted to do was bury himself to the hilt between her soft, pink folds. Already, they glistened despite the pain he had inflicted—or perhaps because of it. Her sex was begging him to ride her. He swallowed the impulse. It was not yet time.

His hand came down on her cunt with a resounding smack. She screamed in pain. His hand remained where he had hit her, cupping her mound as his middle finger found her clit and began to move it in teasing loops. Her body stilled in confusion, unsure whether to protest or give in. His fingers were gentle, his hand rocking against her mound sending shocks to her core. She felt a warmth tightening deep inside her like the catch of kindling in a fire. She cursed herself. Protest, she urged herself. Fight him.

Instead, her hips writhed.

He pressed his chest to her back so that she could feel his breath on her neck. She felt his teeth graze the tender skin where her neck met her shoulder. A tingle ran all the way down her spine and set the kindled fire blazing. "Say, 'Thank you, your Highness.'"

"No." Her voice was breathy. She hardly recognized it as her own.

Again, the slap came smacking against her clit, aroused and engorged from his attention. Again, she shrieked like a wild animal. Again, his fingers immediately began to tease the slick little nub.

First the pain, now this. Her mind clouded. She felt her reactions tangling inside of her, twisting together chaotically.

Gregar's fingers worked her for longer this time. Each flick of his index finger against her made the fire inside of her stronger. He worked the little bud of pleasure until he could hear her panting hungrily. He watched her hands tighten on the edge of the table, felt her hips pushing back against his fingers. He imagined her confusion, her hesitation at relenting to the attention of his deft fingers as they played against his body. He kept going until he saw her back bow so that her hips pushed hungrily, rhythmically against his hand. Her feet stretched up on the tips of her toes, giving into her desire. He grinned widely.

Suddenly, his fingers pulled away. Her hips followed his hand, writhing slightly in an attempt to bring him back to her. He chuckled against her ear, watched her tense as she realized what she had done. He smacked her cunt, harder this time. "Say, 'Thank you, your Highness.'" She shook her head.

Regina felt the palm of his hand again on her. It was even more painful when she was so wet. Each slap smacked against her swollen bud. She yelped in pain and tried to close her legs. He stopped her with his boot. More slaps rained down on her. She writhed, trying to steer her hips away from the onslaught. It seemed as if he would never stop. She tried to last, tried to ignore the pain, but each slap brought a fresh bolt of agony shivering through her. She wished she could go numb, slip into some far off place where the pain wouldn't bother her, but he had his slaps timed so perfectly that as soon as the pain began to fade slightly, another rocked her over and over again until she was sobbing on the table, body a tangle of desire and pain.

"Thank you, your Highness!" she screamed through her sobs. The words were a jumbled blubber. The rhythm broke.

He smacked her again, just to be sure. "Thank you, your Highness," She whimpered again quickly.

"Good girl," he whispered into her ear and gently and placed a kiss on her temple. He reached up and unhooked the clasp that held her manacles.

"Shh," he murmured gently. He sat down at one of the chairs of the table, pulling her into his lap so that she settled sideways like a small child. "You did very well, wren."

She tried to free herself, but he wrapped his arms tighter around her until the movements quieted. He let his fingers graze her arm soothingly, rubbing back and forth from elbow to shoulder until she stopped trembling against him. Regina hated the feeling of being pressed against him, but his fingers on her arm pacified both her anger and the pain. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was someone else who comforted her.

They sat like that for quite some time. Despite the horror of the situation, she felt her heartbeat slow and her breath even out. With her head against his shirt, she could smell the dirt of the road on him, and the light scent of sweat he had worked up while toying with her. She felt his hand slide up, felt his thumb run gently along her jawbone.

He reached up further to run his hand over her hair, and he felt her snuggle a little into his shoulder. That was a good sign. Carefully, he moved his hand over her hair until he found a pin. He grabbed it and pulled it out. Her braid began to fall. Regina tried to sit up, reaching her hand up to stop him. He grabbed her wrist and held it to her side.

"No, no," his voice was calm, without amusement or danger. He was soothing her the way someone would talk to a kitten or a young child.

"Please don't," she whispered. Looking up at him, she saw a flame spark behind his eyes. "Your Highness," she added quickly.

He ignored her protest and removed another pin. Another length of the braid unfurled from her head. It hung to her shoulder blades. One more pin and the braid would fall all the way down. He pulled it.

"You sound lovely when you beg, wren." He said absentmindedly as he grasped the tie at the end of her braid and pulled it free.

The words bothered Regina, but everything had happened so quickly since they came into the tent. The mixture of pain, pleasure, and kindness he was showing made her mind reel. Still processing, she did not dare tempt his anger before she could fully sort out what had happened to her, and so she did not argue with his words.

He ran his hand through the end of her braid, loosening the strands. his hand moved up slowly, careful not to yank.

Soon it was completely undone. He ran his hand through the whole length of her soft, auburn locks. Her hair was crimped from the braids, frizzy from his hands running through it without a comb, but still gorgeous as it shone gently in the firelight.

"Good girl." He pulled a piece over her shoulder, letting it lay against the curve of her breasts. Pulling her up toward him, he kissed her forehead gently. Then he lifted her up and set her on the floor at his feet. Standing, he stepped outside his tent, spoke quietly with someone.

Momentarily freed from his gaze, Regina took a few moments to evaluate her situation. She wondered at her behavior. Never had she imagined herself giving into a situation like this. She always thought herself stronger than the way she had just acted. With the pain in the past, it suddenly seemed less agonizing. She had given in too soon. And yet, she felt the fire at her core crackle at the thought of his hands on her again. Once kindled, it seemed as if it would not leave her.