Always, Lady Basti Ch. 03

And now there is more, as Embla's silken hands stroke oil over his reddened phallus, and in fact everywhere, down the hollows of his thighs and back between them, soothing the buttocks still reddened by my flogging. Her quick little fingers find their sharp way inside him, stroking the oil generously into his opening. His eyes widen in surprise, perhaps at the matter-of-fact way she goes about this intimacy. Everywhere, her hands make his skin gleam with oil.

There is that sensation, and there is the fact that he cannot take his eyes away from the sight of my lotus, widened so sweetly around the thick shaft that enthrones me. He can see every part of the joining, the way the scarlet skin of Ask's phallus divides me and disappears between the drenched and delicate lips of my lotus. He is close enough to see the slight movements, the muscles tensing as Ask moves, just slightly, back and forth, shifting the angle he makes within me. It is smooth, meditative, the way we rock almost imperceptibly, subtle as a heartbeat, keeping our arousal at a low hum.

Khu is entranced, and overwhelmed, as the flood of sensations continues to fill him. Embla's hands flow over his body, interrupting their silken course with skillful little scratches and pinches, keeping him constantly on edge.

Bind his eyes and ears, I tell her. And a blackness and silence descend over him suddenly as Embla ties the linen round him. He nearly cries out when the vision he has been devouring is taken from him without warning. He may still hear some sound, but it is softened, made indistinct by the lengths of thick cloth. He is now a creature of the subtler sensations, of touch and taste and scent alone, without the clamor of the mind to block their voices out.

And in this state he feels his phallus wrapped with slickness, hand or mouth he cannot tell but motion that takes him up to the bare and grinding edges of his climax and then forbids him the final satisfaction, again and again. He feels himself leaned forward until his shoulders are stopped and held, and a heady scent fills his nostrils, a deep scent of juice and sweat that comes from the joining of two bodies, or more. He breathes this earthy elixir in as if he could drink it, as if it were the sweetest wine.

He feels his nipples being flickered by a tongue, or some warm round thing, and then tortured by pinches that seem to hurt until they somehow connect with the heat building round his cock. His mind is a whirlwind of color and sound as hands smooth round his cock and testicles, and fingers coil back to enter his most secret place, where deep inside they curve to stroke some dark inner organ that sends lightning bolts through the pure center of him, seemingly up through the top of his head. Something thick invades him there, and his body moves despite himself, hungrily driving himself back further on it, as the heat of his ascent moves its focus back, to that space being filled, and filled, turning his mind and body to water.

His phallus strains toward teasing hands, and always in his mouth and nose is that maddening scent, one he knows must be the joined organs that were his last vision before the blindfold descended. How his mouth longs to drink that musky wine, his tongue to dive deeply between the swollen, salty folds of satin flesh. It seems as if he will expire if he does not climax, as if his life depends on the taste of this amazing flower he can smell, so close to him and yet not quite close enough. He feels that he will go mad, or simply lose his life, and he struggles against the bonds on his arms, rocking himself back ever more fiercely onto the wand and forward into the teasing, fluttering hands and mouths, a thousand hands, a hundred mouths, upon his solid, yearning cock.

It is as if the sensations become a single thing, as if his body were one single organ and not the several parts that strain, each toward its own satisfaction. One thought: the lotus that hovered before him, vivid in his mind, and clearly just out of reach of his agonized mouth. But the hands that work his phallus, the wand that now invades him deeply, rhythmically dividing his body in two, the sting of the bites and twists, the odd security of his bound arms, everything melds into a single desire, for surrender to that final ecstasy. He would kill for it, die for it, exchange anything including life itself, to reach that peak now.

And somehow the strange combination of sensations responds to that desperation, and he feels himself going over the edge into ecstasy, brutally shoved there by the wand which impales him in quick, deep thrusts, the mouth which envelops his phallus and draws his seed up with its insistent rhythm, and by the dark scent which hovers and suddenly, fiercely, meets his mouth. His face is pressed forward and down into what can only be those two joined organs, and his tongue and lips find juice dripping like honey from a heavy comb.

The taste, the feel of salt petals under his desperate mouth, the way his tongue can trace the border between the shaft which splits the petals open and slides hard into the depths, it seems as if these sensations are what truly send him over that final edge. His body seems to burst apart with howls and juice, and his mouth sucks desperately, inexactly, at that shrine that fills his head with dizzy scarlet. At that moment the fabric is unwrapped from his eyes and ears, but it does not matter, because his vision has disappeared under the far more distinct visions of his ecstasy, the bright flash of the body as it peaks.

He hears, as he surrenders to the shuddering waves of heat that envelop his mind and body, my voice in his ear. Say my name, I whisper.

Basti, he cries, Basti, o Basti, Goddess. Basti. My Queeeeen... His voice rises to peak after peak, and my name is the only thought in his mind. I grind his face into me, so that the scent of my pleasure will be burned into his memory forever more. I am in every part of him at this moment, the ruler of every pleasurable sensation he has. It is my name on his lips, my scent which covers his face, my will that each thing is happening to him at this moment.

When his body finally loosens, I allow him to look up at me, at all of me once more, and then, so that I will be the last vision he has for the night, I nod to Embla and she slips the blindfold onto him, where it will stay til morning.

Ask and Embla lead him off to the side room, where he will be bathed and given food before being led back to sleep bound to his pallet across the room. I am through with him now, and for the rest of the evening, in the state he is now in, every hand that touches him will be mine, every thought he has will be of me. My body, my scent, and most importantly, the importance of pleasing me.

There is one final task, a terrible and painful one, before I rest tonight. That One is now alone with me in the room. His eyes have followed every move. I can see the tracks of tears down his face. He is ashamed that his hands are bound and he cannot wipe them away. I move toward him, and stand before him, close enough for him to smell the heady mix of juice that still trickles from me.

No, for this last moment we must be equals. I tell him to stand. He does so, awkwardly with his hands still bound behind him. Now we look one another in the eye, and there is no one left in the room for him to perform for. Perhaps, with no other limitations, he will finally relinquish his stubborn pride.

Will you speak? I ask him, quietly. And I wait.

I can see him struggling. There is something in him that knows that this is final, though he doesn't understand why, and doesn't really believe it. Part of him believes that he will always have this battle of wills with me, that he can decide in his own time whether to return.

Another proof that he does not know me as well as he believes.

But he is silent. I hold his gaze, for what seems like an eternity, and I wait. There must be no mistake, and he must never be able to tell himself that I did not give him every opportunity to relinquish his stubborn pride.

And finally, he can meet my eyes no longer. His body is trembling with the strain of silence; it is as if every part of his frame cries out to speak and only his mind remains hardened. He lowers his eyes, and I hear a sigh, almost a sob, come from him, but he does not speak.

I turn away and walk to the door. When I open it, the guards outside struggle not to notice that I am unclothed, still covered with sweat and juice.

Take him, I tell them. Take him to the edge of the kingdom and release him. A look of genuine surprise crosses the face of the guard master, before he can control it.

Let him go, I confirm. Mark his forehead with my sign. And let all be told that if his face is ever seen in my lands again, he is to be killed. There will be a reward of great wealth to the person who brings me his head and hands if he ever comes to this kingdom again.

I hear a gasp behind me. I have truly surprised That One. But before he has had time to even consider this new fate, the guards have entered and taken his arms, half-dragging him out of the room. They know who he is and what he has done, and they hold no fondness for him. They also cannot fathom why I haven't had him killed.

He will be better off if they kill him before they release him. I hope for his sake that they do. It will be a better life than the one he will now lead.

As they drag him through the door he suddenly begins to struggle, as if awakening from a stupor. His limbs flail and the guards are pleased, using this as an excuse to grip him more harshly. Not three steps outside the room, I hear his voice, a voice I have not heard in years.

He cries out, Wait! I will speak! I will speak! Basti, Highness, I will speak now! Basti!

I am unsurprised, even as my heart breaks at the sound of his screams. I close the door, but can still hear him, calling my name as they drag him away. Over and over, my name, cried out as if it will save his life.

It will not. Only moments before, it might have, but not now. And never again.

If I ever cried, I would cry at this moment, but my body released its last true tear long ago. I turn, wearily, away from the thick door, closed now forever against this precious companion, and find Ask and Embla waiting for me. They have witnessed this last moment, as has Khu, though he has only heard it, since his eyes remain bound. There is true agony, true pain in the cries that now become faint, and then silent, as he is led out of the palace and out of this life forever.

I do not speak, but Ask and Embla understand. Embla binds Khu to his pallet for the night's rest, and then the two of them come to me, embrace me, draw me to the bed and lay me down. I fall into a dreamless sleep while their hands are still bathing and massaging me. Tomorrow will be a challenging day, and I must gather all my strength.