Read Online Babala's Correction by Bethany Amber - Free Book Online Page B

she only succeeded in tightening it about her neck.
    â€˜But you will want to be in a state of heightened sensuality, my dear,’ said the Slavemaster, ‘to persuade the prettiest of women to buy you, will you not?’
    â€˜Let me!’ Babala exclaimed, throwing herself at her mistress’s feet. ‘Let me help her. Let me bring her to her climax.’ The Taskmaster had warned that her kind nature and willingness to please could get her in trouble, but Babala’s soft lips were parted and her tongue-tip protruded between her white teeth. ‘She has been tortured by these—’
    The crack of the whip echoed above the babble of the crowd and Babala was lifted off her feet by the force of the blow as it snaked about her waist. The guards looked on in astonishment. Capel, in particular, narrowed his eyes in envy at the skill the Slavemaster demonstrated with his whip. Babala, the breath sucked from her body by the tightening of the supple leather around her waist, found herself looking into the cold grey eyes of the Slavemaster, for the coils of the whip had drawn her close to him. She could feel his cock hardening under the richness of his satin robe, embroidered in silks to depict all manner of lewd scenes, and it made her more aware of her own nakedness and vulnerability.
    â€˜How dare you presume to even suggest help for that woman.’ His voice was low, hissed in her ear. ‘You are a slave. Don’t you understand that? And by the looks of things, born to be one.’ Babala felt his fingers opening her sex, slicking them through her moistness, and rubbing her nubbin in rhythmical strokes. ‘Answer me,’ he whispered huskily, ‘or am I to add dumb insolence to the rest of your crimes?’
    The sweet heaviness of limbs came upon Babala, that which she was taught to enjoy by the Taskmaster. Breasts swelling and nipples hardened to taut buds, she leaned against the Slavemaster. ‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured. ‘I am insolent. I deserve whatever punishment you give me.’
    â€˜You do not deserve this,’ he rasped as his hand wormed between her thighs. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ Babala whispered. ‘I am aware of that.’ It was as if she was mesmerised by the heat of his body, the smell of his masculinity, and she gave an involuntary gasp as strong fingers entered her, slipping into her warm moistness.
    Everything around her; the Lady Fazath, the guards, the noisy crowds, were as nothing as she pleasured herself on his skilled fingers. Using the muscles of her sex she petted them and moved her hips in a rhythm that matched his hand. At every inward thrust he chafed her clitty and she could not hold back her mews of pleasure. It did not occur to her that she was writhing like an animal in a very public place; she was merely doing what she had learned from the harem and the Taskmaster.
    â€˜A pity the girl is so used,’ he sneered derisively as he pushed her away from him, and she hung her head in shame as she staggered, buffeted and surreptitiously mauled by the encroaching crowd. She was disgraced, but even so, something in his eyes told her that he was not dismissing her so lightly as it seemed. He fingered the silken tresses of the cascade of golden hair, stroked the taut underswell of her breasts, and released the leather whip from her waist in an almost tender manner.
    â€˜Had she not been so marked and her body so penetrated by cocks from goodness knows where,’ he said, as if speaking to himself, ‘she would have fetched a pretty price.’
    â€˜How much?’ asked Bart, his eyes eager and bright.
    â€˜Oh, easily a casket full of shekels, but as it is...’ He turned away, but beckoned over his shoulder to the guards. ‘Bring them to the podium. We’ll see what we can get for you.’
    Babala was pulled through the sniggering crowd by her bound wrists. Hot tears stung