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After the last time, that wretched night of misery and bastardized pleasure, Neithotep had gone home and licked her proverbial wounds for days. Every time she laid her head down to rest, all she could see was the crazed heat in Iahotep’s eyes, staring into her soul like a creature from the underworld. All she could feel was the rasp of his fingers, the lash of his tongue. She’d hoped beyond hope that last night would at last be enough for him and she’d never have to see him again.
Of course, that hope was nowhere to be found.
Nia knelt in the middle of his bedroom floor, her hands settled neatly in her lap and her gaze fixed on the floor. Since she’d entered the room, all had been silent, the Pharaoh’s searing gaze trained on her like a lion stalking its prey. Or more accurately… like a hyena devouring what the lion had already claimed. It made her skin crawl, and she didn’t dare look up. She shuddered to think of what else she might see if she did.
“I am honored that you have called on me again, Master,” she finally whispered into the quiet, thinking to appeal to his ego. That’s what she’d had the most success with in the times before, and perhaps if she kept him smug and happy, he’d find no need for a crueler hand. “There is no woman in Egypt luckier than I, to have so pleased our most honored and beloved Evening Star.”
Looking up, Nia dared a smile, one she hoped came off as playful and sultry rather than anxious and terrified. “I have dreamed of you in the nights since our time before,” she murmured in a low voice, trying to paint her nightmares into a brighter light. “Even my dreams cannot compare to your radiance in front of me now, Master.” She dropped her gaze back to the floor, the dark cascade of her hair falling forward to hide her face. Her own words put a bitter taste in her mouth, but Nia aimed to keep his damage to a minimum. She would do what she could to keep herself intact, even if it meant nearly gagging when she spoke.
“I only pray I will please you so well again tonight.”
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The pharaoh had summoned her again.
After the last time, that wretched night of misery and bastardized pleasure, Neithotep had gone home and licked her proverbial wounds for days. Every time she laid her head down to rest, all she could see was the crazed heat in Iahotep’s eyes, staring into her soul like a creature from the underworld. All she could feel was the rasp of his fingers, the lash of his tongue. She’d hoped beyond hope that last night would at last be enough for him and she’d never have to see him again.
Of course, that hope was nowhere to be found.
Nia knelt in the middle of his bedroom floor, her hands settled neatly in her lap and her gaze fixed on the floor. Since she’d entered the room, all had been silent, the Pharaoh’s searing gaze trained on her like a lion stalking its prey. Or more accurately… like a hyena devouring what the lion had already claimed. It made her skin crawl, and she didn’t dare look up. She shuddered to think of what else she might see if she did.
“I am honored that you have called on me again, Master,” she finally whispered into the quiet, thinking to appeal to his ego. That’s what she’d had the most success with in the times before, and perhaps if she kept him smug and happy, he’d find no need for a crueler hand. “There is no woman in Egypt luckier than I, to have so pleased our most honored and beloved Evening Star.”
Looking up, Nia dared a smile, one she hoped came off as playful and sultry rather than anxious and terrified. “I have dreamed of you in the nights since our time before,” she murmured in a low voice, trying to paint her nightmares into a brighter light. “Even my dreams cannot compare to your radiance in front of me now, Master.” She dropped her gaze back to the floor, the dark cascade of her hair falling forward to hide her face. Her own words put a bitter taste in her mouth, but Nia aimed to keep his damage to a minimum. She would do what she could to keep herself intact, even if it meant nearly gagging when she spoke.
“I only pray I will please you so well again tonight.”
The pharaoh had summoned her again.
After the last time, that wretched night of misery and bastardized pleasure, Neithotep had gone home and licked her proverbial wounds for days. Every time she laid her head down to rest, all she could see was the crazed heat in Iahotep’s eyes, staring into her soul like a creature from the underworld. All she could feel was the rasp of his fingers, the lash of his tongue. She’d hoped beyond hope that last night would at last be enough for him and she’d never have to see him again.
Of course, that hope was nowhere to be found.
Nia knelt in the middle of his bedroom floor, her hands settled neatly in her lap and her gaze fixed on the floor. Since she’d entered the room, all had been silent, the Pharaoh’s searing gaze trained on her like a lion stalking its prey. Or more accurately… like a hyena devouring what the lion had already claimed. It made her skin crawl, and she didn’t dare look up. She shuddered to think of what else she might see if she did.
“I am honored that you have called on me again, Master,” she finally whispered into the quiet, thinking to appeal to his ego. That’s what she’d had the most success with in the times before, and perhaps if she kept him smug and happy, he’d find no need for a crueler hand. “There is no woman in Egypt luckier than I, to have so pleased our most honored and beloved Evening Star.”
Looking up, Nia dared a smile, one she hoped came off as playful and sultry rather than anxious and terrified. “I have dreamed of you in the nights since our time before,” she murmured in a low voice, trying to paint her nightmares into a brighter light. “Even my dreams cannot compare to your radiance in front of me now, Master.” She dropped her gaze back to the floor, the dark cascade of her hair falling forward to hide her face. Her own words put a bitter taste in her mouth, but Nia aimed to keep his damage to a minimum. She would do what she could to keep herself intact, even if it meant nearly gagging when she spoke.
“I only pray I will please you so well again tonight.”
It was true that he had left his sweet little plaything alone for a few days time, but it was not to be merciful. No, no, he merely had no chance to summon her beforehand. He was the pharaoh after all, there were matters to attend to, even if his mind wandered back to her. It was frustrating really. All he wanted was to have her again as he had before, and yet she refused him, but Neithotep? she was far too smart do toy with his lust like that.
There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, utterly pleased that she had entered his chambers and kneeled on the floor without his express instructions. Such a good little girl, already so responsive to her training. Ah yes, training. While he enjoyed the warmth of her body and the terror in her eyes, his sweet, sweet toy was not yet what he needed her to be. She would have to be molded to fit his preferences and that would begin tonight. Though he remained lounged in a chair, legs spread as his burning gaze focused on her, he could still feel the end of the whip against his side. Something commonly used for slaves would now be used to turn his lovely toy into what he truly desired. Oh, the things he was going to do.
Before he could rise and order her to come to him, she spoke. He was initially irritated — how dare she speak without his express permission? — until he heard her words. She was honored. She was lucky. She...dreamt of him? Something stirred inside Iahotep, something that had him on his feet and standing before her in seconds, something that bid his arms to pull her to her feet and into a deep, hungry kiss. The whip was long forgotten on the chair. He cupped her face, holding back a groan as he moved to taste her. She was delicious. Only when he could no longer breathe did he pull away and push her back down where she had knelt on the floor.
His eyes never once leaving her as he reached down to stroke her hair. So soft. So pullable. Still, she seemed so eager to please him, so he remained gentle.
“Tell me, my dear, what were your dreams like?” He inquired softly, “did your skin burn as it does now?” Oh, he wanted, no, needed details of what went on in that pretty little head of hers. The dark desire within him craved it. And she would give it to him or he would be utilizing the whip far sooner than he planned.
“Spare no detail.”
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It was true that he had left his sweet little plaything alone for a few days time, but it was not to be merciful. No, no, he merely had no chance to summon her beforehand. He was the pharaoh after all, there were matters to attend to, even if his mind wandered back to her. It was frustrating really. All he wanted was to have her again as he had before, and yet she refused him, but Neithotep? she was far too smart do toy with his lust like that.
There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, utterly pleased that she had entered his chambers and kneeled on the floor without his express instructions. Such a good little girl, already so responsive to her training. Ah yes, training. While he enjoyed the warmth of her body and the terror in her eyes, his sweet, sweet toy was not yet what he needed her to be. She would have to be molded to fit his preferences and that would begin tonight. Though he remained lounged in a chair, legs spread as his burning gaze focused on her, he could still feel the end of the whip against his side. Something commonly used for slaves would now be used to turn his lovely toy into what he truly desired. Oh, the things he was going to do.
Before he could rise and order her to come to him, she spoke. He was initially irritated — how dare she speak without his express permission? — until he heard her words. She was honored. She was lucky. She...dreamt of him? Something stirred inside Iahotep, something that had him on his feet and standing before her in seconds, something that bid his arms to pull her to her feet and into a deep, hungry kiss. The whip was long forgotten on the chair. He cupped her face, holding back a groan as he moved to taste her. She was delicious. Only when he could no longer breathe did he pull away and push her back down where she had knelt on the floor.
His eyes never once leaving her as he reached down to stroke her hair. So soft. So pullable. Still, she seemed so eager to please him, so he remained gentle.
“Tell me, my dear, what were your dreams like?” He inquired softly, “did your skin burn as it does now?” Oh, he wanted, no, needed details of what went on in that pretty little head of hers. The dark desire within him craved it. And she would give it to him or he would be utilizing the whip far sooner than he planned.
“Spare no detail.”
It was true that he had left his sweet little plaything alone for a few days time, but it was not to be merciful. No, no, he merely had no chance to summon her beforehand. He was the pharaoh after all, there were matters to attend to, even if his mind wandered back to her. It was frustrating really. All he wanted was to have her again as he had before, and yet she refused him, but Neithotep? she was far too smart do toy with his lust like that.
There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, utterly pleased that she had entered his chambers and kneeled on the floor without his express instructions. Such a good little girl, already so responsive to her training. Ah yes, training. While he enjoyed the warmth of her body and the terror in her eyes, his sweet, sweet toy was not yet what he needed her to be. She would have to be molded to fit his preferences and that would begin tonight. Though he remained lounged in a chair, legs spread as his burning gaze focused on her, he could still feel the end of the whip against his side. Something commonly used for slaves would now be used to turn his lovely toy into what he truly desired. Oh, the things he was going to do.
Before he could rise and order her to come to him, she spoke. He was initially irritated — how dare she speak without his express permission? — until he heard her words. She was honored. She was lucky. She...dreamt of him? Something stirred inside Iahotep, something that had him on his feet and standing before her in seconds, something that bid his arms to pull her to her feet and into a deep, hungry kiss. The whip was long forgotten on the chair. He cupped her face, holding back a groan as he moved to taste her. She was delicious. Only when he could no longer breathe did he pull away and push her back down where she had knelt on the floor.
His eyes never once leaving her as he reached down to stroke her hair. So soft. So pullable. Still, she seemed so eager to please him, so he remained gentle.
“Tell me, my dear, what were your dreams like?” He inquired softly, “did your skin burn as it does now?” Oh, he wanted, no, needed details of what went on in that pretty little head of hers. The dark desire within him craved it. And she would give it to him or he would be utilizing the whip far sooner than he planned.
“Spare no detail.”
The kiss caught her off guard, his arms pulling her to her feet and her mouth locked up in his before she could even respond. That’s interesting, Nia thought, even as she closed her eyes and relaxed into the embrace. Having seen the whip curled in his hand and then left behind in the chair, she would much rather take this over what he seemed to have planned for her. Perhaps if she kept up this coquettish flirting and shameless flattering, this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Just as quickly as he’d snatched her up, the Pharaoh released her back to the floor, his hand curling through her hair. Her knees thudded hard against the stone tile, but she repressed a grimace--she didn’t want him to think she was displeased. A shiver ran down her spine at his gentle touch, closing her eyes, swallowing her revulsion, and leaning into it. At least he wasn’t hitting her.
Lie, Nia. Lie like you’ve never lied before.
Turning her head, she laid a kiss against his palm, dark eyes looking up to catch his gaze again. “My skin burned even hotter, Master,” she whispered, a tremble in her voice that she would let him attribute to the force of her desire. “As did yours. It was just as the first night we had together when I was laid out on your bed and you had buried yourself within me.” She stopped to take a deep breath, swallowing hard before she steeled her resolve and continued, “I could feel it all over again… your strength, your dominance. I cried out for you again and again, and the very stars themselves were envious of how brightly you shone.”
Her smile was a little more convincing than it had been before, gently reaching for his hand to pull it against her cheek. Covering it with her own, she leaned her face into his calloused palm and closed her eyes, as if imagining what it was she was describing. “I begged for you to touch me again and again, and when you did, it was like nothing I’d felt before. None can compare, Master, not even in my dreams.” Opening her eyes again, she released his hand and looked up at him with a liquid gaze. “Your glory could never be matched, of course. Any man would be foolish to try.”
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The kiss caught her off guard, his arms pulling her to her feet and her mouth locked up in his before she could even respond. That’s interesting, Nia thought, even as she closed her eyes and relaxed into the embrace. Having seen the whip curled in his hand and then left behind in the chair, she would much rather take this over what he seemed to have planned for her. Perhaps if she kept up this coquettish flirting and shameless flattering, this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Just as quickly as he’d snatched her up, the Pharaoh released her back to the floor, his hand curling through her hair. Her knees thudded hard against the stone tile, but she repressed a grimace--she didn’t want him to think she was displeased. A shiver ran down her spine at his gentle touch, closing her eyes, swallowing her revulsion, and leaning into it. At least he wasn’t hitting her.
Lie, Nia. Lie like you’ve never lied before.
Turning her head, she laid a kiss against his palm, dark eyes looking up to catch his gaze again. “My skin burned even hotter, Master,” she whispered, a tremble in her voice that she would let him attribute to the force of her desire. “As did yours. It was just as the first night we had together when I was laid out on your bed and you had buried yourself within me.” She stopped to take a deep breath, swallowing hard before she steeled her resolve and continued, “I could feel it all over again… your strength, your dominance. I cried out for you again and again, and the very stars themselves were envious of how brightly you shone.”
Her smile was a little more convincing than it had been before, gently reaching for his hand to pull it against her cheek. Covering it with her own, she leaned her face into his calloused palm and closed her eyes, as if imagining what it was she was describing. “I begged for you to touch me again and again, and when you did, it was like nothing I’d felt before. None can compare, Master, not even in my dreams.” Opening her eyes again, she released his hand and looked up at him with a liquid gaze. “Your glory could never be matched, of course. Any man would be foolish to try.”
The kiss caught her off guard, his arms pulling her to her feet and her mouth locked up in his before she could even respond. That’s interesting, Nia thought, even as she closed her eyes and relaxed into the embrace. Having seen the whip curled in his hand and then left behind in the chair, she would much rather take this over what he seemed to have planned for her. Perhaps if she kept up this coquettish flirting and shameless flattering, this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Just as quickly as he’d snatched her up, the Pharaoh released her back to the floor, his hand curling through her hair. Her knees thudded hard against the stone tile, but she repressed a grimace--she didn’t want him to think she was displeased. A shiver ran down her spine at his gentle touch, closing her eyes, swallowing her revulsion, and leaning into it. At least he wasn’t hitting her.
Lie, Nia. Lie like you’ve never lied before.
Turning her head, she laid a kiss against his palm, dark eyes looking up to catch his gaze again. “My skin burned even hotter, Master,” she whispered, a tremble in her voice that she would let him attribute to the force of her desire. “As did yours. It was just as the first night we had together when I was laid out on your bed and you had buried yourself within me.” She stopped to take a deep breath, swallowing hard before she steeled her resolve and continued, “I could feel it all over again… your strength, your dominance. I cried out for you again and again, and the very stars themselves were envious of how brightly you shone.”
Her smile was a little more convincing than it had been before, gently reaching for his hand to pull it against her cheek. Covering it with her own, she leaned her face into his calloused palm and closed her eyes, as if imagining what it was she was describing. “I begged for you to touch me again and again, and when you did, it was like nothing I’d felt before. None can compare, Master, not even in my dreams.” Opening her eyes again, she released his hand and looked up at him with a liquid gaze. “Your glory could never be matched, of course. Any man would be foolish to try.”
He listened intently, hanging on to every word that proceeded from her lips. She leaned into his hand like she had on their first night together. It was beautiful. His touch became even softer, as though he were caressing his beloved Isis. Her soft voice and trembling forced him to suppress a deep groan. Gods she was perfect. “Is that so, my dear?” He questioned lightly though his eyes burned with bright intensity.
He was taken aback when she reached for his hand and pressed her face into his palm, though his face remained eerily calm. Agan, he had not instructed her to touch him and again she had done so without his permission and yet, he couldn’t give any less of a damn. It was a lovely sign, one that suggested his plaything wouldn’t need as much training as he thought. His smile grew slightly visible when she spoke about his glory. Oh, she was telling him what he wanted to hear and he didn’t care. It was a relief not to hear the idiotic squawking in the suits that surround him. He merely need to hear about how much he affected her to lose himself a groaned lowly.
He withdrew his hand slightly, through his fingertips still danced along her cheeks. His hand gripped her chin as he forced her to look him in the eyes. “Close your eyes.” He commanded. And when she obeyed like he knew she would, he returned to his seat to collect the whip. Standing before her again, he allowed the tendril to tickle her exposed skin lightly.
“We’re beginning your training tonight,” he purred, “You’re going to learn to love what I do to your body...long for my touch. Are you ready?” He didn’t care why she might say, because he was already giving his next orders.
“Stand and undress.” He commanded, hiding the whip behind his back once he withdrew its touch from her face. He was eager to see her naked body before him, to have a responsive woman in the bedchamber, to have a toy that was his to play with without fear of repercussions and interlopers.
She was his.
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He listened intently, hanging on to every word that proceeded from her lips. She leaned into his hand like she had on their first night together. It was beautiful. His touch became even softer, as though he were caressing his beloved Isis. Her soft voice and trembling forced him to suppress a deep groan. Gods she was perfect. “Is that so, my dear?” He questioned lightly though his eyes burned with bright intensity.
He was taken aback when she reached for his hand and pressed her face into his palm, though his face remained eerily calm. Agan, he had not instructed her to touch him and again she had done so without his permission and yet, he couldn’t give any less of a damn. It was a lovely sign, one that suggested his plaything wouldn’t need as much training as he thought. His smile grew slightly visible when she spoke about his glory. Oh, she was telling him what he wanted to hear and he didn’t care. It was a relief not to hear the idiotic squawking in the suits that surround him. He merely need to hear about how much he affected her to lose himself a groaned lowly.
He withdrew his hand slightly, through his fingertips still danced along her cheeks. His hand gripped her chin as he forced her to look him in the eyes. “Close your eyes.” He commanded. And when she obeyed like he knew she would, he returned to his seat to collect the whip. Standing before her again, he allowed the tendril to tickle her exposed skin lightly.
“We’re beginning your training tonight,” he purred, “You’re going to learn to love what I do to your body...long for my touch. Are you ready?” He didn’t care why she might say, because he was already giving his next orders.
“Stand and undress.” He commanded, hiding the whip behind his back once he withdrew its touch from her face. He was eager to see her naked body before him, to have a responsive woman in the bedchamber, to have a toy that was his to play with without fear of repercussions and interlopers.
She was his.
He listened intently, hanging on to every word that proceeded from her lips. She leaned into his hand like she had on their first night together. It was beautiful. His touch became even softer, as though he were caressing his beloved Isis. Her soft voice and trembling forced him to suppress a deep groan. Gods she was perfect. “Is that so, my dear?” He questioned lightly though his eyes burned with bright intensity.
He was taken aback when she reached for his hand and pressed her face into his palm, though his face remained eerily calm. Agan, he had not instructed her to touch him and again she had done so without his permission and yet, he couldn’t give any less of a damn. It was a lovely sign, one that suggested his plaything wouldn’t need as much training as he thought. His smile grew slightly visible when she spoke about his glory. Oh, she was telling him what he wanted to hear and he didn’t care. It was a relief not to hear the idiotic squawking in the suits that surround him. He merely need to hear about how much he affected her to lose himself a groaned lowly.
He withdrew his hand slightly, through his fingertips still danced along her cheeks. His hand gripped her chin as he forced her to look him in the eyes. “Close your eyes.” He commanded. And when she obeyed like he knew she would, he returned to his seat to collect the whip. Standing before her again, he allowed the tendril to tickle her exposed skin lightly.
“We’re beginning your training tonight,” he purred, “You’re going to learn to love what I do to your body...long for my touch. Are you ready?” He didn’t care why she might say, because he was already giving his next orders.
“Stand and undress.” He commanded, hiding the whip behind his back once he withdrew its touch from her face. He was eager to see her naked body before him, to have a responsive woman in the bedchamber, to have a toy that was his to play with without fear of repercussions and interlopers.
She was his.
Releasing a shaky breath, Nia closed her eyes when he commanded, listening to the sound of his footsteps as they retreated. It sounded like he was heading back over to the chair, and her trembling started up again. Her heart sped up when she heard him return, the leather that brushed her cheek causing her to recoil. Gods, no. He couldn’t actually mean to…?
Training.
What did he mean by that? How did he mean to train her? The lascivious tone of his voice as he murmured his intentions nearly made her weep. How could she ever learn to love what he did to her? She refused to imagine any sane woman that could. She was terrified at the prospect of what he had planned, this ‘training’ that would condition her to his hand. The deadliest spider in all of Egypt had her caught in its web. Was there anything she could do to wriggle free?
Opening her eyes and standing at his command, Nia saw his arms tucked behind his back and tried not to shiver. Their first encounter had proved his depravity, but a whip… she was not an animal or a slave. Perhaps he only meant to threaten her with it, to make her afraid. Glancing up at his face, her own set in a carefully neutral expression, she swallowed hard. No. It was no idle threat. This man was mad, and she had every reason to be afraid.
She clenched her fists to still the nervous movement of her hands, doing her best to plaster a smile over her face as she started to slowly peel away her attire. Clumsy fingers undid the ties that held her kalasiris in place, carefully sliding it over her shoulders to let it pool on the floor around her. She fought the urge to cover herself with her hands, instead forcing them to hang in front of her.
Twining her fingers together, Nia dropped her gaze to the floor, shifting anxiously under his regard. “Please, Master,” she whispered. “I ask only for your mercy. I will do whatever it is you require without question… I do not…” She stopped and cleared her throat, which was suddenly as dry as the Sahara itself. She continued in a small voice that pled for leniency, “I don’t want you to hurt me.”
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Releasing a shaky breath, Nia closed her eyes when he commanded, listening to the sound of his footsteps as they retreated. It sounded like he was heading back over to the chair, and her trembling started up again. Her heart sped up when she heard him return, the leather that brushed her cheek causing her to recoil. Gods, no. He couldn’t actually mean to…?
Training.
What did he mean by that? How did he mean to train her? The lascivious tone of his voice as he murmured his intentions nearly made her weep. How could she ever learn to love what he did to her? She refused to imagine any sane woman that could. She was terrified at the prospect of what he had planned, this ‘training’ that would condition her to his hand. The deadliest spider in all of Egypt had her caught in its web. Was there anything she could do to wriggle free?
Opening her eyes and standing at his command, Nia saw his arms tucked behind his back and tried not to shiver. Their first encounter had proved his depravity, but a whip… she was not an animal or a slave. Perhaps he only meant to threaten her with it, to make her afraid. Glancing up at his face, her own set in a carefully neutral expression, she swallowed hard. No. It was no idle threat. This man was mad, and she had every reason to be afraid.
She clenched her fists to still the nervous movement of her hands, doing her best to plaster a smile over her face as she started to slowly peel away her attire. Clumsy fingers undid the ties that held her kalasiris in place, carefully sliding it over her shoulders to let it pool on the floor around her. She fought the urge to cover herself with her hands, instead forcing them to hang in front of her.
Twining her fingers together, Nia dropped her gaze to the floor, shifting anxiously under his regard. “Please, Master,” she whispered. “I ask only for your mercy. I will do whatever it is you require without question… I do not…” She stopped and cleared her throat, which was suddenly as dry as the Sahara itself. She continued in a small voice that pled for leniency, “I don’t want you to hurt me.”
Releasing a shaky breath, Nia closed her eyes when he commanded, listening to the sound of his footsteps as they retreated. It sounded like he was heading back over to the chair, and her trembling started up again. Her heart sped up when she heard him return, the leather that brushed her cheek causing her to recoil. Gods, no. He couldn’t actually mean to…?
Training.
What did he mean by that? How did he mean to train her? The lascivious tone of his voice as he murmured his intentions nearly made her weep. How could she ever learn to love what he did to her? She refused to imagine any sane woman that could. She was terrified at the prospect of what he had planned, this ‘training’ that would condition her to his hand. The deadliest spider in all of Egypt had her caught in its web. Was there anything she could do to wriggle free?
Opening her eyes and standing at his command, Nia saw his arms tucked behind his back and tried not to shiver. Their first encounter had proved his depravity, but a whip… she was not an animal or a slave. Perhaps he only meant to threaten her with it, to make her afraid. Glancing up at his face, her own set in a carefully neutral expression, she swallowed hard. No. It was no idle threat. This man was mad, and she had every reason to be afraid.
She clenched her fists to still the nervous movement of her hands, doing her best to plaster a smile over her face as she started to slowly peel away her attire. Clumsy fingers undid the ties that held her kalasiris in place, carefully sliding it over her shoulders to let it pool on the floor around her. She fought the urge to cover herself with her hands, instead forcing them to hang in front of her.
Twining her fingers together, Nia dropped her gaze to the floor, shifting anxiously under his regard. “Please, Master,” she whispered. “I ask only for your mercy. I will do whatever it is you require without question… I do not…” She stopped and cleared her throat, which was suddenly as dry as the Sahara itself. She continued in a small voice that pled for leniency, “I don’t want you to hurt me.”
She recoiled from the touch of the whip and his mood soured near instantaneously. While it was true the movement had been hardly noticeable, he had noticed it. Perhaps she wasn’t as ready as she presented herself to be, for again, she defied his wishes. She would be able to see the shift in his eyes as the remnants of his smile disappeared as though it had never been there to begin with. He was clearly displeased and he stood in silence, staring her down for a long, long moment so that there would be no mistake about how he felt toward her behavior. Still, despite his disappointment with her, he did not strike her face -- that would come later.
Instead, after a grueling amount of silence, he spoke. “Do not do that again, my dear, or you will regret it.” She may have considered this a rare mercy, though it was not. He was merely delaying the inevitable for his own pleasure.
He questioned her smile as he watched her undress, for she had proven that she couldn’t possibly be as eager to serve as he told her. Was she lying to him or was her terror taking hold? Iahotep was not blind to her fear. He reveled in it. But a lie? That would bring punishment unlike any she had known beforehand. Though, he found he wasn’t wholly interested in finding out...her eagerness, feigned or otherwise stirred a dark lust in him that didn’t care whether her actions were genuine or not.
He held back laughter when she began to plead with him for a mercy he did not possess. He reached out to her with one hand, pulling her naked form to his bare chest, his head leaning in close to her ear as he whispered. “Shh, my dear, you will no longer speak without being addressed first.” He pressed ferevent, hot kisses against her throat, sucking gently on the flesh before he wrapped both hands around her so that the leather of the whip brushed against the curve of her hips.
He took a moment and pulled back so he could look her in the eyes. “Who said I would hurt you?” He inquired, tilting his head slightly. “Do you believe you have done something to bring my wrath upon you?”
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She recoiled from the touch of the whip and his mood soured near instantaneously. While it was true the movement had been hardly noticeable, he had noticed it. Perhaps she wasn’t as ready as she presented herself to be, for again, she defied his wishes. She would be able to see the shift in his eyes as the remnants of his smile disappeared as though it had never been there to begin with. He was clearly displeased and he stood in silence, staring her down for a long, long moment so that there would be no mistake about how he felt toward her behavior. Still, despite his disappointment with her, he did not strike her face -- that would come later.
Instead, after a grueling amount of silence, he spoke. “Do not do that again, my dear, or you will regret it.” She may have considered this a rare mercy, though it was not. He was merely delaying the inevitable for his own pleasure.
He questioned her smile as he watched her undress, for she had proven that she couldn’t possibly be as eager to serve as he told her. Was she lying to him or was her terror taking hold? Iahotep was not blind to her fear. He reveled in it. But a lie? That would bring punishment unlike any she had known beforehand. Though, he found he wasn’t wholly interested in finding out...her eagerness, feigned or otherwise stirred a dark lust in him that didn’t care whether her actions were genuine or not.
He held back laughter when she began to plead with him for a mercy he did not possess. He reached out to her with one hand, pulling her naked form to his bare chest, his head leaning in close to her ear as he whispered. “Shh, my dear, you will no longer speak without being addressed first.” He pressed ferevent, hot kisses against her throat, sucking gently on the flesh before he wrapped both hands around her so that the leather of the whip brushed against the curve of her hips.
He took a moment and pulled back so he could look her in the eyes. “Who said I would hurt you?” He inquired, tilting his head slightly. “Do you believe you have done something to bring my wrath upon you?”
She recoiled from the touch of the whip and his mood soured near instantaneously. While it was true the movement had been hardly noticeable, he had noticed it. Perhaps she wasn’t as ready as she presented herself to be, for again, she defied his wishes. She would be able to see the shift in his eyes as the remnants of his smile disappeared as though it had never been there to begin with. He was clearly displeased and he stood in silence, staring her down for a long, long moment so that there would be no mistake about how he felt toward her behavior. Still, despite his disappointment with her, he did not strike her face -- that would come later.
Instead, after a grueling amount of silence, he spoke. “Do not do that again, my dear, or you will regret it.” She may have considered this a rare mercy, though it was not. He was merely delaying the inevitable for his own pleasure.
He questioned her smile as he watched her undress, for she had proven that she couldn’t possibly be as eager to serve as he told her. Was she lying to him or was her terror taking hold? Iahotep was not blind to her fear. He reveled in it. But a lie? That would bring punishment unlike any she had known beforehand. Though, he found he wasn’t wholly interested in finding out...her eagerness, feigned or otherwise stirred a dark lust in him that didn’t care whether her actions were genuine or not.
He held back laughter when she began to plead with him for a mercy he did not possess. He reached out to her with one hand, pulling her naked form to his bare chest, his head leaning in close to her ear as he whispered. “Shh, my dear, you will no longer speak without being addressed first.” He pressed ferevent, hot kisses against her throat, sucking gently on the flesh before he wrapped both hands around her so that the leather of the whip brushed against the curve of her hips.
He took a moment and pulled back so he could look her in the eyes. “Who said I would hurt you?” He inquired, tilting his head slightly. “Do you believe you have done something to bring my wrath upon you?”
The look on the Pharaoh’s face when she jerked her head back from the touch of the whip made her stomach drop, the hair raising on the back of her neck. Nia thought about throwing herself at his feet and begging for his forgiveness, if only to rid him of that expression, but eventually he seemed to relent. When he warned her not to do it again, she released a shaky breath and quickly nodded in assent.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered, dropping her eyes away from that soulless look that lingered about his features. “It was but a reflex, nothing more.”
When he pulled her to his chest and warned her against speaking out of turn, she suppressed a shudder, the hot murmur of his voice in her ear making her breath come short. His lips were against her throat when she started to tremble again, though she did her best to relax in his grip. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her fear, but she was helpless to quell it entirely. When she felt the leather of the whip brush against her hips and rear, it was all she could do not to break away and bolt. Gods, but what had she ever done to deserve this?
Who said I would hurt you?
Nia looked at him with an expression that bordered on blatant disbelief, doubt starting to cloud her features. Did he not mean to hurt her? Was he merely trying to intimidate her? Or was this just another trick, a false lure into security that would soon be snatched from under her very feet?
“I…” she trailed off, not sure how she should answer. Why wouldn’t she think he was going to hurt her with a weapon curled in the same hand that caressed her bare skin? “Forgive me if I have been too bold in my assumption, but…” Swallowing hard when he met her eyes, she dropped her own gaze after a moment and shook her head. “I saw the whip, and it frightened me. I do not wish to displease you and I did not think I had angered you, but when I saw it, I worried that I had…”
Biting her lip, Nia met the Pharaoh’s gaze again and brought a gentle hand to rest against his chest. “Please, Master. I only want to make you happy.”
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The look on the Pharaoh’s face when she jerked her head back from the touch of the whip made her stomach drop, the hair raising on the back of her neck. Nia thought about throwing herself at his feet and begging for his forgiveness, if only to rid him of that expression, but eventually he seemed to relent. When he warned her not to do it again, she released a shaky breath and quickly nodded in assent.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered, dropping her eyes away from that soulless look that lingered about his features. “It was but a reflex, nothing more.”
When he pulled her to his chest and warned her against speaking out of turn, she suppressed a shudder, the hot murmur of his voice in her ear making her breath come short. His lips were against her throat when she started to tremble again, though she did her best to relax in his grip. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her fear, but she was helpless to quell it entirely. When she felt the leather of the whip brush against her hips and rear, it was all she could do not to break away and bolt. Gods, but what had she ever done to deserve this?
Who said I would hurt you?
Nia looked at him with an expression that bordered on blatant disbelief, doubt starting to cloud her features. Did he not mean to hurt her? Was he merely trying to intimidate her? Or was this just another trick, a false lure into security that would soon be snatched from under her very feet?
“I…” she trailed off, not sure how she should answer. Why wouldn’t she think he was going to hurt her with a weapon curled in the same hand that caressed her bare skin? “Forgive me if I have been too bold in my assumption, but…” Swallowing hard when he met her eyes, she dropped her own gaze after a moment and shook her head. “I saw the whip, and it frightened me. I do not wish to displease you and I did not think I had angered you, but when I saw it, I worried that I had…”
Biting her lip, Nia met the Pharaoh’s gaze again and brought a gentle hand to rest against his chest. “Please, Master. I only want to make you happy.”
The look on the Pharaoh’s face when she jerked her head back from the touch of the whip made her stomach drop, the hair raising on the back of her neck. Nia thought about throwing herself at his feet and begging for his forgiveness, if only to rid him of that expression, but eventually he seemed to relent. When he warned her not to do it again, she released a shaky breath and quickly nodded in assent.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered, dropping her eyes away from that soulless look that lingered about his features. “It was but a reflex, nothing more.”
When he pulled her to his chest and warned her against speaking out of turn, she suppressed a shudder, the hot murmur of his voice in her ear making her breath come short. His lips were against her throat when she started to tremble again, though she did her best to relax in his grip. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her fear, but she was helpless to quell it entirely. When she felt the leather of the whip brush against her hips and rear, it was all she could do not to break away and bolt. Gods, but what had she ever done to deserve this?
Who said I would hurt you?
Nia looked at him with an expression that bordered on blatant disbelief, doubt starting to cloud her features. Did he not mean to hurt her? Was he merely trying to intimidate her? Or was this just another trick, a false lure into security that would soon be snatched from under her very feet?
“I…” she trailed off, not sure how she should answer. Why wouldn’t she think he was going to hurt her with a weapon curled in the same hand that caressed her bare skin? “Forgive me if I have been too bold in my assumption, but…” Swallowing hard when he met her eyes, she dropped her own gaze after a moment and shook her head. “I saw the whip, and it frightened me. I do not wish to displease you and I did not think I had angered you, but when I saw it, I worried that I had…”
Biting her lip, Nia met the Pharaoh’s gaze again and brought a gentle hand to rest against his chest. “Please, Master. I only want to make you happy.”
She was learning, even if it was slowly, she was learning. How quickly she apologized after he corrected her without harm. A beautiful, submissive woman was all he wanted, and there she was, whispering the words he longed to hear. He looked her over carefully, looking for any sign of deception in her apology. When he found none, he addressed her. “See to it that you do not shy away again.” That was her final warning.
He raised a brow, questioning her own bemusement, albeit far more seriously. The seriousness in his eyes dared her to keep the look of disbelief on her face. He was only satisfied when she looked away from him. The fear in her words, the sheer terror caused by nothing more than a whip amusement him to no end. Striking fear into her heart with a weapon he hadn’t even had the chance to use yet put faintest smirk on his lips. Oh, Neithotep, what little do you know.
“If you continue to please me, there will be no need to fear the whip…” he uttered softly, holding her tightly against him. “Displease me, however…” he allowed the ends of the whip to run along her rear — a warning she not soon forget.
Her last statement, however, was what caught his attention. “How noble. She wishes to make her master happy,” he near rolled his eyes.
“Turn around.” He commanded letting her go to do as he bid.
When she did, he struck her across the back, hard enough to send painful stinging sensations through her skin. Quickly after, he came close and reached between her thighs, fingers caressing her warm slit. He pressed his chin lightly where he shoulder and neck met, and whispered lowly in her ear. “What if your pain makes me happy?”
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She was learning, even if it was slowly, she was learning. How quickly she apologized after he corrected her without harm. A beautiful, submissive woman was all he wanted, and there she was, whispering the words he longed to hear. He looked her over carefully, looking for any sign of deception in her apology. When he found none, he addressed her. “See to it that you do not shy away again.” That was her final warning.
He raised a brow, questioning her own bemusement, albeit far more seriously. The seriousness in his eyes dared her to keep the look of disbelief on her face. He was only satisfied when she looked away from him. The fear in her words, the sheer terror caused by nothing more than a whip amusement him to no end. Striking fear into her heart with a weapon he hadn’t even had the chance to use yet put faintest smirk on his lips. Oh, Neithotep, what little do you know.
“If you continue to please me, there will be no need to fear the whip…” he uttered softly, holding her tightly against him. “Displease me, however…” he allowed the ends of the whip to run along her rear — a warning she not soon forget.
Her last statement, however, was what caught his attention. “How noble. She wishes to make her master happy,” he near rolled his eyes.
“Turn around.” He commanded letting her go to do as he bid.
When she did, he struck her across the back, hard enough to send painful stinging sensations through her skin. Quickly after, he came close and reached between her thighs, fingers caressing her warm slit. He pressed his chin lightly where he shoulder and neck met, and whispered lowly in her ear. “What if your pain makes me happy?”
She was learning, even if it was slowly, she was learning. How quickly she apologized after he corrected her without harm. A beautiful, submissive woman was all he wanted, and there she was, whispering the words he longed to hear. He looked her over carefully, looking for any sign of deception in her apology. When he found none, he addressed her. “See to it that you do not shy away again.” That was her final warning.
He raised a brow, questioning her own bemusement, albeit far more seriously. The seriousness in his eyes dared her to keep the look of disbelief on her face. He was only satisfied when she looked away from him. The fear in her words, the sheer terror caused by nothing more than a whip amusement him to no end. Striking fear into her heart with a weapon he hadn’t even had the chance to use yet put faintest smirk on his lips. Oh, Neithotep, what little do you know.
“If you continue to please me, there will be no need to fear the whip…” he uttered softly, holding her tightly against him. “Displease me, however…” he allowed the ends of the whip to run along her rear — a warning she not soon forget.
Her last statement, however, was what caught his attention. “How noble. She wishes to make her master happy,” he near rolled his eyes.
“Turn around.” He commanded letting her go to do as he bid.
When she did, he struck her across the back, hard enough to send painful stinging sensations through her skin. Quickly after, he came close and reached between her thighs, fingers caressing her warm slit. He pressed his chin lightly where he shoulder and neck met, and whispered lowly in her ear. “What if your pain makes me happy?”
Nia bit her lip on a whimper when the whip trailed across her flesh, closing her eyes as he pulled her in closer. She nodded in affirmation that she wouldn’t displease him, his warning not lost on her. He wouldn’t have to tell her again.
Slowly turning around at his command, she clenched her hands in front of her and silently uttered a prayer to whichever of the gods might be listening. Somehow, she doubted any of them were giving heed to her whispers any more. And if they were… what cruel avarice would lead them to place her here in this sadist’s clutches?
Searing flashes of crimson cut across her vision when he struck her, Nia crying out sharply in pain. Her back arched at the cruel kiss of leather, a welt quickly raising in its place. She’d known the blow was coming, and yet there was still little she could do to prepare for it. Her prayer had been for naught, a desperate plea falling on deaf ears that let her know she was truly alone.
What if your pain makes me happy?
His hand between her thighs and his heated whisper in her ear made her shudder, lips parting on a sigh somewhere between anxiety and arousal. What did he think he was about? Training, he’d called it. Like giving a dog a treat when it did as you said. Was this meant to be her treat? That she’d come to accept the pain if it meant pleasure would follow? Had he… had he done this before?
He’s mad.
“Master, please, I…” She breathed out sharply, trying to ignore what his hand was doing to her. She was determined that he would not break her, not in all the ways he seemed so intent on. Nia could pretend, but only so far. And yet, if she didn’t give in…
There was no winning for her, not in any way that wouldn’t make her stomach turn.
“All I want is for you to be pleased with me,” she finally responded, not quite answering the question, but hopefully in such a way that he’d still accept it. Stroking his ego and appealing to his pride seemed to be the solution when all else failed her, so she hoped this time would be no different. How could she ever freely tell him to hurt her as he wished? Was that what he really expected?
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Nia bit her lip on a whimper when the whip trailed across her flesh, closing her eyes as he pulled her in closer. She nodded in affirmation that she wouldn’t displease him, his warning not lost on her. He wouldn’t have to tell her again.
Slowly turning around at his command, she clenched her hands in front of her and silently uttered a prayer to whichever of the gods might be listening. Somehow, she doubted any of them were giving heed to her whispers any more. And if they were… what cruel avarice would lead them to place her here in this sadist’s clutches?
Searing flashes of crimson cut across her vision when he struck her, Nia crying out sharply in pain. Her back arched at the cruel kiss of leather, a welt quickly raising in its place. She’d known the blow was coming, and yet there was still little she could do to prepare for it. Her prayer had been for naught, a desperate plea falling on deaf ears that let her know she was truly alone.
What if your pain makes me happy?
His hand between her thighs and his heated whisper in her ear made her shudder, lips parting on a sigh somewhere between anxiety and arousal. What did he think he was about? Training, he’d called it. Like giving a dog a treat when it did as you said. Was this meant to be her treat? That she’d come to accept the pain if it meant pleasure would follow? Had he… had he done this before?
He’s mad.
“Master, please, I…” She breathed out sharply, trying to ignore what his hand was doing to her. She was determined that he would not break her, not in all the ways he seemed so intent on. Nia could pretend, but only so far. And yet, if she didn’t give in…
There was no winning for her, not in any way that wouldn’t make her stomach turn.
“All I want is for you to be pleased with me,” she finally responded, not quite answering the question, but hopefully in such a way that he’d still accept it. Stroking his ego and appealing to his pride seemed to be the solution when all else failed her, so she hoped this time would be no different. How could she ever freely tell him to hurt her as he wished? Was that what he really expected?
Nia bit her lip on a whimper when the whip trailed across her flesh, closing her eyes as he pulled her in closer. She nodded in affirmation that she wouldn’t displease him, his warning not lost on her. He wouldn’t have to tell her again.
Slowly turning around at his command, she clenched her hands in front of her and silently uttered a prayer to whichever of the gods might be listening. Somehow, she doubted any of them were giving heed to her whispers any more. And if they were… what cruel avarice would lead them to place her here in this sadist’s clutches?
Searing flashes of crimson cut across her vision when he struck her, Nia crying out sharply in pain. Her back arched at the cruel kiss of leather, a welt quickly raising in its place. She’d known the blow was coming, and yet there was still little she could do to prepare for it. Her prayer had been for naught, a desperate plea falling on deaf ears that let her know she was truly alone.
What if your pain makes me happy?
His hand between her thighs and his heated whisper in her ear made her shudder, lips parting on a sigh somewhere between anxiety and arousal. What did he think he was about? Training, he’d called it. Like giving a dog a treat when it did as you said. Was this meant to be her treat? That she’d come to accept the pain if it meant pleasure would follow? Had he… had he done this before?
He’s mad.
“Master, please, I…” She breathed out sharply, trying to ignore what his hand was doing to her. She was determined that he would not break her, not in all the ways he seemed so intent on. Nia could pretend, but only so far. And yet, if she didn’t give in…
There was no winning for her, not in any way that wouldn’t make her stomach turn.
“All I want is for you to be pleased with me,” she finally responded, not quite answering the question, but hopefully in such a way that he’d still accept it. Stroking his ego and appealing to his pride seemed to be the solution when all else failed her, so she hoped this time would be no different. How could she ever freely tell him to hurt her as he wished? Was that what he really expected?
Her cry of pain sent dark arousal through every inch of his body. Gods, the scream of a woman in pain was sweeter than honey to him. The desire to hear her cry out again took hold of him as soon as he could no longer hear it. If he had no self-control, his sweet toy would be on the ground, back covered in welts. He was, however, training her, so he kept the darkest of his urges at bay.
His fingers never stopped their work in trying to bring her closer to an ecstasy she would soon be denied. Her words elicited a deep chuckle from the depths of his chest. All she wanted was to please him? Clever girl, but it appeared she did not yet understand what it took to keep him placated. Their first night together was nothing more than a way for him to quench the lust that had been brewing during the festival. Tonight was about achieving true satisfaction. He would not be content until she readily accepted pain as a part of reaching her own pleasure. If the Gods were kind, he would be able to break her in relatively easily.
“Your pain is what pleases me.” He uttered softly, focusing his attention on pleasuring her with his hand alone.
“Your cries are what please me.” He withdrew his hand from between her legs, moving back only far enough to have enough space to bring the whip down brutally against her soft flesh, and again, and again, and again. Only when he felt she had endured enough punishment did he take hold of her, slide his hand between her thighs again, finding her most sensitive spot and working it with his fingers. Faster and faster his finger rubbed against the bud, eager to bring her closer to orgasm.
He did not stop, even as he spoke to her. “Do you think you can still please me?” His voice was barely above a whisper but the threat behind his words still lingered. She had no choice. He would take his pleasure from her whether she was willing to give it or not.
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Her cry of pain sent dark arousal through every inch of his body. Gods, the scream of a woman in pain was sweeter than honey to him. The desire to hear her cry out again took hold of him as soon as he could no longer hear it. If he had no self-control, his sweet toy would be on the ground, back covered in welts. He was, however, training her, so he kept the darkest of his urges at bay.
His fingers never stopped their work in trying to bring her closer to an ecstasy she would soon be denied. Her words elicited a deep chuckle from the depths of his chest. All she wanted was to please him? Clever girl, but it appeared she did not yet understand what it took to keep him placated. Their first night together was nothing more than a way for him to quench the lust that had been brewing during the festival. Tonight was about achieving true satisfaction. He would not be content until she readily accepted pain as a part of reaching her own pleasure. If the Gods were kind, he would be able to break her in relatively easily.
“Your pain is what pleases me.” He uttered softly, focusing his attention on pleasuring her with his hand alone.
“Your cries are what please me.” He withdrew his hand from between her legs, moving back only far enough to have enough space to bring the whip down brutally against her soft flesh, and again, and again, and again. Only when he felt she had endured enough punishment did he take hold of her, slide his hand between her thighs again, finding her most sensitive spot and working it with his fingers. Faster and faster his finger rubbed against the bud, eager to bring her closer to orgasm.
He did not stop, even as he spoke to her. “Do you think you can still please me?” His voice was barely above a whisper but the threat behind his words still lingered. She had no choice. He would take his pleasure from her whether she was willing to give it or not.
Her cry of pain sent dark arousal through every inch of his body. Gods, the scream of a woman in pain was sweeter than honey to him. The desire to hear her cry out again took hold of him as soon as he could no longer hear it. If he had no self-control, his sweet toy would be on the ground, back covered in welts. He was, however, training her, so he kept the darkest of his urges at bay.
His fingers never stopped their work in trying to bring her closer to an ecstasy she would soon be denied. Her words elicited a deep chuckle from the depths of his chest. All she wanted was to please him? Clever girl, but it appeared she did not yet understand what it took to keep him placated. Their first night together was nothing more than a way for him to quench the lust that had been brewing during the festival. Tonight was about achieving true satisfaction. He would not be content until she readily accepted pain as a part of reaching her own pleasure. If the Gods were kind, he would be able to break her in relatively easily.
“Your pain is what pleases me.” He uttered softly, focusing his attention on pleasuring her with his hand alone.
“Your cries are what please me.” He withdrew his hand from between her legs, moving back only far enough to have enough space to bring the whip down brutally against her soft flesh, and again, and again, and again. Only when he felt she had endured enough punishment did he take hold of her, slide his hand between her thighs again, finding her most sensitive spot and working it with his fingers. Faster and faster his finger rubbed against the bud, eager to bring her closer to orgasm.
He did not stop, even as he spoke to her. “Do you think you can still please me?” His voice was barely above a whisper but the threat behind his words still lingered. She had no choice. He would take his pleasure from her whether she was willing to give it or not.
Your pain is what pleases me.
Nia whimpered as his fingers continued in their torturous game, closing her eyes both against the hateful pleasure they produced and the throb of her quickly reddening welts. How could he find pleasure in pain? What sort of sick monster was he to take such delight in something so cruel? She’d known he was mad the first night they’d lain together, but this? This was on another level entirely.
Your cries are what please me.
His hand withdrew from between her legs, and she didn’t know whether she should be pleased or alarmed. Body tense, Nia took a shuddering breath of both frustration and fear alike. Before she even had a moment’s relief, the whip was striking her again—nearly bringing the woman to her knees with the force of the pain that gripped her.
Her cries barely fell short of screams, each merciless strike of the leather drawing lines of agony across her vision. Bruises were left with each stinging kiss of the whip, knees shaking beneath her while she fought to keep herself upright. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, just when she was about to beg for him to stop, it ceased… only to be replaced by his hand between her legs again.
Tears gathered in her eyes, dark hues glassy with pain and confusion. Why was he doing this to her? What had she ever done to gain the attention of the Pharaoh, of all people, and what could she do to be rid of it? Salty trails stained her cheeks at last, though she kept her face averted. Nia did not want to give Iahotep the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Do you think you can still please me?
The hot whisper in her ear made her shudder, a helpless groan dragged from her lips as his fingers threatened to tease her right over the edge. What sort of demented creature could actually enjoy this? And this was the man meant to protect and rule Egypt? The Pharaoh was said to be Ra on Earth, but if Iahotep was a representation of the gods themselves…
She was not sure she ever wanted to pray again.
Turning in his grasp so that she might see his face, Nia did her best to ignore his movements between her thighs, even if her voice was thick and shaky as she dared to ask, “What about you, Master? How do you like pain?”
Overcome by a dark, insane impulse and unable to stop herself in time, the young lady of Hei Sheifa growled, lifted her hand, and struck him across the face, reveling briefly in the resounding slap that echoed through the room. Just as soon as she felt that triumph, however, it was immediately replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread and despair, her eyes widening in shocked panic when she realized just exactly what she’d done. She had assaulted the Pharaoh. No matter how he had abused her, no matter how much her flesh seared and her body ached, she couldn’t believe her own actions. One did not just strike the king of kings. Not unless one had a death wish.
Which apparently she did.
“Master, f-forgive, p-please,” she pled in a stuttering whisper, the color quickly draining from her face. Trembling violently, she went on, “I don’t know what c-came over me… the shock, perhaps the pain… I’m so s-sorry, M-Master, I won’t…”
Breath held tight in her lungs, she waited for his response, nauseous and clammy with the fear that she’d surely lose her head by morning.
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Your pain is what pleases me.
Nia whimpered as his fingers continued in their torturous game, closing her eyes both against the hateful pleasure they produced and the throb of her quickly reddening welts. How could he find pleasure in pain? What sort of sick monster was he to take such delight in something so cruel? She’d known he was mad the first night they’d lain together, but this? This was on another level entirely.
Your cries are what please me.
His hand withdrew from between her legs, and she didn’t know whether she should be pleased or alarmed. Body tense, Nia took a shuddering breath of both frustration and fear alike. Before she even had a moment’s relief, the whip was striking her again—nearly bringing the woman to her knees with the force of the pain that gripped her.
Her cries barely fell short of screams, each merciless strike of the leather drawing lines of agony across her vision. Bruises were left with each stinging kiss of the whip, knees shaking beneath her while she fought to keep herself upright. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, just when she was about to beg for him to stop, it ceased… only to be replaced by his hand between her legs again.
Tears gathered in her eyes, dark hues glassy with pain and confusion. Why was he doing this to her? What had she ever done to gain the attention of the Pharaoh, of all people, and what could she do to be rid of it? Salty trails stained her cheeks at last, though she kept her face averted. Nia did not want to give Iahotep the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Do you think you can still please me?
The hot whisper in her ear made her shudder, a helpless groan dragged from her lips as his fingers threatened to tease her right over the edge. What sort of demented creature could actually enjoy this? And this was the man meant to protect and rule Egypt? The Pharaoh was said to be Ra on Earth, but if Iahotep was a representation of the gods themselves…
She was not sure she ever wanted to pray again.
Turning in his grasp so that she might see his face, Nia did her best to ignore his movements between her thighs, even if her voice was thick and shaky as she dared to ask, “What about you, Master? How do you like pain?”
Overcome by a dark, insane impulse and unable to stop herself in time, the young lady of Hei Sheifa growled, lifted her hand, and struck him across the face, reveling briefly in the resounding slap that echoed through the room. Just as soon as she felt that triumph, however, it was immediately replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread and despair, her eyes widening in shocked panic when she realized just exactly what she’d done. She had assaulted the Pharaoh. No matter how he had abused her, no matter how much her flesh seared and her body ached, she couldn’t believe her own actions. One did not just strike the king of kings. Not unless one had a death wish.
Which apparently she did.
“Master, f-forgive, p-please,” she pled in a stuttering whisper, the color quickly draining from her face. Trembling violently, she went on, “I don’t know what c-came over me… the shock, perhaps the pain… I’m so s-sorry, M-Master, I won’t…”
Breath held tight in her lungs, she waited for his response, nauseous and clammy with the fear that she’d surely lose her head by morning.
Your pain is what pleases me.
Nia whimpered as his fingers continued in their torturous game, closing her eyes both against the hateful pleasure they produced and the throb of her quickly reddening welts. How could he find pleasure in pain? What sort of sick monster was he to take such delight in something so cruel? She’d known he was mad the first night they’d lain together, but this? This was on another level entirely.
Your cries are what please me.
His hand withdrew from between her legs, and she didn’t know whether she should be pleased or alarmed. Body tense, Nia took a shuddering breath of both frustration and fear alike. Before she even had a moment’s relief, the whip was striking her again—nearly bringing the woman to her knees with the force of the pain that gripped her.
Her cries barely fell short of screams, each merciless strike of the leather drawing lines of agony across her vision. Bruises were left with each stinging kiss of the whip, knees shaking beneath her while she fought to keep herself upright. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, just when she was about to beg for him to stop, it ceased… only to be replaced by his hand between her legs again.
Tears gathered in her eyes, dark hues glassy with pain and confusion. Why was he doing this to her? What had she ever done to gain the attention of the Pharaoh, of all people, and what could she do to be rid of it? Salty trails stained her cheeks at last, though she kept her face averted. Nia did not want to give Iahotep the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Do you think you can still please me?
The hot whisper in her ear made her shudder, a helpless groan dragged from her lips as his fingers threatened to tease her right over the edge. What sort of demented creature could actually enjoy this? And this was the man meant to protect and rule Egypt? The Pharaoh was said to be Ra on Earth, but if Iahotep was a representation of the gods themselves…
She was not sure she ever wanted to pray again.
Turning in his grasp so that she might see his face, Nia did her best to ignore his movements between her thighs, even if her voice was thick and shaky as she dared to ask, “What about you, Master? How do you like pain?”
Overcome by a dark, insane impulse and unable to stop herself in time, the young lady of Hei Sheifa growled, lifted her hand, and struck him across the face, reveling briefly in the resounding slap that echoed through the room. Just as soon as she felt that triumph, however, it was immediately replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread and despair, her eyes widening in shocked panic when she realized just exactly what she’d done. She had assaulted the Pharaoh. No matter how he had abused her, no matter how much her flesh seared and her body ached, she couldn’t believe her own actions. One did not just strike the king of kings. Not unless one had a death wish.
Which apparently she did.
“Master, f-forgive, p-please,” she pled in a stuttering whisper, the color quickly draining from her face. Trembling violently, she went on, “I don’t know what c-came over me… the shock, perhaps the pain… I’m so s-sorry, M-Master, I won’t…”
Breath held tight in her lungs, she waited for his response, nauseous and clammy with the fear that she’d surely lose her head by morning.
He hadn’t heard her question, for he wasn’t concerned with anything coming out of her mouth. Her tone told him nothing she had to say was important to him. It was likely just another plea for mercy. Perhaps if he had not been so busy toying with her, he would have been able to catch her wrist before her hand made contact with his cheek. He was not so lucky. The sting of her hand against his cheek was a foreign one. Had she just struck him? He lifted a hand to his face, as if he didn’t believe the prickling sensation radiating through his skin. He stared at her as she cowered before him, begging for his forgiveness. The blank look on his face quickly twisted into one of pure rage. How dare she strike her Pharaoh and then ask forgiveness? She truly was a fool.
Quickly, the hand on his face shot forward to grip her throat. It tightened with a crushing strength as he slammed her back against the wall. Dropping the whip, his free hand raised to strike her across the face with brutal force, one that intended to leave a notable mark on her face. He said not a word as he leaned forward and pressed his lips upon hers -- a demanding union that did not care for her struggles.
Suddenly, he pulled back and released the hold on her throat. He would allow her to breathe only because unleashing his rage on a corpse was not nearly as pleasing to him as a live victim. He tightly seized her by the arm and yanked her off the wall and to the center of the room. He did not bother to command her to kneel -- he forced her on her knees himself.
“You,” he said darkly, slowly beginning to circle her, “are lucky I favor you so, or the hand that struck me would be cut from the wrist and served to your mother.” The hatred in his eyes burned brightly. Surely, she knew that the very fire of her life would be quenched if he so wished it? Why then would she grow so bold as to strike him? He might have been curious if his mind were not entirely focused on her suffering. She needed to be reminded of her place, clearly, and it would be a painful lesson. He came to a stop being her and entangled his fingers in her hair before he wrenched her head backward and looked down upon her face.
“Tell me, my dear, do you wish to die?” his tone said he expected no answer. “I think I shall have you killed for my amusement. That is a fitting punishment for the crime you have committed.” He pulled her hair upward, just watch her discomfort before he let her go. Moving to stand before her, Iahotep glared down at her pathetic form with a scowl on his face. He stood in silence for an uncomfortable period of time. “No.” he began, “I will not have you killed. It would be a mercy.” Mercy was the last thing she would receive.
Tonight, Neithotep would bleed.
“Bow.” He commanded. “Bow and tell me how you should be punished.”
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Dec 13, 2019 22:47:44 GMT
Posted In Sing for Me on Dec 13, 2019 22:47:44 GMT
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He hadn’t heard her question, for he wasn’t concerned with anything coming out of her mouth. Her tone told him nothing she had to say was important to him. It was likely just another plea for mercy. Perhaps if he had not been so busy toying with her, he would have been able to catch her wrist before her hand made contact with his cheek. He was not so lucky. The sting of her hand against his cheek was a foreign one. Had she just struck him? He lifted a hand to his face, as if he didn’t believe the prickling sensation radiating through his skin. He stared at her as she cowered before him, begging for his forgiveness. The blank look on his face quickly twisted into one of pure rage. How dare she strike her Pharaoh and then ask forgiveness? She truly was a fool.
Quickly, the hand on his face shot forward to grip her throat. It tightened with a crushing strength as he slammed her back against the wall. Dropping the whip, his free hand raised to strike her across the face with brutal force, one that intended to leave a notable mark on her face. He said not a word as he leaned forward and pressed his lips upon hers -- a demanding union that did not care for her struggles.
Suddenly, he pulled back and released the hold on her throat. He would allow her to breathe only because unleashing his rage on a corpse was not nearly as pleasing to him as a live victim. He tightly seized her by the arm and yanked her off the wall and to the center of the room. He did not bother to command her to kneel -- he forced her on her knees himself.
“You,” he said darkly, slowly beginning to circle her, “are lucky I favor you so, or the hand that struck me would be cut from the wrist and served to your mother.” The hatred in his eyes burned brightly. Surely, she knew that the very fire of her life would be quenched if he so wished it? Why then would she grow so bold as to strike him? He might have been curious if his mind were not entirely focused on her suffering. She needed to be reminded of her place, clearly, and it would be a painful lesson. He came to a stop being her and entangled his fingers in her hair before he wrenched her head backward and looked down upon her face.
“Tell me, my dear, do you wish to die?” his tone said he expected no answer. “I think I shall have you killed for my amusement. That is a fitting punishment for the crime you have committed.” He pulled her hair upward, just watch her discomfort before he let her go. Moving to stand before her, Iahotep glared down at her pathetic form with a scowl on his face. He stood in silence for an uncomfortable period of time. “No.” he began, “I will not have you killed. It would be a mercy.” Mercy was the last thing she would receive.
Tonight, Neithotep would bleed.
“Bow.” He commanded. “Bow and tell me how you should be punished.”
He hadn’t heard her question, for he wasn’t concerned with anything coming out of her mouth. Her tone told him nothing she had to say was important to him. It was likely just another plea for mercy. Perhaps if he had not been so busy toying with her, he would have been able to catch her wrist before her hand made contact with his cheek. He was not so lucky. The sting of her hand against his cheek was a foreign one. Had she just struck him? He lifted a hand to his face, as if he didn’t believe the prickling sensation radiating through his skin. He stared at her as she cowered before him, begging for his forgiveness. The blank look on his face quickly twisted into one of pure rage. How dare she strike her Pharaoh and then ask forgiveness? She truly was a fool.
Quickly, the hand on his face shot forward to grip her throat. It tightened with a crushing strength as he slammed her back against the wall. Dropping the whip, his free hand raised to strike her across the face with brutal force, one that intended to leave a notable mark on her face. He said not a word as he leaned forward and pressed his lips upon hers -- a demanding union that did not care for her struggles.
Suddenly, he pulled back and released the hold on her throat. He would allow her to breathe only because unleashing his rage on a corpse was not nearly as pleasing to him as a live victim. He tightly seized her by the arm and yanked her off the wall and to the center of the room. He did not bother to command her to kneel -- he forced her on her knees himself.
“You,” he said darkly, slowly beginning to circle her, “are lucky I favor you so, or the hand that struck me would be cut from the wrist and served to your mother.” The hatred in his eyes burned brightly. Surely, she knew that the very fire of her life would be quenched if he so wished it? Why then would she grow so bold as to strike him? He might have been curious if his mind were not entirely focused on her suffering. She needed to be reminded of her place, clearly, and it would be a painful lesson. He came to a stop being her and entangled his fingers in her hair before he wrenched her head backward and looked down upon her face.
“Tell me, my dear, do you wish to die?” his tone said he expected no answer. “I think I shall have you killed for my amusement. That is a fitting punishment for the crime you have committed.” He pulled her hair upward, just watch her discomfort before he let her go. Moving to stand before her, Iahotep glared down at her pathetic form with a scowl on his face. He stood in silence for an uncomfortable period of time. “No.” he began, “I will not have you killed. It would be a mercy.” Mercy was the last thing she would receive.
Tonight, Neithotep would bleed.
“Bow.” He commanded. “Bow and tell me how you should be punished.”
Nia saw her death written in Iahotep’s eyes clearer than she’d ever seen anything before.
Shoved against the wall with his hand squeezing her throat, stars danced at the edge of her vision, stars that whispered cruel words of condemnation of her foolishness. How could she have been so stupid? Was she truly that reckless with her own well-being? What was she thinking, raising her hand against the King of Kings?
Clearly, she hadn’t been thinking. And that was a price she was going to pay dearly.
“Master, please,” she tried to plead, though his hand crushing the air from her left her voice nothing more than a hoarse croak. No sooner had she uttered a word that she felt a hand strike her own face with enough force to send it reeling to the side. Fresh tears filled her eyes at the harsh slap, her cheek reddening and swelling almost immediately. That mark would be unmistakable, and questions would undoubtedly be asked, should she ever leave this room again. Which she was more and more certain she would not.
When he released her, she nearly sagged to the ground before he was pulling her back up, grabbing and tossing her as if she was nothing more than a doll. Dragged across the floor, she was forced to her knees, eyes firmly on the ground. She didn’t dare to look up and face the rage she could feel simmering from the Pharaoh, certain that if she did, she’d be looking at her own doom. At this point, she was even convinced she deserved it.
You are lucky I favor you so, or the hand that struck me would be cut from the wrist and served to your mother.
She didn’t feel very lucky with him circling her like a lion would a wounded antelope, trembling under his furious regard. Unconsciously, she clutched the hand he threatened to her chest, shuddering as if she’d been stung. Frankly, she was surprised he didn’t cut off her hand, but the night wasn’t over yet. She had no doubt whatever punishment he wrought on her flesh would be just as bad, if not worse than a severed limb. If she was still able to walk by morning, she’d count it a blessing.
Head wrenched back by her hair, Nia gazed into the Pharaoh’s face with a distinct terror coloring her own. She’d never seen such fury in a man’s eyes, especially not directed at her. Tell me, my dear, do you wish to die? was his ominous question, and at that moment, the trembling girl had no answer. She would almost rather die than face whatever was sure to come, but she didn’t want to tempt fate by giving such a response. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to need one, continuing on in his threats that put her no more at ease. He seemed to land on the side of not killing her, but it was not a confidence that she trusted. Whatever he had in store for her, she was sure she would wish he’d simply slit her throat instead.
At his command to bow, she wasted no time in obeying, prostrating herself at his feet while tears streamed down her face. “I’m not worthy of your mercy, Master,” she whispered in a voice that barely held together, swallowing bile and pressing her lips to the top of his foot. “Or your forgiveness. I am thankful for your favor, more thankful than a stupid girl like me knows how to express.”
She didn’t dare to look up again, remaining crouched at his feet as she groveled before him. “You are right, my punishment should be severe. I have sinned gravely, and such an error should not go without consequence.” Swallowing hard again, her shaking only seemed to double. Tearful and trying not to choke, she continued, “Beat me, whip me, do what you have to, I will not protest. I am grateful only that you spare my life. I know I do not deserve such… kindness.”
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Nia saw her death written in Iahotep’s eyes clearer than she’d ever seen anything before.
Shoved against the wall with his hand squeezing her throat, stars danced at the edge of her vision, stars that whispered cruel words of condemnation of her foolishness. How could she have been so stupid? Was she truly that reckless with her own well-being? What was she thinking, raising her hand against the King of Kings?
Clearly, she hadn’t been thinking. And that was a price she was going to pay dearly.
“Master, please,” she tried to plead, though his hand crushing the air from her left her voice nothing more than a hoarse croak. No sooner had she uttered a word that she felt a hand strike her own face with enough force to send it reeling to the side. Fresh tears filled her eyes at the harsh slap, her cheek reddening and swelling almost immediately. That mark would be unmistakable, and questions would undoubtedly be asked, should she ever leave this room again. Which she was more and more certain she would not.
When he released her, she nearly sagged to the ground before he was pulling her back up, grabbing and tossing her as if she was nothing more than a doll. Dragged across the floor, she was forced to her knees, eyes firmly on the ground. She didn’t dare to look up and face the rage she could feel simmering from the Pharaoh, certain that if she did, she’d be looking at her own doom. At this point, she was even convinced she deserved it.
You are lucky I favor you so, or the hand that struck me would be cut from the wrist and served to your mother.
She didn’t feel very lucky with him circling her like a lion would a wounded antelope, trembling under his furious regard. Unconsciously, she clutched the hand he threatened to her chest, shuddering as if she’d been stung. Frankly, she was surprised he didn’t cut off her hand, but the night wasn’t over yet. She had no doubt whatever punishment he wrought on her flesh would be just as bad, if not worse than a severed limb. If she was still able to walk by morning, she’d count it a blessing.
Head wrenched back by her hair, Nia gazed into the Pharaoh’s face with a distinct terror coloring her own. She’d never seen such fury in a man’s eyes, especially not directed at her. Tell me, my dear, do you wish to die? was his ominous question, and at that moment, the trembling girl had no answer. She would almost rather die than face whatever was sure to come, but she didn’t want to tempt fate by giving such a response. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to need one, continuing on in his threats that put her no more at ease. He seemed to land on the side of not killing her, but it was not a confidence that she trusted. Whatever he had in store for her, she was sure she would wish he’d simply slit her throat instead.
At his command to bow, she wasted no time in obeying, prostrating herself at his feet while tears streamed down her face. “I’m not worthy of your mercy, Master,” she whispered in a voice that barely held together, swallowing bile and pressing her lips to the top of his foot. “Or your forgiveness. I am thankful for your favor, more thankful than a stupid girl like me knows how to express.”
She didn’t dare to look up again, remaining crouched at his feet as she groveled before him. “You are right, my punishment should be severe. I have sinned gravely, and such an error should not go without consequence.” Swallowing hard again, her shaking only seemed to double. Tearful and trying not to choke, she continued, “Beat me, whip me, do what you have to, I will not protest. I am grateful only that you spare my life. I know I do not deserve such… kindness.”
Nia saw her death written in Iahotep’s eyes clearer than she’d ever seen anything before.
Shoved against the wall with his hand squeezing her throat, stars danced at the edge of her vision, stars that whispered cruel words of condemnation of her foolishness. How could she have been so stupid? Was she truly that reckless with her own well-being? What was she thinking, raising her hand against the King of Kings?
Clearly, she hadn’t been thinking. And that was a price she was going to pay dearly.
“Master, please,” she tried to plead, though his hand crushing the air from her left her voice nothing more than a hoarse croak. No sooner had she uttered a word that she felt a hand strike her own face with enough force to send it reeling to the side. Fresh tears filled her eyes at the harsh slap, her cheek reddening and swelling almost immediately. That mark would be unmistakable, and questions would undoubtedly be asked, should she ever leave this room again. Which she was more and more certain she would not.
When he released her, she nearly sagged to the ground before he was pulling her back up, grabbing and tossing her as if she was nothing more than a doll. Dragged across the floor, she was forced to her knees, eyes firmly on the ground. She didn’t dare to look up and face the rage she could feel simmering from the Pharaoh, certain that if she did, she’d be looking at her own doom. At this point, she was even convinced she deserved it.
You are lucky I favor you so, or the hand that struck me would be cut from the wrist and served to your mother.
She didn’t feel very lucky with him circling her like a lion would a wounded antelope, trembling under his furious regard. Unconsciously, she clutched the hand he threatened to her chest, shuddering as if she’d been stung. Frankly, she was surprised he didn’t cut off her hand, but the night wasn’t over yet. She had no doubt whatever punishment he wrought on her flesh would be just as bad, if not worse than a severed limb. If she was still able to walk by morning, she’d count it a blessing.
Head wrenched back by her hair, Nia gazed into the Pharaoh’s face with a distinct terror coloring her own. She’d never seen such fury in a man’s eyes, especially not directed at her. Tell me, my dear, do you wish to die? was his ominous question, and at that moment, the trembling girl had no answer. She would almost rather die than face whatever was sure to come, but she didn’t want to tempt fate by giving such a response. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to need one, continuing on in his threats that put her no more at ease. He seemed to land on the side of not killing her, but it was not a confidence that she trusted. Whatever he had in store for her, she was sure she would wish he’d simply slit her throat instead.
At his command to bow, she wasted no time in obeying, prostrating herself at his feet while tears streamed down her face. “I’m not worthy of your mercy, Master,” she whispered in a voice that barely held together, swallowing bile and pressing her lips to the top of his foot. “Or your forgiveness. I am thankful for your favor, more thankful than a stupid girl like me knows how to express.”
She didn’t dare to look up again, remaining crouched at his feet as she groveled before him. “You are right, my punishment should be severe. I have sinned gravely, and such an error should not go without consequence.” Swallowing hard again, her shaking only seemed to double. Tearful and trying not to choke, she continued, “Beat me, whip me, do what you have to, I will not protest. I am grateful only that you spare my life. I know I do not deserve such… kindness.”
Her words only served to irritate him in his already volatile state. Of course she was not worthy of his mercy. She was not worthy of anything but to have the hand that struck him severed. Yet, he could not severe her hand, could he? It would be simply enough to say she had stolen from him, but the question of how she ended up in the palace so late in the night would arise. He did not have time for rumors. Though he wanted to strangle her right where she was, he refrained in favor of standing in ominous silence.
He watched closely as she bowed before him and kissed the top of his foot. Good, good. She would need to be reminded of her place. Painfully. He said nothing as she humiliated herself with her own words. Yes, she was a stupid girl. Tahena had more sense that the fool on the floor before him, and she was only a girl of fifteen. He opened his mouth to speak something akin to that thought, but it closed the moment she spoke again. Near immediately, his anger intensified. She must have not understood the gravity of the situation. He was the Supreme King of Kings, the Morning and Evening Star, a man unmatched in every way, and yet she dare to avoid her punishment?
Iahotep’s foot jerked forward as he cruelly kicked her in the face. “Silence!” he barked, “You will speak no more without my express permission!” Iahotep commanded furiously. “Tonight I am not your master,” he said after a pointed silence, “I am your God.” She had been a fool who made a fatal mistake, it was only by his better judgement that she was still alive to breathe her blasphemies to him. Only a God would have the patience that he presented her. Only a God would be merciful in this moment. It was in his right to do what he wished to her. Anything he wished to her. And he wished for her to suffer.
“You will be beaten and whipped,” he echoed, “and you will not protest for I would sooner have your tongue removed.” Iahotep took a step back and glared down at the pathetic woman. “You have the audacity to tell me what you will and will not do? I commanded you to give me your punishment and yet you still rebel. As if I will not do what I must. I must punish you. Do you not understand? Or do you think that avoiding my question will spare you?” Iahotep narrowed his eyes. “I am a merciful God, but I am a God of judgment. If you will not give me your punishment, then I will decide it for you.”
Iahotep was quick to remove his kilt, leaving his arousal bare before her. “Come.” Snapping his fingers, Iahotep ordered her on her knees. He did not command her to open her mouth, for he reached down and squeezed her jaw until it parted. Quickly, he forced his length to the back of her throat, growling deeply as he did so. He held her head there until her body began to shake from a lack of breath, only then did he roughly jerk her head far enough back to allow her to breathe. It lasted only a few moments before he forced his cock down her throat once more, choking her even longer than before.
“Please your God.”
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Her words only served to irritate him in his already volatile state. Of course she was not worthy of his mercy. She was not worthy of anything but to have the hand that struck him severed. Yet, he could not severe her hand, could he? It would be simply enough to say she had stolen from him, but the question of how she ended up in the palace so late in the night would arise. He did not have time for rumors. Though he wanted to strangle her right where she was, he refrained in favor of standing in ominous silence.
He watched closely as she bowed before him and kissed the top of his foot. Good, good. She would need to be reminded of her place. Painfully. He said nothing as she humiliated herself with her own words. Yes, she was a stupid girl. Tahena had more sense that the fool on the floor before him, and she was only a girl of fifteen. He opened his mouth to speak something akin to that thought, but it closed the moment she spoke again. Near immediately, his anger intensified. She must have not understood the gravity of the situation. He was the Supreme King of Kings, the Morning and Evening Star, a man unmatched in every way, and yet she dare to avoid her punishment?
Iahotep’s foot jerked forward as he cruelly kicked her in the face. “Silence!” he barked, “You will speak no more without my express permission!” Iahotep commanded furiously. “Tonight I am not your master,” he said after a pointed silence, “I am your God.” She had been a fool who made a fatal mistake, it was only by his better judgement that she was still alive to breathe her blasphemies to him. Only a God would have the patience that he presented her. Only a God would be merciful in this moment. It was in his right to do what he wished to her. Anything he wished to her. And he wished for her to suffer.
“You will be beaten and whipped,” he echoed, “and you will not protest for I would sooner have your tongue removed.” Iahotep took a step back and glared down at the pathetic woman. “You have the audacity to tell me what you will and will not do? I commanded you to give me your punishment and yet you still rebel. As if I will not do what I must. I must punish you. Do you not understand? Or do you think that avoiding my question will spare you?” Iahotep narrowed his eyes. “I am a merciful God, but I am a God of judgment. If you will not give me your punishment, then I will decide it for you.”
Iahotep was quick to remove his kilt, leaving his arousal bare before her. “Come.” Snapping his fingers, Iahotep ordered her on her knees. He did not command her to open her mouth, for he reached down and squeezed her jaw until it parted. Quickly, he forced his length to the back of her throat, growling deeply as he did so. He held her head there until her body began to shake from a lack of breath, only then did he roughly jerk her head far enough back to allow her to breathe. It lasted only a few moments before he forced his cock down her throat once more, choking her even longer than before.
“Please your God.”
Her words only served to irritate him in his already volatile state. Of course she was not worthy of his mercy. She was not worthy of anything but to have the hand that struck him severed. Yet, he could not severe her hand, could he? It would be simply enough to say she had stolen from him, but the question of how she ended up in the palace so late in the night would arise. He did not have time for rumors. Though he wanted to strangle her right where she was, he refrained in favor of standing in ominous silence.
He watched closely as she bowed before him and kissed the top of his foot. Good, good. She would need to be reminded of her place. Painfully. He said nothing as she humiliated herself with her own words. Yes, she was a stupid girl. Tahena had more sense that the fool on the floor before him, and she was only a girl of fifteen. He opened his mouth to speak something akin to that thought, but it closed the moment she spoke again. Near immediately, his anger intensified. She must have not understood the gravity of the situation. He was the Supreme King of Kings, the Morning and Evening Star, a man unmatched in every way, and yet she dare to avoid her punishment?
Iahotep’s foot jerked forward as he cruelly kicked her in the face. “Silence!” he barked, “You will speak no more without my express permission!” Iahotep commanded furiously. “Tonight I am not your master,” he said after a pointed silence, “I am your God.” She had been a fool who made a fatal mistake, it was only by his better judgement that she was still alive to breathe her blasphemies to him. Only a God would have the patience that he presented her. Only a God would be merciful in this moment. It was in his right to do what he wished to her. Anything he wished to her. And he wished for her to suffer.
“You will be beaten and whipped,” he echoed, “and you will not protest for I would sooner have your tongue removed.” Iahotep took a step back and glared down at the pathetic woman. “You have the audacity to tell me what you will and will not do? I commanded you to give me your punishment and yet you still rebel. As if I will not do what I must. I must punish you. Do you not understand? Or do you think that avoiding my question will spare you?” Iahotep narrowed his eyes. “I am a merciful God, but I am a God of judgment. If you will not give me your punishment, then I will decide it for you.”
Iahotep was quick to remove his kilt, leaving his arousal bare before her. “Come.” Snapping his fingers, Iahotep ordered her on her knees. He did not command her to open her mouth, for he reached down and squeezed her jaw until it parted. Quickly, he forced his length to the back of her throat, growling deeply as he did so. He held her head there until her body began to shake from a lack of breath, only then did he roughly jerk her head far enough back to allow her to breathe. It lasted only a few moments before he forced his cock down her throat once more, choking her even longer than before.
“Please your God.”
Her God.
With the way he dominated her life, it certainly felt like Iahotep was her god. A cruel and malicious god who delighted in her pain, but a god, nonetheless. A god who demanded his worship in a way that couldn’t be denied. Would that she wasn’t one of his followers.
Choked on the part of him that demanded the most, tears streamed down Neithotep’s face as she gazed helplessly at the divine being who so fully grasped her fate in his hands. Again, she berated her foolishness as her vision started to go dark, only allowed to breathe at the final moment. Sucking in a desperate breath that bordered on a sob, it wasn’t long before she was cut off again, her throat protesting the brutal treatment.
Any true gods that might be listening, take me that I might suffer any further.
But if any of them were listening, none deigned to respond, leaving Nia in the barbaric clutches of a man who could only be defined as a monster.
The rest of the night continued on in much the same vein, the Pharaoh inflicting every punishment he’d promised and more. It was a wonder no one came running for the sound of her screams, but it would seem the King of Kings had chosen the position of his rooms well. That, or the other denizens of the Palace were so used to such things that they no longer bothered to check. If only they had…
By the time the sun rose, Nia’s voice was gone, her throat sore from both the abuse she had taken and the frequency and duration of her shouting. Her skin was various shades of red and purple with bruises and welts, burning with the force of what he’d done to her. Stumbling from his bedchamber at last, the broken woman found she could barely even walk, and as she made her way toward the Palace’s exit, she despaired of what excuse she could possibly give for this. Perhaps now she ought to tell the truth, for what else could even be believed?
Though if she did tell anyone the truth, what could even be done? Who would dare to defy the will of the King of Kings?
Only foolish girls like her, it seemed. And she was a walking of example of why such a thing should not be attempted.
I can’t go on like this, she thought desperately as she made her way home, running her hand over eyes that were red and swollen with tears. There has to be a way out, something I can do…
Staring bleakly up at the sky, she uttered a simple prayer, “Help me.”
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Her God.
With the way he dominated her life, it certainly felt like Iahotep was her god. A cruel and malicious god who delighted in her pain, but a god, nonetheless. A god who demanded his worship in a way that couldn’t be denied. Would that she wasn’t one of his followers.
Choked on the part of him that demanded the most, tears streamed down Neithotep’s face as she gazed helplessly at the divine being who so fully grasped her fate in his hands. Again, she berated her foolishness as her vision started to go dark, only allowed to breathe at the final moment. Sucking in a desperate breath that bordered on a sob, it wasn’t long before she was cut off again, her throat protesting the brutal treatment.
Any true gods that might be listening, take me that I might suffer any further.
But if any of them were listening, none deigned to respond, leaving Nia in the barbaric clutches of a man who could only be defined as a monster.
The rest of the night continued on in much the same vein, the Pharaoh inflicting every punishment he’d promised and more. It was a wonder no one came running for the sound of her screams, but it would seem the King of Kings had chosen the position of his rooms well. That, or the other denizens of the Palace were so used to such things that they no longer bothered to check. If only they had…
By the time the sun rose, Nia’s voice was gone, her throat sore from both the abuse she had taken and the frequency and duration of her shouting. Her skin was various shades of red and purple with bruises and welts, burning with the force of what he’d done to her. Stumbling from his bedchamber at last, the broken woman found she could barely even walk, and as she made her way toward the Palace’s exit, she despaired of what excuse she could possibly give for this. Perhaps now she ought to tell the truth, for what else could even be believed?
Though if she did tell anyone the truth, what could even be done? Who would dare to defy the will of the King of Kings?
Only foolish girls like her, it seemed. And she was a walking of example of why such a thing should not be attempted.
I can’t go on like this, she thought desperately as she made her way home, running her hand over eyes that were red and swollen with tears. There has to be a way out, something I can do…
Staring bleakly up at the sky, she uttered a simple prayer, “Help me.”
Her God.
With the way he dominated her life, it certainly felt like Iahotep was her god. A cruel and malicious god who delighted in her pain, but a god, nonetheless. A god who demanded his worship in a way that couldn’t be denied. Would that she wasn’t one of his followers.
Choked on the part of him that demanded the most, tears streamed down Neithotep’s face as she gazed helplessly at the divine being who so fully grasped her fate in his hands. Again, she berated her foolishness as her vision started to go dark, only allowed to breathe at the final moment. Sucking in a desperate breath that bordered on a sob, it wasn’t long before she was cut off again, her throat protesting the brutal treatment.
Any true gods that might be listening, take me that I might suffer any further.
But if any of them were listening, none deigned to respond, leaving Nia in the barbaric clutches of a man who could only be defined as a monster.
The rest of the night continued on in much the same vein, the Pharaoh inflicting every punishment he’d promised and more. It was a wonder no one came running for the sound of her screams, but it would seem the King of Kings had chosen the position of his rooms well. That, or the other denizens of the Palace were so used to such things that they no longer bothered to check. If only they had…
By the time the sun rose, Nia’s voice was gone, her throat sore from both the abuse she had taken and the frequency and duration of her shouting. Her skin was various shades of red and purple with bruises and welts, burning with the force of what he’d done to her. Stumbling from his bedchamber at last, the broken woman found she could barely even walk, and as she made her way toward the Palace’s exit, she despaired of what excuse she could possibly give for this. Perhaps now she ought to tell the truth, for what else could even be believed?
Though if she did tell anyone the truth, what could even be done? Who would dare to defy the will of the King of Kings?
Only foolish girls like her, it seemed. And she was a walking of example of why such a thing should not be attempted.
I can’t go on like this, she thought desperately as she made her way home, running her hand over eyes that were red and swollen with tears. There has to be a way out, something I can do…
Staring bleakly up at the sky, she uttered a simple prayer, “Help me.”