Gena Showalter - The Pleasure Slave

Suddenly Zirra was straddled over his body, cruelly using him to gain her pleasure, yet denying him his own. He was almost glad he was to be denied release, for even while he prayed for it, he despised himself for giving her any part of him.

Nay , his mind shouted. This isn't real. This isn't happening. Fight it .

"Do you see how I control you?" she said huskily. "Do you see?"

"Aye."

"I know you like this. I know you like me. How can you not?"

His jaw locked mutinously.

"Say it," she demanded. "Tell me how you're glad of my domination."

"I am glad."

The lie tripped from his lips by force because the spell dictated that he please her, and his admission would surely please her, though he tried desperately to hold back the words. Zirra did not deserve such an avowal, untruth or not. She deserved only words of hate.

"What a good little slave you are," she praised, raking her nails down his chest, not as a lover would, but as a master does to someone unworthy of tenderness. "Now tell me how much you love me."

"I love you," he growled, adding silently, I loathe you .

"Liar," she snarled, baring her teeth in a fierce scowl. "You are a liar. The spell would be broken if you spoke true. How dare you lie to me, to your master. You will be punished, doubt me not."

She rode him hard, pounding against him with bruising intensity. When she came, she threw back her head and screamed. With rage and pleasure. Victory and glee. He didn't want to come. He fought against it. He always fought against it, but in the end, his body betrayed him every time. Zirra's spasms ceased soon after his own, and she glared down at him.

"All I have ever given you is love, and yet you constantly throw that in my face."

She pushed to her feet and drew on her robe. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder when she turned to glare down at him.

"Why are you still in bed, slave? Bow before me. You owe me thanks for the pleasure I just bestowed upon you."

He moved automatically, dying a bit more with every movement, and took his place before her. Abruptly Tristan found himself chained to a wall. His surroundings were familiar. He'd been here before, he thought, confused. A progression of women paraded in front of him. Each female was allowed to touch, to taste, to do anything she desired as she strolled past him. The line seemed endless. He endured cruel pinches, eager tugs, stinging slaps, and by the end, his skin was a mass of purple and blue bruises. Even the battlefields of Gillirad had not wounded him so deeply.

"I am your master, your true lover," Zirra said when the last woman left the chamber. "Will you ever again glare at me?"

"Only if you command that I do not," he gritted out.

Her eyes flashed blue fire.

"For that you shall spend the rest of the eve as you are."

Again the image shifted. Colors swirled behind his eyes and blurred together, spinning and spinning, tugging him closer to another part of his life.

He found himself standing naked before a bed. Zirra reclined on the mattress, white pillows at her back.

"Tristan, come over here, darling.". Without hesitation he obeyed. He crawled up the bed and hovered over her, staying on his knees as he knew she liked.

"I have need of you," she purred.

"Whatever you wish, you know I will perform."

Her features softened.

"Tell me you want me."

"I want you."

"Tell me how beautiful I am."

"You are beautiful."

He did not elaborate as she wished. She had to force his every move. He would give her nothing willingly, no more of himself than demanded, for that was the only control he had over himself.

"Love me," she breathed, placing kisses up his chest and neck.

He despised her every touch, wanted to race from this chamber and spew the contents of his stomach each time she glanced his way.

"Love is the one thing I do not have to give you, Zirra. You know that. Your spell was for me to give pleasure to my guan ren . It said naught of love. That was your mistake, and that is what you must live with. For I will never offer you my heart." He took great delight in his next words. "You sicken me."

The nails that had softly scraped his back now sank into his flesh, causing droplets of blood to slide down his back.

"Who owns you?"

"You do."

"Who governs your fate?"

"You do."

"Never forget that, Tristan, or I will make you suffer for it." Tristan vaguely heard someone, a female, calling his name from a faraway place. It was a voice he felt compelled to answer. His mouth refused to work, however.

The voice continued to echo in his head. It was Julia, he realized, and she was afraid of something. She needed him. In a panic to reach her, he fought his way through the dark haze enveloping his mind. As he fought, he became aware that his body was soaked with sweat and he was trembling. He sucked in a deep breath.

What had just happened? He had been inside Julia's car, had been viewing the scenery of this planet he had come to admire. The red hills, the stone homes, the clean, crisp air. Then a dark presence had invaded his mind. He had been unable to stop from following the presence into his memories.

Aye, memories. That is what they were. But how had he relived them so vividly? He already knew the answer. Zirra. She was forcing him to remember. Since she had failed to reclaim him, she now reminded him that she was out there, searching for a way. He bit back a curse.

"Tristan. Please, look at me."

Bit by bit, he cracked open his eyelids. Julia was crouched in the open car door, her lovely face above his. To his left, cars whizzed past the window.

"Are you allowed to park here?" he questioned hoarsely.

A sob burst from her throat, half laugh, half desperate cry.

"That's all you have to say?"

"Aye."

"Well, the answer is yes. This is the side of the road. Now tell me what the hell is wrong with you."

"A dream. Only a dream," he forced out.

"No." She shook her head. "It was not just a dream. You were in some sort of trance."

"I am fine."

Though her expression remained unconvinced, she pushed out a shaky breath.

"Are you sure?"

"I am fine," he repeated. "The past simply demanded consideration."

His head fell against the seat rest, his energy quickly deserting. He felt himself sinking into sleep.

"Take me home, Julia. Take me home."

When they reached the house, Julia helped Tristan to the couch, locked his box inside the plant stand, then raced to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. He drained the liquid with one gulp and set the glass aside. He stretched out his long legs, and she snuggled up beside him, her arms holding him close.

She'd never witnessed anything like what she'd seen in the car. He'd been deathly still, barely breathing. He'd alternated between pale and fiery hot.

Thank God he'd awakened on his own.

Thank God.

She didn't know what she would have done if he hadn't.

Yet, as her eyes had met his, she'd almost wanted him to sink back into the trance—anything so that she wouldn't have to see the horror and pain on his face. What had happened to him to cause such a look? With her fingertips, she toyed with the fine hair on his arm.

"Tristan?"

He didn't stir, didn't face her.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me what happened. I want to help you."

Silence. Silence so thick an oppressive fog descended all around them.

"Speaking about what happened to you might help ease the pain. I won't judge you, or laugh. I'll simply listen."

More silence. And then he spoke.

"Zirra, the woman who entrapped me and kept me for several seasons," he began hesitantly. "She was a cruel mistress. She demanded my love and when I wouldn't give it to her, she punished me."