The Rakshasa’s Heart
Chapter Two: Knife Play
By mypenname3000
Copyright 2017

Princess Malakisha – Ankush, The Queendom of Naith

The chain hurtled at me, a gray-black blur. My rakshasa’s instincts snarled through me. My body sprang to the right. I hit the rough stone bricks of my dungeon’s floor, rolled hard. Metal struck rock with a mighty clang behind me.

He could cave my skull in with his strength.

“My heart!” Lucy screamed in terror as I came up in a crouch, the fur bristling across my face and head, my whiskers twitching as I faced the enraged Bakiir.

Such strength. He pulled free the bolts from the masonry. What a daughter he would breed in me. Despite the danger, or maybe because of it, my pussy was so wet as I stared at the enraged gladiator. That mighty pillar of ebony flesh before me.

If I could tame him…

“Mistress!” Issanik growled. My brawny Naithian slave surged forward to grapple Bakiir.

The chain cracked to the right. It slammed into Issanik’s side. The man grunted. He stumbled and crashed into a shelf holding my flails. Wood groaned as he seized it to hold his balance. But the shelf toppled. A rain of whips and scourges fell with Issanik as he hit the ground moments before the shelf slammed down on top of him.

Lucy stood frozen before Bakiir, her body trembling. Her eyes were wide with fear as she stared up at the gladiator. Then they flashed to me, soft brown and full of desperate hope. She needed me to save her from the brute.

“You have to—” she began screaming but Bakiir kicked her. Not hard, but enough to throw her back and send her tumbling into the collapsed shelf. She coughed, clutching her stomach, pain crossing her face.

I snarled in anger.

Thushin surged in as Bakiir reached up to his left hand, still manacled to the ceiling, and pulled out the bolt free holding the band closed. The restraint popped open, freeing him. He flicked the chain in the same motion, striking Thushin’s upraised arms.

Metal cracked on bone. Thushin grunted, but kept charging in, eager to protect me. He slammed into Bakiir’s body, the men grappling, stumbling back. Lucy coughed again, her face twisted with fear. She glanced at me, shaking her head.

“It’ll be fine, my heart,” I told her, rising.

My hands flexed as Thushin grunted, thrown to the ground by Bakiir. The magnificent Halanian raised the chain to beat him. He cracked it down, bringing a grunt from Thushin. Bone snapped, my slave’s arm breaking as Bakiir raised the chain again.

He better not kill him.

I strode from the room, my breasts jiggling. Fire pumped through my veins and juices ran down my thighs. This was so exhilarating. What a man Bakiir was. I marched out of my dungeon and into my kennels, striding past the cages where others of my slaves peered out, the men grasping the bars.

“Set us free, Mistress,” they growled, eager to fight for me. “We’ll protect you.”

Their kennel whores, the female slaves I bought to please them, cowered in the back, scared, shaking. I ignored them all. I reached my armory and wrenched it open, revealing the racks of swords and axes and maces and daggers, stacks of armor of all shapes, the gear to outfit my slaves. I grabbed a long-bladed dagger. It was triangular, starting as wide as three of my fingers at the hilt and narrowing all the way to a needle-like point. Valyan steel, finest quality, or so the merchant who sold it to me boasted.

I wheeled around and strode back to the dungeon, licking my furry chops.

It was chaos when I returned. Lucy screamed in the corner, cowering as Bakiir whipped his chain around, slamming it into Issanik and Thushin. My brawny slaves still fought, Thushin cradling his broken arm. They struggled to close in and seize him. Then Thushin leaped on Bakiir’s back, his good arm going around the ebony-skinned man’s throat, squeezing hard. I gripped the dagger, poised, watching the men fight. Issanik rushed in from the front, the muscles rippling in his flanks.

The chain cracked him across the face. He snapped back and hit the ground insensate, blood spurting from his nose. I breathed it in, the crimson scent electrifying my body. I tasted the coppery delight in the air upon my tongue, shuddered.

With a grunt, Bakiir threw himself forward and heaved against Thushin’s arm. My Naithan slave flew over Bakiir’s shoulder and crashed down on Issanik, screaming in pain as he landed on his broken arm. Bakiir stumbled, ending up on his hands and knees.

I moved.

Before he could rise, I crossed the distance, springing with the speed of a rakshasa. We were predators, unlike humans. We didn’t have to be trained to be killers, we simply were. A single leap carried me behind him. I landed, the dagger moving fast as he twisted, throwing a look over his shoulder.

And then he froze as he felt the sharp edge pressing in his throat. Blood flowed. His smelled delicious.

“Do you feel death, warrior?” I asked, my left hand running across his bald head, loving how smooth it was, how shiny in the torch light. “Can you feel it quivering against your throat?”

His face hardened.

“Yes, you can,” I purred. “You’ve faced her a thousand times, haven’t you? That bitch wanting to steal away your life. You’ve fought so hard, and then she comes at you from behind.” I pressed the knife harder against his flesh. I could feel his pulse throbbing up the blade and into my hand, the frantic beat of his life. “So you have a choice. Let her kill you, or surrender to me.”

His jaw set.

I moved around him, keeping the dagger placed against his throat. I let it slide, cutting into flesh above his trachea. The outer layer of his skin parted, blood flowing. I let him feel the promise of death as I moved before him. He was ready to die. He was prepared for it.

I knelt, facing him eye to eye. Crimson spilled over the blade, more ran dark down his chest. His arm cocked, ready to strike. I could see the calculation. Could he swing his chain fast enough to kill me before I killed him.

He tensed.

My hand shot out and grasped his cock.

He had softened during the fight, but now he felt that feminine touch, and hardened. I purred, the pleasure rumbling up through my throat as I stroked him, feeling his life pulse in another way as he swelled. I rubbed the spongy tip, his dick throbbing.

“You can die,” I growled, pressing the dagger just a tiny bit harder, forcing him to move his head back. “Or you can surrender to the pleasure I can provide.”

He didn’t say a word. Stoic pride faced me. That monolithic resistance that had kept him fighting even when his body was scourged, even as blood ran down his body from the kiss of my whip. And yet his cock was sending him that pleasure, that delight, that aching need to erupt.

A need he’d only get satiated if he surrendered.

All week he had fought against it. I hadn’t allowed him to cum. I had Lucy bring him to the brink over and over while he felt pain. I kept him bound other times, unable to touch himself while listening to my other slaves rut around him with their kennel whores.

His will was iron. But even iron bent. Especially when heated.

“Just surrender into ecstasy and let death spare you another day,” I purred, pushing back with the knife.

He retreated from its edge. Death was no longer something he was prepared for. Not with his cock throbbing in my hand. He stretched out onto his back as I kept pushing with the dagger, his legs sliding out beneath me. I straddled him, my pussy on fire.

I brought my cunt to his hard cock, rubbing my twat up and down his length. My clit throbbed against his hardness, my pussy lips begging to engulf every inch of his girth. He was so big, so thick. All my slaves were hung, but him…

He made them seem small.

I ran my left hand up his whipped chest, crossing the small wounds, the blood sticky as it dried. I felt his muscles quivering. I kept the knife pressed to his throat, sliding my pussy up and down his cock, staring into his eyes.

“Death or ecstasy?” I asked him, leaning over him, my breasts swaying. I ground my clit harder into his dick, the pleasure rippling through me, my purr rising in my throat. My whiskers twitched. I hungered to tear out his throat while fucking him to death.

But that would be such a waste.

“What will it be, Bakiir?” My clit reached the crown of his dick. I massaged the spongy head.

He let out a groan, his face twisting against the pleasure.

“Feel how wet I am. You can be in me. You can love your Mistress. I’ll even let your seed spill into me. You can be the father of my daughter. All you have to do is love me. Worship me. Then you’ll experienced rapture. You’ll be pampered. I’ll give you women. I’ll lift you up.

“Just worship me.”

I circled my hips, rubbing my clit across his cock’s crown, feeling it throb and twitch.

“Or you can die. I’ll slit your throat and eat your heart and that will be it. No more pleasure for you. No more chance to fight. No more proving your might.

“No more life.”

I leaned closer and licked his lips with my thick tongue, the pleasure rippling through me. My juices dripped hot from my cunt, making his dick more and more slippery as I ground on him. He groaned again.

“Choose. Ecstasy or death.”

He closed his eyes. “Ecstasy.”

I purred louder. “Then say it.”

“Mistress,” he said, his voice tight as it burst out of his throat. “You are my…Mistress.”

“Mean it,” I groaned, my clit throbbing on his dick. I rubbed harder. “Prove you love me and worship me.”

“I’m your…slave.” A shudder went through him. Something changed in his eyes. They widened for a moment, showing all of his whites. “I am your slave, Mistress.