Slavemaster's Woman, The

Tarken was ordered to have the rebellious Cushla submissive by the time he returned to the planet Burnais. Cushla no intention of cooperating and no idea that she would soon become The Slavemaster's Woman.


Published: 12/13/2013
Length: Full Novel
Word Count: 92,786
Genre: Sci-Fi/Futuristic Romance
Rating: Erotica
Available formats: PDF, RTF, Epub, HTML, Mobipocket (.prc)



Angelia Whiting and Gail Wolfe

© Copyright by Angelia Whiting and Gail Wolfe, December 2013
© Cover art by Jenny Dixon, September 2013
ISBN 978-1-60394-845-6
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.


She faced away from him and therefore did not see him. Her curves were feminine, shapely. She was slender and petite though not overly of either. Her rounded bottom was partially submerged beneath the water, petals of shasheri flowers floating around her. The scent was sweet, titillating. It would still cling to her later.

Tarken knew the fragrance. It was one of the most expensive and powerful aphrodisiacs in the galaxies.

Lavidis acted wisely with his attempt to arouse Tarken’s libido. It was sharply obvious the girl was damaged goods. The flesh on her back was a network of scratches, and he couldn’t imagine how the rest of her was marred. Tarken would know when she was turned around, and he had to wonder if her face was scarred as well.

Despite this pondering, something inside the slavemaster stirred. He felt impatience as he waited for her to face him. It was more than curiosity about the condition of her body, and it was more than the sensation of his cock now thickening in his trousers. He felt something intriguing about her. There was something mysterious about this woman. But no, Tarken denied that. It was the aphrodisiac meddling with his mind.

What would her eyes look like? How womanly would the front of her body be, her breasts, her stomach, her mound? An image of her clit entered the slavemaster’s mind, his eyes taking in its shape, his finger flicking it. Would she become immediately wet for him? “Enough!” Tarken bellowed, startling the court below.

Even Lavidis, who stood at his side started slightly. “Her preparation is nearly comp—”

“There is no preparing needed!” Tarken’s voice boomed even louder. “There is no concealing the condition she’s in.”

The sound of his irate tone caused the woman to glance over her shoulder. Her crystal clear eyes fixated on Tarken.

Immediately, his gaze locked with hers and a sparking charge passed between them. It was unfriendly, aggressive even, almost as if she was challenging him. The rebellion the slavemaster saw there spoke volumes about the steadfastness of this woman.

She was far from a typical, compliant slave.

Spirits…damn him.

She sneered at him, her eyes riveting as if she were attempting to spear him to a wall.

Annoyance besieged the slavemaster. How dare she attempt to stare him down?Unwilling to break first eye contact, Tarken glared intensely, and she kept glaring back. Did the woman understand he could activate her slave band for that? She could even be beaten, or starved, or confined in closed in quarters, staked to the ground or…Damn she has beautiful eyes.

Colorless crystals, they sparkled like the finest of gems. Droplets of water clung to her long lashes, and her eyes tilted slightly at the corners. Her gaze was the clearest crystalline he’d ever seen. Their translucency was mesmerizing.

He could dissolve in them.

A tremor quaked up Tarken’s spine, and his balls tightened. He attempted to shake off the unruly feelings but instead, nearly choked on his breath when the attendants turned her around. Peripherally, his vision caught a glimpse of her rounded breasts, but he refused to break the lock he had on her eyes.

The woman would think she had the upper hand if he looked away first. He was master, she was slave. Her station would be established immediately, and Tarken would make damn sure, she knew who was in charge despite her beauty and her fabulous body and how he loved the look of her face—her face, it was perfection personified.

Despite himself, Tarken felt his expression soften, and before he even realized what he was doing, a smile crested his lips, his gaze becoming cordial, almost admiring. Though subtle, Tarken observed that something in her expression yielded as well. Her affect seemed less defiant, her eyes showing more interest, than anger, or perhaps confusion. It was then she cast her gaze to the side.

Good. She was conceding to his dominance over her.

The victory was short-lived, for as the maid servants led her from the pool, the woman’s gaze returned to his, and Tarken saw the fire in them—hatred, pure hatred. The bold expression of emotion by such a lowly subordinate should’ve angered him as it would most slavemasters, but it affected him quite contrarily. His breath caught in his throat, and his cock was brusquely, painfully hard. Instead of inflaming his temper, it inflamed his libido.

The maidservants rinsed the soap from her skin and the water cascaded down her body. Her gleaming white hair, which reached past her waist, now soaked, hung almost to her mid-thighs. It covered little. Hanging in wet tufts it framed her breasts, emphasizing the dusky tips, her nipples protruding into tantalizing points, hardening beneath the streaming water. The remainder of her hair wrapped around her waist like heavy drapery, though strands of it plastered to her hips and splayed over her hairless mound. Puffy outer lips clung tightly together protecting the feminine flesh that kindled her arousal.

With his fingers curling, Tarken watched her with a wetted sexual appetite. He was suddenly eager to separate that crease, to take pleasure in exploring the charms that lay beneath. How would she sound when she came? Would she moan? Could he make her scream.