“I have no idea?” She was on her knees, looking up, too overcome to know anything, Loria’s wit so astounded her.
“There is no triumph for a man to take a naturally born slave and make her his chattel. But you, coming out of hatred, carving in yourself a place of service and surrender… to take what you loathe and have that loathing lost… so that you will beg as you’ve already begun to beg. That is his victory. And you will give him that.”
Charlotte’s rage seemed to breed on these thoughts. But Loria quickly saw that rage, and speaking softly now, said, “Don’t allow yourself the luxury of your anger. Let it be defeated. It serves you no purpose. I know that you returned here simply to have that device ripped from your crotch. You started this because you cannot submerge your sexual need. Mountbane gave you that savage cunt, and then he tore it away. What a cunning punishment! Like hell would be, I suppose…” her voice drifted wistfully as the bronze beauty gazed toward the center of the room, to a dais where she’d given herself to Caius the night before. Charlotte had watched their copulation and cried as each lunge of the master’s great cock pierced his slave’s womb. Oh! How she’d seemed to weep with a sexual joy Charlotte could not guess at!
“I will try again,” Charlotte disclosed.
“Yes, you will,” Loria agreed with a firm and final sound in her voice.
d
That night in another part of the castle, the Lord of them all lay on a pile of pillows enjoying the attentions of three beauties his men had captured beyond the border of his province. One was fair, but brash. Mountbane had her tied to a post where she was whipped about the buttocks soundly. The second, a dark-haired lovely, liked sucking cock, which she was adequately doing whenever the master allowed her to. The third, he liked the best—a comely waifish sort of whore who loved being ridden in the ass. Seemed he could have all he wanted in feminine flesh, but he, like the noblewoman in the bowels of his castle, was restless. He paced the floor more than he played, finally provoking Sir Tristan to suggest, “You look as though you have a hornet up your ass.”
He turned to the man. “Do I now? Wonder why?”
“I could speculate more,” Tristan offered.
“And what, pray tell, is the cause of my consternation?” He looked sincerely baffled, unless it was such a good mockery that no one could see the sneer behind his perplexed guise.
“A woman,” Tristan said plainly.
“You mean a slave?”
“I beg to differ, Mountbane, I mean a woman. The one ensconced in your dungeon. What has it been?” he had wily grin on his face. “Three months since you ordered her back to Caius’ lair. Perhaps, it’s time she resurfaced—before you turn into a madman.”
“I am not mad,” he took offense.
“I guess I am contrary today, sir.”
“But you’re usually wise,” the Lord considered thoughtfully. “I hear she’s become most practiced. Loria’s pet.”
The others in the room chuckled at the thought of Loria leading anyone. “Perhaps our hefty brute, Caius, should worry!” Tibold snickered as he raised his glass for another toast.
“I would be more likely bested than Caius,” Mountbane jibed back. “Though I assure you, Loria knows her place. Bring my shrew to me, Tristan. We’ll see what service she might render me now.”
Charlotte rested in her cell, well-worked, tired and ready for sleep, when her jailer lodged his key in the lock and bade her exit.
“Does it serve you to call for me at this hour?” she wondered, somewhat meekly.
“Not I, but Sir Tristan, on behalf of Mountbane,” Caius informed her.
She blanched in fear, “But I’m not ready.”
“Ready, like all things, is not a decision for you to make. Get on with you.”
“Milady, come,” Sir Tristan called to her with his palm held open for her to take.
She saw the serenity in his face and was gladdened by the sight of him. Unlike the other times she surfaced from the dungeon, she performed this trip in the normal manner—walking toward her fate—even though her nervous body felt as though she were crawling to the gallows.
Those inside the dining chamber froze as Tristan and the slave approached; a hushed and weary silence filling it as a fog would fill the air on a damp morning. Naked, resplendent breasts peaked with fat pink nipples, and the redolence of her feminine perfume leading, Charlotte moved into the doorway of the hall, hiding well her nervous fears. Her chastity belt gleamed but not derisively as it once had. She wore it proudly for one who’d become so humble. Pushed toward Mountbane, Charlotte gazed on him but a second before Sir Tristan nudged her one step more and she fell at her master’s feet in the pose of the slave, first kissing the ground, then resting her cheek to the cold stone, ass high, her hands clamped behind her in perfect form. Her body breathed with new fire, new life. Expectancy circled the air with an energy that opened the eyes of the nearly asleep, awakening Mountbane from his fog as well.
“Tell me, slave. How have you fared?” His voice was hushed but heard clearly from one end of the room to the other.
“Well, sir,” Charlotte spoke. She didn’t rise as she might have months before, but kept her position as though she were now made of stone like the floor beneath her.
“Lift your head and rest back on your feet,” Mountbane ordered as he sat back in a chair appraising her with interest.
Charlotte obeyed, yieldingly letting her eyes gaze down at the toe of Mountbane’s boot. She opened her palms as Loria had shown her to do, and kept her mind focused on the picture of a willow tree in order to remain yielding, even as her ears stayed alert to the master’s voice.
“What is it now that your heart desires?” he asked.
“I desire to be your slave, and should I prove worthy enough, become your wife.” Still she didn’t flinch. There was not one ripple of anxiety in her voice, no anger, no falseness. Her words rang true.
“You can hold your pose five minutes—can you surrender for an hour? A day? A week? The remainder of your life?”
“Sir, I beg you test me today and everyday hereafter,” she replied.
Without directly looking in his eyes, she could see from the corner of hers a hint of wonder in his. “Words are nothing. The act is everything.”
She thought so, too. There was something easy in this, a strange sort of peace. She knew then she would survive.
“Well, then, let’s be on with it!” the Lord announced, jumping to his feet.
For the next several hours of the night, Charlotte bore her trial. Relinquishing, surrendering, sustaining the postures she’d been primed for, as well as others demanded of her that were more difficult and fatiguing than the practiced ones. Her attitude graced her, and there were none who were not in awe of this slave’s transformation—while at the same time, none forgot the behavior of her first days in Ilusia. She’d been in her adopted country merely six months and had other trials yet to endure.
Chapter Six
“You are the prettiest bride,” Loria giggled as she fixed the curls of Charlotte’s golden hair with flowers and ribbons.
“I do wish it were longer!” she moaned. Her new hair barely reached her shoulders, though it shone with a luster that seemed sparked by the sun.
“Ah, but it is so beautiful,” the brown-haired slave retorted enviously. “Imagine how it will flow down your back once it’s grown again.”
“But today is my wedding!”
“And still you look like heaven, milady.”
“Ah! But when we say wedding in my world we mean something quite different than an Ilusian one.”
“I can’t comment on that,” Loria said. “The rites are secret—especially from slaves.”
“And you’ve never married Caius?”
“Men like Caius don’t need to marry. It seems a ritual most suited for nobles.”
“But you were noble born,” Charlotte pointed out.
“And I’ve made my choices.”
“Y
ou chose Caius’ dungeon—freely?”
“It’s as free a choice as any woman can make in Ilusia.”
Charlotte looked troubled. “Seems I have little choice in anything.”
“Perhaps not.”
“So, what rumors do you hear of weddings if you don’t know facts?”
Loria scoured her thoughts. “That they are three day rituals, the wine flows, the dancing is lewd, and the sex takes the extremes to their limit.”
“And the bride?”
“Well used.”
“As I thought.” Charlotte sighed deeply. “I cannot tell you how my loins burn for this. I confess, a hundred men could copulate with me and I would not be satisfied. My desire breeds the basest thoughts. I fear I’ll go wild.”
“Then why so morose?”
“I’ve come to this—become this savage beast of a woman—not even a woman at all but an orifice to be used!”
“You still resist yourself and that could hurt you, milady,” Loria cautioned.
Charlotte thought on how her life had changed in the last several days since Mountbane had brought her from the dungeon. She lived in luxury now, was attended by slaves who’d been her equal the week before—by Loria herself who’d been the mistress of her training. She was called milady and Lady Charlotte, as though respect had been restored to her after long months of disgrace. All this because she’d sacrificed herself, remade her life, her thoughts, her feelings and her sense of self to become Mountbane’s slave. Resist? Only by the merest thread. Her sexual hunger was paramount in her now.
“Resist? I think not. I just wonder at myself.”
Loria fooled with her hair, adjusting the flowers while she hummed some pleasant tune Charlotte had once heard played on flutes in Mountbane’s dining hall. “Perhaps you wonder too much, milady. What is can always be changed, but why? Why bother when what you are pleases you—or at least soon will?”
The maid was right again.
d
Transparent robes of green, gold and purple were attached to her white collar with rings, and descended down across her shoulders, skimming the floor at her bare feet. She’d been bathed, perfumed and primped until she might have felt as special as any new bride—but a look in the glass revealed a truth far more stark than Charlotte’s pleasant musings.
She was utterly naked now beneath her diaphanous attire—though these silks were inclined to enhance her natural loveliness, they did nothing to disguise her sexual body. Her breasts shaped the garments as they flowed downward, the buds of her nipples making tiny tents of the material; and from her bodice the remainder clung to her form below, highlighting the slender waist and the blooming flower of her nether regions, where from behind, her twin melons of flesh invited the touch of hands, or the kiss of a whip. In front, her trimmed bush of pubic hair hid little now. Looking delightfully pubescent, the lips of her outer labia were plumped with blood. Desire raced through her with such a dedicated rush, and yet, these engorged slips of flesh could not hide the prominent clitoris that appeared from in-between.
No chastity belt now, Charlotte in these sheer robes felt more naked than she ever had.
There was music playing in the background on the warm afternoon—drums and flutes, in an earthy sort of melancholy that shook the sex more than it stirred the heart. A late summer breeze was rife with the scent of a ripening harvest, the aftermath of the earth’s copulating spring frenzy. The wine was full-bodied, brought from the cellars, flowing in goblets and fine chalices.
The wedding would begin in a columned portico near the gardens where lounges and chairs were arrayed for guests who now draped them languidly. The heat of the day had already affected the mood, turning the eyelids heavy. Mountbane’s court of men were in attendance along with a few well turned out mistresses and slaves who clung closely to their masters’ sides. Seeing his bride appear in the castle doorway, Mountbane stood, and offering his hand to her graciously, led her through the throng, to the portico steps, into a bower of trees where the wedding alter had been prepared. The Lord was dressed as usual—as though this was hardly the special occasion it was—in leather britches with a white shirt tucked inside his pants.
The crowd of guests moved with the couple, lining the sides of the aisle as Mountbane led his bride forward. In front of the alter, she instantly sunk to the cool ground, bowed her head, and bent forward to touch her forehead to the grassy turf beneath. Her hands were grasped behind her at the small of her back, while her hips were slightly raised. In the last few days, she’d practiced the pose more than the others knowing that the Ceremony of Union would be conducted in this manner. This was the only fact about the rite that was offered her; the rest would be as new to her as everything else in her adopted world.
Stepping forward, a priest in flowing garb addressed the gathered with a solemn expression on his face. “Mountbane, this is marriage,” he began. “The oath you take today binds you and your chattel for life—it is my duty to spell out the tradition,” he nodded deferentially to the Lord’s faint smile. All this was formality; the ingredients of marriage were well known in Ilusia, but the pageantry of the moment set the act apart—and somehow that gave legitimacy to the revelry that followed. “The bargain is thus,” the priest continued as he read from his tattered book of rites and prayers, “You, Lord Mountbane, agree to master your property in a way that binds you hereafter. You are enjoined to protect, train and discipline this slave as you see fit—and for this, let it be known that she, being your sovereign property, your charge, your chattel and your wife, is solely yours to keep and give at your whim and leisure. Let no man take this woman from you unless she has been freely given. Do you thus acknowledge this bargain?”
“I do so,” Mountbane answered.
“In turn,” the priest went on, “as is the custom, this noble-born woman from an alien land, by virtue of her father’s wise decision, gives up all claim to rights afforded her as a citizen in her homeland. She is now, irrevocably, a slave of Ilusia, and her Lord and Master, Mountbane. She is enjoined to serve you, give you honor, worship you, and be humble in your presence. She will obey you in all matters, follow the discipline you require, and willingly submit to the punishment you mete out should she disobey your commands or falter in her duties. She is obliged to give her body to your keeping, and use it in any manner she is ordered—willingly so—and take no man but those granted her by you. You are her sovereign Lord. In the deepest sense you own even her soul—she is soulless without you, mindless to thought lest you advise her, and bereft of feeling but what you supply the feeling for her to feel.” He stopped speaking and took a breath before continuing. “Slave, have you heard your part in this marriage? Rise and say so.”
Charlotte pulled out of her low crouch, gladly resting her ass against her feet, and while keeping her eyes dutifully lowered, said, “I have, sir.”
“Proof of her virginity can be made this day?” the priest spoke again to Mountbane.
“It can. We have protected it these long months.”
Only then did the holy man smile. “Reveal this now, then.”
Reaching for her hand, Mountbane pulled Charlotte to her feet and led her to a hefty stone altar some three feet off the ground. “In the arch,” he commanded, whereupon his wife laid back against the cool stone, bent her knees, tucked her parted feet to her ass while raising her hips. Her arms rested above her head.
Mountbane pushed back the flowing robes and bared her vulva for inspection while the tension in the steamy grotto began to heighten as the final act of marriage was about to unfold before the anxious eyes of the crowd. The Lord’s hands were dear to her in that teeming moment, skirting the skin of her thighs and moving downward as though they were caressing the flesh in a prelude to sex. Not only did this delicate touch quicken the loins of the humble slave, the act quickly stirred Mountbane’s cock, his member rising to press against the leather of his pants. His anticipation increased as it headed toward a finish he believed he’d paid fo
r a thousand times over in careful restraint.
With his hand finally arriving at the center of Charlotte’s sexual home, two fingers parted her thick labia and opened the cleft for the inspection of the priest. A tiny gasp crossed Charlotte’s lips as her belly spasmed with pre-cum tremors. Then she held her breath as the two men examined her and finally divulged their findings to the audience.
“The slave is indeed a virgin,” the priest declared. A wave of hushed whispers swept through the crowd then instantly died down. “Take her now.”
This might have been a triumphant moment with a jubilant Mountbane cheerily taking his bride with the swift thrust of his manhood spilling her blood. Instead, however, and befitting of the occasion, this was a steadied and focused act—not without a degree of affection new to this troubled relationship. Pulling Charlotte’s splayed cunt forward, the master stared his bride in the eye while opening his britches; then with one hand to steer his cock, and the other grasping her hip, he made the first thrust.
As her hymen was torn asunder, a pained grimace appeared on the slave’s fair face. Then a sigh of release fell softly across her brow as her husband boldly pummeled the once well-hidden treasure. The slave’s eyes stayed focused on her husband’s face, until the pulse of his speedy exploit began to loosen the anxious knot of fear inside her belly. Then, her sexual juices poured forth, bathing him with her warm nectar and her channel began to clench. Her arousal seemed to crash through the valleys and tributaries of her body even as she thrashed back and forth on her bed of stone. She clutched at him, drew him into her with the muscles of her cunt begging for more with each rude stroke of his mighty organ.
The Surrender of Lady Charlotte Page 6