The Captive

by Amber Jameson

  THE CAPTIVE by Amber Jameson

  Copyright Amber Jameson

  CHAPTER ONE

  Laughter, musical and happy, drifted across the castle garden. The girl was as beautiful as her laughter, a rare beauty that came from within.

  Her gown was of fine thin silk, a simple shift, caught below the breasts by a narrow thong of gold. He could see through it the shape of her long legs. And oh those breasts! His mouth watered as he gazed at them bouncing freely under the unrestricting silk.

  He was still sweating hard from his fencing lesson as he stood taking his breath, leaning against the castle gallows. The exercise had made his blood flow fast at the sight of her and the badge of his masculinity was rising painfully beneath his short leather practice tunic.

  Her name was Zacora. He had noticed her before, and enquired.

  His father promised him that as soon as he had taken part in his first joust he could choose a girl as his wife. Could he wait that long? No! The fencing master had told him there was much work to do before he was ready for a tournament.

  Still his desire grew. It was too much. Clenching his fists, Ogham howled, howled aloud like an animal.

  There was a sudden silence on the castle lawn and and then Zacora came running. The very sight of her approaching him was an aphrodisiac and the pain in his groin was unbearable.

  “Are you ill?” Her voice was like music; each word stroked his belly and caressed his penis.

  “Not now!”

  The two young people stood together in the menacing shadow of the gallows. Zacora lowered her sapphire blue eyes and folded her hands at the top of her thighs, just as she had been taught to do in her lessons in womanhood.

  Breathing was difficult for Ogham. The girl’s sex was clearly outlined by her white silk dress and the way her hands lay at that very point.

  “What have you learned today?” he asked, taking in the creamy bare skin of her arms and imagining what they would look like bound to the gallows. And those long legs coiled around the post to open her up. He had to close his eyes, screw them tight, he could not bear to see her, the thoughts of that luscious body bound and at his mercy were too much.

  She stretched out a hand to stroke his chin, still smooth with youth. Her obvious concern made Ogham hide a smile. This was going to be easy.

  He gave a brave grin, shaking his head. “You haven’t told me what you learned.”

  “Oh, how to kiss a man’s penis with the vagina.” She related it so matter-of-factly and yet her eyes were still lowered modestly.

  Ogham’s throat seemed to be closing with desire, but this girl wasn’t what his father would choose for him. Or allow him to choose. Rumour had it that although her father was a nobleman, her mother was a mere chambermaid. It was her beauty which brought her to court and the classes for the young ladies.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  Zacora shook her head, her long golden hair waving like spun silk and catching the sun to throw out silver highlights. “There wasn’t time.” Although her head was still bowed with submissiveness, there was laughter in her voice and he could see her eyes twinkling.

  “But you’ve been in there all morning!”

  “I know, but one of the girls was disobedient.”

  She looked up at him. Her wide soft lips were parted and he could see even white teeth and the pinkness of a tongue tip. He could imagine all of these engulfing his painfully hard penis. She seemed to be inviting him to place his whole length in her mouth.

  “What did this girl do? This disobedient one?” It was difficult for him to speak, so great was his need. He was ready for a woman, must have one, no matter what his father said.

  Zacora lifted her dress, unveiling the creamy length of her athletic legs right up to the silver triangle of hair, for she was naked beneath. Ogham held his breath. “The girl pleasured herself,” she said gravely, pouting her sex and opening it by pulling at the firm young lips.

  He could see everything! The pink folds, shining in the sunshine and the hardened bud of her clitoris. The folds shone with moisture and even with his limited experience of women, Ogham knew what that meant. She was ready for him.

  “Was she punished?” His hands were sweating and his body glowed with need. He had the fire of a man in him.

  “Indeed she was,” said Zacora. “It was Peeka. There she is. She got her bottom smacked very thoroughly.”

  Ogham followed the direction of the delicate pointing finger and saw another fair girl, pretty but not as beautiful as Zacora. She seemed none the worse for wear. He held out his hand. “Let’s go into the forest and you can tell me all about it.” Keeping his voice light and carefree was a problem, but he managed it.

  The folds of fine gossamer silk were allowed to fall, hiding the sex treasures once more, and Zacora lowered her eyes. “I can tell you here,” she said meekly. “I do not wish to disobey you, but no girl goes into the forest.”

  “Unless she is betrothed?” That was what she would be thinking. He grabbed her hand, holding it cruelly, squeezing her fingers.

  She nodded. “Unless they are betrothed.” Her golden head was still lowered, but his touch, though painful, stimulated her. Her body was flushed and a lethargic heaviness lay in the nakedness of her belly.

  “I like you,” he stammered. “I like you very much.”

  Did that mean they would be betrothed? Zacora looked up at him shyly, that same inviting smile on her lips. Soon he would be a knight, riding into battle and leaving his wife behind, safe in her chastity belt. Perhaps he would indeed ask her to be his wife if she encouraged him. Just a little!

  “Perhaps we could go a little way,” she said. “Just into the edge of the forest.” She wanted to so much. Hesitantly, reluctantly, but driven by desire she could not control, she began to walk with him across the lawns to the thickly wooded wilderness beyond the castle grounds.

  “Tell me about Peeka.” In the green light of the forest, ever changing as the breeze moved the abundant leaf canopy, his voice was steadier. “Tell me how she was punished.” He knew it would be punishment for himself to listen. The story would increase the pain in his organ until he could bear it no longer.

  She took a deep breath. Talking about another girl was better than worrying about herself, worrying lest she be seen in the forest with a man to whom she was not betrothed. “It happened when the Master was describing how a woman should ripple her vagina along the length of a man’s cock.”

  There was no trace of embarrassment in her voice as she told the tale, but then a woman’s whole life was devoted to giving a man pleasure.

  “Peeka lifted her dress and used one of the Master’s pleasure tools inside herself, before she was given permission.”

  “Very disobedient!” Ogham pressed Zacora’s willowy figure to him, feeling the sweep of her hips and the jut of her buttocks, and she hardly resisted at all.

  “The Master was furious!” Now Zacora nestled against the strength of Ogham’s young body. “The stupid ignorant girl had taken her own virginity, you see, there in the class. We are taught to wait until it is taken from us in whichever way our man requires.”

  “Of course.” Ogham swayed against her. His legs had lost their strength. “So she was whipped?”

  Zacora nodded. “She was placed in the stocks, completely naked, and we were all made to watch or help.” She turned to him with wide innocent eyes, eyes which made him feel that he was drowning in his own sexual need. “Each wrist and her neck were clamped in the heavy wood of the stock, while her back and bottom were pressed out ready for the birching.”

  “And her legs, were they free?” With one hand slipped securely round Zacora’s waist, he let the other stray to her breasts, one after the other. The nipples sprang to hard
little pips under the silk. She was so receptive, he thought. She learned her lessons with the Master well.

  “No!” she exclaimed. “They were shackled and spread well apart and the Master made Peeka keep the training phallus in her vagina.”

  “Was there any sign of humiliation?”

  “She didn’t cry,” Zacora told him, “in fact, she pouted her quite plump buttocks high.”

  “She was ready, then?”

  Ogham’s male sword, cramped in his tight breeches, squirmed against the restriction of the leather. With Zacora nestling under his strong arm the thought of Peeka almost asking to be birched, plump and naked, was too much.

  “Hm,” agreed Zacora, cuddling closer. “Very ready, The Master showed us how her juices trickled copiously down the phallus and even…” She paused, looking up at him, her eyes wide and her lips moistly parted. “Even down her thighs.”

  A sigh, long and painful, whispered along the path which they were treading. Ogham had never had a woman although his father had told him what it was like to sink into the joyous welcome of female parts. All women in Lokara were taught how to pleasure a man to the full.

  “Describe Peeka’s bottom,” he begged.

  Zacora stopped, resting against the massive trunk of an ancient oak. She closed her eyes, not seeing Ogham rub his painfully erect shaft. “Her bottom was spread wide by the shackles.” She traced her hands to the shape of well opened buttocks and widely splayed legs. Her long fingers also traced a vertical line to denote the deep cleft. The fingers stroked away from her body, depicting the voluptuous curves of each buttock cheek. “We could all see her rose hole and it was pulsing madly. The flesh of her bottom cheeks quivered, The Master says that plump buttocks always quake more than slim ones when they are waiting for a blow to fall.”

  Ogham’s green eyes were wide as he stared at Zacora’s beauty. She was describing the scene so vividly that he felt that he was in the training room with them. He approached her tentatively, looking at her fairy-like beauty hidden only by a single layer of gossamer-fine silk.

  “The Master took the training phallus from Peeka,” Zacora continued. “It was then that she started to cry. She said she felt deprived without it. The Master laughed at her and, almost immediately, rammed the most monumental phallus into her, the type given to men as a betrothal present, up into Peeka’s vagina, so she was on tip-toe.”

  The young squire placed his hands against the trunk of the oak, pressing the heat of his body against the girl. “Describe Peeka’s cunt,” he grated crudely.

  The coarse word didn’t offend Zacora, it excited her. Her golden head, with the mass of curls tumbling over her shoulders, leaned back against the tree. Her unfettered breasts felt full and swollen and the nipples pressed hard against the thin silk, hot and inflamed. Her mound felt more puffy than usual, pouting out towards this handsome squire. Surely this was what all her training was for; to please a man such as this, to snare him in her charms?

  “Peeka was standing on tip-toe in the stocks to display her bottom and sex pouch properly, that’s what we’ve been taught, you see, all our lives, to make ourselves pretty and subservient to men.”

  Ogham nodded. Quite right too!

  “In the centre of Peeka’s folds was the thickness of the training phallus, opening her vagina to the full. Her clitoris was juddering and was so swollen and scarlet I thought it was going to burst. The folds were swollen too and fluttering like butterfly wings. It was then that the Master struck the first blow.”

  “Does Peeka have a very pale skin?” Ogham was leaning the whole length of his body on Zacora’s and squeezing the pliancy of her breasts.

  “Oh, very,” she nodded. Her nipples were being pinched cruelly and the breast flesh was kneaded like dough. It was her duty, she knew, to bear whatever pleased a man. “Much paler than mine. Her skin is almost white, whereas mine is creamy.”

  Ogham was lifting the silk which swathed Zacora’s slender but curvaceous bottom. “What colour did her flesh become after the blows?”

  “The first blow of the birch made a single scarlet stripe. Peeka flinched, but simply pressed her bottom out further for more.” Zacora allowed the young squire to spread her own cheeks wide, his fingers digging painfully into the most delicate flesh of her rear valley. “She couldn’t move very much because the stocks limit any wriggling.”

  “Have you ever been in them?” The delight of visualising the gorgeous Zacora naked in the stocks was unbearable.

  She lowered her eyes, thick honey-blonde lashes sweeping her cheeks. “By the time the Master had finished there were ten very red weals across Peeka’s pale skin, each exactly parallel with the other and mostly gathered across the plumpest part, where the cheeks curve down. At least two were striped across Peeka’s sex lips.”

  “Stop!” ordered Ogham. “You haven’t answered my question.” He could feel a sheen of sweat beading his face. “Have you ever been in the stocks?”

  Zacora’s long thighs were open as he pressed his taut young body to hers. All her training had prepared her for this day and she wanted to enjoy it to the full, but there was still a small nagging doubt in her mind. Did he really like her as he said? She should not be behaving like this with a man to whom she was not betrothed, but surely…

  “The stocks!” he hissed. “Wouldn’t you like to experience what Peeka experienced?”

  His strong young fingers were spreading her open, her buttocks, her sex lips. She knew he could feel her sex sap trickling warmly from the folds, soaking her clitoris which was pressing against his questing finger tips. Her will was gone. He sighed, grasping her hand. “Come on!” he growled hurriedly. “There won’t be anyone in the training room now!”

  It was early afternoon and most of the court was resting. There were a few guards on duty, but none stopped the two young people as they returned to the castle and entered the empty echoing training room. The stocks stood ready, sombre dark wood stained with old blood in places, the carefully placed holes for neck and wrists beckoning Zacora. She shuddered at the sight of them. The equipment seemed to be much more threatening when the other girls weren’t there.

  “Strip!” ordered Ogham. His voice was very commanding for so young a squire. “Strip for me! Is it not what you are taught to do?”

  It was. But…

  “Now!” he said again, even more sternly this time.

  Obediently, as she had been taught, Zacora gathered the fine silk in her hands and lifted the hem, feeling very vulnerable without the film of gossamer swirling around her body. She bowed her head and folded her hands at the silver fronded crotch. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, standing there naked didn’t humiliate her, for she had been born to please her masters, the nobles of the kingdom.

  Green eyes glittering, Ogham watched every move, every sway of her young limbs, the sheen of moisture on the neatly trimmed bush of silvery blonde hair at the top of her thighs.

  “Let me see you in the stocks!”

  Now she hardly hesitated. With long easy steps she made her way to the sombre punishment implement. “This is just a game? It must be a game we are playing. You won’t lock me in, will you?”

  Ogham said nothing, but helped the young maiden to place her slender neck on the curved block and place her wrists in the slots. The solid sound of wood on wood as he brought down the top half of the fiercesome contraption, made his penis swell yet more. He hesitated, wondering whether to slip the hasps of the padlocks, but the hesitation was only momentary. In a second it was done. The girl was caught fast.

  At each end of the room there were windows, long and dusty. The grime made them act as mirrors and Zacora could see her naked backside lifted in the air. Ogham was shackling her ankles in the floor manacles so her legs were splayed, revealing her sex slit to the full. Unlike Peeka there was no need to stand on tip-toe, for Zacora’s legs were long, she simply hollowed her back, posing her sex upwards.

  “What shall I beat you with?”

  �
��You must not beat me. I said it must be a game!”

  He was standing behind her, his hands resting lightly on her buttock cheeks, his thumbs pressing the puffy lower edges of her sex lips.

  She had no idea whether he was clothed or naked for he was bending low, examining her minutely. In that position she could not see him reflected in the grimy windows, but she knew that he could see every detail of her sex folds. What he was doing was no lover’s caress and, for the first time, she felt shamed and humiliated.

  He felt her tension and released his tight grip. “Are you going to scream?”

  She shook her head, swaying the silky tresses from side to side. It would do no good to scream. There was no one within sound of them. And if there were, she would just be found with a man to whom she was not betrothed. She would be disgraced. Better not to be rescued. She had fallen into a trap and must make the best of it.

  A laugh, cold and without mirth, rasped in her ears. “I think, just in case, we’ll use the tongue bar.” She heard him move across the room and then the chink of metal as he sorted through the Master’s equipment. Returning to her, he held the device for her to see. She swallowed hard. It was a painful contraption.

  A bar of iron with balls at each end was placed in the victim’s mouth, depressing the tongue and held in place by a leather strap around the head. As he tightened the buckle, pulling it unmercifully, so that her head was shaken from one side to the other, he was breathing hard.

  He moved to stand in front of her. A hot bulge was close to her helpless face. She could feel his penis throbbing like a caged wild animal.

  “Yes!” he said. “Excellent!”

  Zacora would have protested if it was possible, but her soft lips were fixed by the iron gag. There was no escape, she realised. She was trapped, completely trapped, but this sense of total helplessness gave that wonderful feeling of lethargy. Her eyes felt heavy. There was a liquid whirling in her belly; a melting heat. Her sap, as she was warned would happen when the time was right, was drooling down her pale thighs, hot and sticky.

  Before that day in the beauty of the Lokara springtime, she never realised that being vulnerable could make her aware of her powerful sexuality.