by Jay Lawrence
"Hold her down."
"No!"
Sharp nails cut into the tender flesh of her wrists and, from behind, Sydonie pressed her dusky face against the shimmering veil, kissing Frederica's open mouth through the delicate cloth. Another pair of hands held her ankles fast and she struggled feebly as her husband straddled her captive form and drove his massive erection between her dripping thighs. A single scream of pain was muffled by the love slave's deep kiss and, grunting with effort, Lord Urquhart pounded his massive cock into his writhing bride's virgin pussy, massaging her swollen clitoris with each deep stroke.
"Come with me, you little hussy!"
Faster and harder he rode, driving into Frederica like the piston of a locomotive, until the rising tide of ecstasy overwhelmed them both. Shrieking and yelling in unbounded pleasure, they climaxed together, scattering the dish of sweets upon the rug.
* * * *
The next morning dawned bright and crisp and Frederica awoke to find herself alone in a vast canopied bed. Dazzling sunlight illuminated the spacious bedchamber, casting a golden glow upon the paneled walls. Above the gaping maw of an unlit fireplace, the twin griffins of the Urquhart crest were carved into a shield of oak and the young woman shivered, reminded of the marble image of her predecessor.
And where, pray, is my husband?
The confused events of the previous night formed a strange procession in the young girl's mind and she sat up, wincing at the sharp discomfort from the raw place between her legs.
One thing is for certain. I am no longer a maid.
The room was cold and Frederica drew the counterpane up to her chin, a fleeting surge of nausea visiting her exhausted body.
He took me many times, as if in a dream. On my back, amongst the pillows, with my face beneath the veil and the girls and their hot, wet mouths. And there was an Arabian banquet, with the drugged sweetmeats, followed by roasted mutton and that sickly boiled coffee and he had me on my hands and knees, feeding me morsels, then taking me again and again, his sharp hips banging against my bottom as the other girls laughed and kissed and played with one another's breasts...
"I must get up."
Gingerly, the young bride pushed the covers back, trying to ignore the spots of blood upon the fresh linen sheet. The room seemed to tilt as she climbed down from the high bed and she caught sight of her reflection in an oval glass, pallid with dark circles beneath the eyes and a mop of wild hair. Somehow, they had dressed her in one of her beautiful nightgowns, so the trunk must be retrieved at last.
But I seem destined to be a soiled princess.
The finely pin-tucked and embroidered nightgown was embellished with deep ruffles of Breton lace, but already stained and streaked with crimson blood and yellow semen. Angry tears pricked Frederica's eyes and she limped across to the window, squinting out at the sparkling day.
Ah, there he is! Now, did he spend the night beside his bride or cavorting with the busty maids?
Lord Urquhart walked among the tangled briars, apparently deep in thought, his hands thrust into the pockets of a heavy overcoat. Frederica raised her left hand to tap on the glass of the leaded panes, then stopped abruptly as the sunlight glinted on her wedding band.
Why, I didn't notice the pattern in the gold...
Fascinated, the young woman turned her hand to examine the delicate engraving of the ring.
Twisted rose thorns, exactly like the ones in the neglected garden. How odd.
He'll never be yours.
The voice came from the direction of the bed, a sibilant whisper like a sighing breeze. Frozen with fear, Frederica turned to greet its source but could see nothing untoward. Her heart began to hammer with the seeming force of a smith's mallet beating upon an anvil and she turned her back to the window, unwilling to take her eyes from the empty bed. Slowly, each step a triumph of dogged will, the young woman approached the crumpled mound of covers and, with one sharp movement, pulled back the counterpane to reveal the expanse of sheet below.
"No!"
The linen sheet, now strangely yellowed, was encrusted with dried blood. Almost black, it stiffened the fabric to fine card, extending in a crumbling, flaking disc, which must once have been a seeping, spreading pool.
Nothing could be done.
Now, the woman's voice was behind Frederica and she wheeled about, again seeing nothing more than the winter sunlight playing upon the bedroom floor. Mute with terror, she ran from the room, colliding with her husband as he came to bid his new wife good morning.
* * * *
Lord Urquhart had been kind yet dismissive of his frantic bride's shuddering account of the morning's events.
"Darling Frederica. The wedding night has proved somewhat disorientating to your delicate feminine sensibilities. Little wonder, as my lovely bride showed a lusty appetite for Cupid's games! I'm delighted with you, my dear. Quite entranced. You fucked like a seasoned whore, with the added delight of a sweet virgin cunny to plunder."
Frederica flushed deeply, vividly recalling the blissful ecstasies of the recent bacchanal.
Is it wrong of me to enjoy these sports? Can a lady take true pleasure in the marriage bed?
"I almost believe that I would take you again. Here and now upon the gallery floor."
"Oh, please – it hurts me so..."
"Then all the better. A little piquant sauce to enliven the dish."
Pushing his protesting wife towards the heavy oak balusters of the gallery, Lord Urquhart lifted her nightgown and bent her forwards, so she grasped the polished surface of the handrail and presented her naked bottom to his admiring gaze. Swiftly, he undid the front of his trousers and plunged himself mercilessly into her tender cleft, lecturing his remonstrating bride between the hard, deep strokes.
"You cannot refuse me, Frederica. Do you understand? You will do your wifely duty, as you promised to honor and obey. Until death do us part."
Opening her streaming eyes to look down upon the great hall, Frederica watched the shadowy form that briefly warmed its ghostly fingers by the blazing fire, then melted like a snowflake into the bearskin rug. A rush of warm seed filled her thrilling sex and she squirmed against her husband's hips, screaming at last, in one long ecstatic, terrified burst.
* * * *
The first month of Frederica's life at Urquhart Hall passed swiftly, in a gaudy whirl of erotic discovery. At times, the young woman believed she might drown in the rising tide of sensual experience, then Lord Urquhart would retreat to his library, abandoning his exhausted bride to the tamer pursuits of needlework and sketching. Each night, shortly after the distant bells of the parish church struck eight o'clock, Sydonie would appear, as if summoned by a spell, taking her place at the long table where a taciturn cook served the evening meal. An unspoken rivalry had grown between the two young women, as it seemed Lord Urquhart shared the love slave's bed, leaving his wife to wake alone in the chill of morning. What quarters Sydonie occupied during daylight hours, Frederica could not tell, although she had explored the many dusty, unused chambers of the Hall, tiptoeing along shadowy passageways and peering through cobwebbed keyholes... The door to one annex appeared to be locked and it seemed that the young woman must languish somewhere within. She strongly suspected the love slave slept by day and entertained by night, but when did Lord Urquhart rest? Perhaps he took an hour here and there, snatched between the pleasures of the flesh. He really was a marvel of a man, exhibiting the stamina of young bucks a mere third of his years...
One particular afternoon, Lord Urquhart had retreated to the library for an especially lengthy respite and Frederica, weary of her tapestry, decided to examine the secluded annex. It was located on the darker, north facing side of the Hall, where the forest threatened to consume the skeletal remains of a derelict icehouse and lush ferns sprouted from the mossy rubble. Unaccountably nervous, the young woman crept silently along the corridor in her stockinged feet, pausing to peer through the dirty leaded windows which punctuated the cracked and damp l
ooking wall, until she came to the heavy oak door with its rusting studs. A large and elaborate iron plate surrounded the keyhole and Frederica crouched to squint through the narrow aperture, glimpsing nothing more than an expanse of plastered wall. Cautiously, she took hold of the weighty ring, which served as a handle, and leaned against the wood, expecting to meet with the usual determined resistance. This time, however, to her slight dismay, the door swung open and revealed yet another passage, even darker than before. Without quite knowing why, a crop of goose flesh crept across the young woman's skin and she suddenly had a sense of being watched, as if she were quietly observed by some person unknown. Trembling, she glanced down the brighter corridor from whence she'd come, but could see nothing untoward. Fired by intense curiosity, she stepped into the shadowy space and walked towards the single dim arched window at the passage end.
There are no other doors – just one way in or out. A corridor to nowhere.
Pressing the palms of her hands against the murky glass, Frederica wondered at the verdant plant life, which grew on the other side of the brittle panes.
The forest is steadily consuming this part of the house. Soon, the advance guard of sturdy branches will pierce a weakened place and the wood will rush in, an emerald tide of new life, smothering this sandstone crypt, capturing the castle...
"But why is there no way out?"
Perplexed, she spoke aloud, the question echoing in the greenish gloom.
There is no way out.
Dear Jesus! The voice!
Retreating in horror from the misted glass, Frederica heard a terrified scream spiral in her mind, although the only sound, which issued from her lips, was a faint whimper.
"There is no escape."
Suddenly, the blurred shape of a woman's face appeared at the window and, shrieking, Frederica fled from a nightmare creature with gaping eye sockets and a wild mass of dark tousled hair.
* * * *
"Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream? My dearest Frederica. I suspect I know what might be causing your visions. The colorful gymnastics of a tender mind, led astray by a fertile womb! I think I should have Dr. Frater examine you."
Lord Urquhart stood with his back to the fire, gently admonishing the weeping young woman who knelt on the rug at his feet. Outraged, Frederica raised her tearstained face to glare at her husband.
"I saw her! It was not a hallucination. And she looked like me. Oh, dear Lord, she was just like me!"
"Indeed? Child, I do not doubt that your lovely eyes encountered some peculiar apparition. A trick of the light. Your own reflection, rendered terrible by a distorted looking glass..."
"No. I know what I saw."
However, a trace of doubt had insinuated itself within the young woman's mind and she fell silent, biting her bottom lip in distress as her husband crossed the great hall to pour two generous measures of dark liquid from a heavy decanter on the vast sideboard. Returning with a crystal goblet in each hand, he knelt to offer his shivering wife a sip of the potent wine.
"I think a drop of Malmsey is in order, my precious. The sweetness will revive you. Now, I must insist that you do not wander into the northern annex again. Parts of the building may be unsafe and, as you have already discovered, the atmosphere is less than cheerful. Do you understand, Frederica? If I discover that you have disobeyed me, you will be severely chastised."
"Yes, sir. I understand."
Quietly, Frederica sipped the heady wine, feeling it slowly wrap its numbing cloak about her as she watched the flames dance in the cavernous fireplace. Lord Urquhart settled himself beside her on the bearskin rug and pressed his lips against her flushed cheek, simultaneously producing a small turquoise box from his waistcoat pocket.
"I had intended to present you with this token after dinner, but I think my young wife might appreciate a little diversion. For you, my darling."
Hesitantly, Frederica took the flat, oblong box and placed it on the thick black fur of the rug. Slowly, she pried off the tightly fitting cardboard lid, which bore the name and address of a fashionable London jeweler, embossed in fine gold lettering. Inside, neatly wrapped in muslin, there lay a stunning necklet of fanciful golden leaves, set with cornelian stones to form a chain of little sunflowers.
"Oh! It matches my brooch."
"Are you pleased? Lift your hair so I may fasten it about your swan-like neck."
Deftly, Lord Urquhart encircled Frederica's slender throat with the lovely necklace, as she gathered up her mass of curls, savoring the subtle eroticism of his hands constricting her ivory neck.
"And now, my reward..."
Setting the two empty glasses upon the hearth, he pushed her gently down upon the rug, nuzzling her straining breasts through the bodice of her gown, then easing them out to take his pleasure, murmuring endearments to his moaning wife.
* * * *
Frederica's joy at the unexpected gift was short lived, for that very evening, Sydonie arrived at the dinner table, resplendent in a stunning collar of oriental jade. Aware of the young Lady Urquhart's barely suppressed outrage, she took full advantage of the situation and slid onto her master's lap, wrapping her gleaming arms about his neck and imprinting a myriad of grateful kisses on his wrinkled cheeks. Frederica cleared her throat, painfully aware that any display of displeasure would lead to her humiliation or worse, but she could not bear to see the dusky beauty proudly flaunting the exotic gems.
"Do you think that green is Sydonie's color, sir? I would have thought it more suited to a paler skin."
Oh, why did I say that? Now, he will know that I am jealous of his concubine, that I'd see her reduced to the rank of scullery maid or banished to another house, another master.
Thoughtfully, Lord Urquhart appraised the glistening expanse of coppery cleavage beneath his chin, as if judging horseflesh. The necklace was formed of many discs of brightest jade, little full moons of vibrant green. Sydonie arched her spine and laughed, throwing back her head and tossing the magnificent mane of hair until it spread out across the table in an ebony fan. She was dressed in a skintight gown of black silk, slit to the thigh and cut down to the navel, half exposing her lush breasts. Almost reverently, Lord Urquhart traced the jutting profile of her upturned nipples with the tip of one forefinger before replying.
"Jade is perfect for Sydonie. Simply perfect. Jade from the Orient, from the land of servile concubines, her spiritual home. I purchased this trinket from an ancient Chinese gentleman in a tiny hole in the wall shop up a narrow alley, rife with the sickly stench of cheap brothels and opium dens. Quite an adventure, it was..."
"It's not fair!"
Wild fury was threatening to consume Frederica and she clutched the edge of the table, her cheeks burning with raw passion.
"Why can I not be enough for you? Why must you keep this, this whore, when you possess a wife? Can you not see how it insults me? I wake each morning to an empty bed, as my husband romps with his half-caste slut!"
"Enough!"
Oh no! I have said too much and he will beat me for certain, finally carrying out the threat which has dogged my steps since I became his bride. He will whip me until I beg for mercy.
Frederica waited for the storm to break, but Lord Urquhart merely observed his trembling young wife, a half smile playing upon his lips.
"Ah, my little princess is consumed by the green-eyed monster. Most regrettable, for I abhor jealousy. It is a singularly unpleasant condition, especially in a lovely young woman. Alas, it seems that the more comely the lady, the greater the incidence of the vice. You have spoiled blood in your veins, madam! I think it's time I showed you my wine cellar."
"Your wine cellar?"
Frederica saw a strange look of pity briefly melt the love slave's dark brown eyes. Gently pushing Sydonie aside, Lord Urquhart rose from his seat at the head of the long oak table, his sudden movement causing the candles before him to gutter as if genuflecting before a king. Sternly, he approached his wife, gesturing her to rise,
as the love slave seemed to meld into the shadows of the hall, soon returning with a long wooden switch. Horrified, Frederica gasped and felt her legs turn to water beneath her.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry, sir..."
"Sorry you will be, my dear child. I intend to switch your bare bottom until you cry."
Brutally, Lord Urquhart grasped a handful of his wife's lovely hair and propelled her, already weeping copiously, to a large wall hanging depicting a stag-hunting scene. Sydonie drew the heavy tapestry aside, revealing a narrow paneled door, which opened to reveal a precipitous winding staircase.
"Bring a lamp."
Slowly, they descended the cramped steps, the love slave bearing a flickering lamp, which shone a yellowish path into the inky darkness. Lord Urquhart maintained a steely grip on Frederica's curls and several times she stopped to plead with him, only to be spurred onwards by his cruel fingers. Finally, the tortuous stairway opened out into a large cellar with a low, curving roof. Rack upon rack of dusty wine bottles filled the echoing space, draped here and there with cobwebs. On one stone wall, several heavy iron rings were set into the masonry, two almost at floor level and a further two about six feet above.
"Oh, please..."
Frederica had collapsed onto the frigid floor, no longer able to support her weight, such was the terror she felt in her heart. Several strands of auburn hair were pulled out by the roots and she yelped in pain as her husband dragged her upright once again.
"Fetch the cords, Sydonie!"
Together, they manhandled the anguished young woman towards the wall, swiftly raising her arms and binding her slender wrists to the higher set of rings. The lower rings were set farther apart, so the prisoner's legs were kept spread-eagled. Frederica began to moan, only able to move her head and wriggle her hips against the freezing stone. Lord Urquhart placed the limber willow switch against her clothed bottom, pausing to recount the history of the cellar.
"These manacles date from the Civil War, my sweet. My ancestors were staunch Royalists who delighted in capturing Cromwell's troops and torturing them until they pledged allegiance to the King. Some chose to perish rather than convert, but most would soon switch their alliance, faced with the dreaded scourge of Alexander Urquhart. You have been a wicked child, Frederica. Envy is a deadly sin. I am about to apply two dozen strokes of the switch to your naked behind. I suggest you ponder your errant behavior while Sydonie lifts your skirts and lowers your drawers."