Bondmaiden

by B. A. Bradbury

  ‘Let’s have a proper look at you,’ he said. ‘Take your things off.’

  She stood up again and undressed, while Holmann sat up on the bed to watch, stroking his cock all the while, and when she was naked he reached out again to draw her down beside him. He pinched her nipples, cruelly hurting them, and she held her breath but he just sniggered, unconcerned that he was causing her discomfort.

  After a while of toying with her he pushed her down on her back. Spreading her legs wide he parted her sex lips with his fingers and poked inside, careful as always, checking to see she was still intact. Satisfied he pinched the lips, pressing his thumbnail into her soft tissue, smirking at her obvious discomfort, then he plucked at her nubbin, making her moan.

  ‘You should think yourself lucky,’ he said with a grin. ‘If it was Master Yves doing this in the dungeon he’d be using red-hot pincers.’

  She shuddered, and Holmann chuckled and rolled her over onto her front. He pressed a finger against her anus, feeling its resistance give, and the stout digit sank inside her tight rear passage, and not just the tip like before, but all the way until his palm was cupping her tender buttocks. He slid it slowly in and out and she groaned in discomfort and dismay, until after abusing her in this fashion for a minute or two he withdrew the finger and told her to kneel beside him as he reclined, his hands behind his head.

  ‘You do it for me now,’ he ordered, nodding proudly at his standing cock, and hesitantly she did what she’d seen him do, gripping it and moving her fist experimentally up and down, again and again. Then, her confidence growing, she instinctively used the ball of her thumb to caress the engorged head, paying particular attention to the little eye, which now seeped a little clear liquid. His cock pulsed and quivered, and he grunted with pleasure and rocked his hips, watching her closely, his immense pleasure evident.

  After a while he sat up, and the look on his face told her what was coming next. He told her to get off the bed and kneel on the floor with her hands behind her back, and he then clambered off the bed and stood in front of her.

  ‘Don’t touch my cock with your hands,’ he said. ‘You need to learn to control it with lips and tongue alone. Do you understand?’ Lia blushed and nodded. ‘Very well, open your mouth.’

  With her heart thumping she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and opened her mouth, and felt his cock slide in over her tongue, stretching her lips even wider apart until her jaw ached. She shuddered, revolted, but remained dutifully still nonetheless. The degradation was awful, and she was afraid she wouldn’t do it properly and he’d be angry with her and beat her again, or something even worse. But it turned out she didn’t have to do very much at all, for Holmann clamped her head in his hands and began to move his hips back and forth, pulling her face into his hairy groin each time he stabbed. All Lia had to do was stay obedient and try to please him as quickly as possible to get it over with.

  ‘Look up at me,’ he said, and she opened her eyes. He was watching her, a satisfied smirk on his face. ‘You should always look up at the man you’re servicing,’ he said. ‘It shows you appreciate the honour he’s granting you.’

  He continued to steadily fuck her mouth, and with sinking spirits she realised staying power wasn’t a thing he lacked. And he began to push deeper, her difficulties in accommodating him increasing. Now and then his cock sank into her throat and she almost gagged, her hands wanting to rise defensively.

  ‘Keep them down,’ he warned sternly, anticipating her instincts. ‘Keep your hands behind your back, no matter what.’

  Easier said than done, for she could hardly breathe at times and panic was always close. When he had to warn her a second time, and then a third, she thought he would surely punish her for it.

  At last his movements started to quicken and she knew he was close to his climax. This was the hardest time of all for her, for he was in the grip of intense lust and had little control over his movements. He sank into her throat with no regard for her capacity to take it, and she could do nothing but pray it would be over soon.

  He grunted, jerked, and then she almost choked as his seed filled her mouth and flooded her throat. She coughed and gagged, aware of him telling her to swallow, and remembered the same demand being made of her sister, times without number. And that was what Lia did, accepting Holmann’s spunk, wanting nothing more than to get through the ordeal and return to her own bed where she prayed sleep would bring respite.

  He shuffled away from her finally and slumped down on the bed, breathing heavily. Lacking further instructions she remained kneeling where she was, head down, gazing vacantly at the floor, feeling miserable beyond words. After a while she heard him moving, heard the chest lid open and closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to start.

  Chapter Eight

  Two days later Holmann assembled all the servants and announced he’d be away for two weeks. King Ulric’s brother, Roland, king in his own right in neighbouring Darkheim, had arranged a tourney to celebrate the knighting of his eldest son. King Ulric and Prince Baran had been invited, along with a host of lords and captains from both Darkheim and Attland, and from Darkheim’s ally, Gant. Naturally there would be a banquet each night, and naturally King Roland’s own kitchen staff would be hard pressed to cope with all those extra mouths to feed. King Ulric had therefore ordered Holmann to go, and to take one other with him.

  ‘He’ll take Jarold, you’ll see,’ Tilda whispered in Lia’s ear as they listened to Holmann’s speech.

  ‘I’ve decided to take Jarold,’ Holmann said, earning Lia a jab in the ribs from Tilda’s elbow. ‘It would have been Dagna, but she’s needed here to act in my place. Treat her orders as though they were my own. If I hear bad reports of you on my return, we’ll be having punishments up in the ward for all to watch. Dagna, I say again, is in charge.’

  ‘Saint Ivar help us,’ Tilda muttered under her breath.

  ‘King Ulric will take half the guard, six men, for an escort, together with the guard captain. The sergeant will stay here with the others to guard the queen. With half away the workload here will lighten, obviously, but it will still be a testing time with me and Jarold gone, and you’ll all have to make an extra effort. Do your best and you have nothing to fear; fail to do your best and the whole castle will be hearing your screams for mercy. That’s all I have to say. Now carry on with your work.’

  Holmann and Jarold duly departed, but Tilda pointed out that they were actually only one person short. Holmann and Dagna did little except order everyone else about, and Dagna was quite capable of managing that all by herself. Jarold was the only worker missing.

  ‘And good riddance, too,’ she added.

  Dagna made the most of her elevated status, giving twice as many orders as were necessary, finding fault with every little thing, and generally making herself objectionable. Lia guessed she was looking for the least excuse to punish someone, and was soon proved right. Berta was baking a game pie, and after making the pastry for the crust she’d asked Lia to roll it out.

  ‘What do you call that?’ Dagna snapped, looking over Lia’s shoulder.

  ‘Pastry,’ Lia said politely, keeping her tone humble so as not to cause offence. ‘For the pie.’

  ‘Pastry?’ Dagna snorted. ‘You’ve rolled it so thin it looks more like parchment to me. Durwin, get over here.’ Durwin dropped the turnip he was peeling back in the tub and hurried over.

  ‘Does that look like pastry you’d serve to a queen?’ Dagna asked him. ‘Or is it fit only for pigs and pig-girls?’

  Lia had to suppress her annoyance at such arrogance. They were back to the same old insults it seemed, now that Dagna was in charge.

  Durwin looked at the pastry on the table, looked at Lia sorrowfully, then turned to Dagna. ‘For the pigs, I’d say,’ he mumbled.

  Lia kept her head down. She felt no resentment at his apparent betrayal, for she knew he had little choice and
intended telling him so later. He was doing the sensible thing, for there was no point in both of them being punished.

  ‘You know the big chest in Holmann’s room?’ Dagna asked him. ‘Fetch me the leather strap; the black one, mind, not the brown one.’

  Durwin went off, returning five minutes later with the strap in question. It was short, no more than eighteen inches long, and made of thick, sturdy leather. For most of its length it was as broad as a man’s hand, but one end was narrower with a wooden handle. Dagna took it from him, examined it for a moment, touching it reverently and smiling enigmatically, then swept it down venomously against the top of the table. It made a fearsome crack and Lia flinched and gasped.

  ‘Durwin, lift her smock up,’ Dagna commanded. ‘Right up so we can see those tits she so proudly flaunts to all and sundry.’

  Durwin stiffened, and for a moment Lia feared he would refuse. She stared at him as he had once stared at her, intently, willing him to read her mind; and after a few tense moments he let out his breath and relaxed. He drew her smock all the way up, though not without an apologetic shrug. Lia thought he was a fool to risk even that.

  ‘Stay there,’ Dagna told him. ‘Hold it up so it doesn’t fall down. You, pig-girl, clasp your hands behind your head and keep them there.’

  The strapping was a hard one, as Lia had guessed it would be. Dagna struck her with all her sadistic strength, and Lia’s poor bottom was soon aflame once more. Durwin’s face, so close to her own, was full of pity, but of course there was nothing he could do.

  As the punishment progressed Dagna quizzed her on the right way to roll out pastry and other related topics, her aim being to force Lia to answer so that Durwin could hear the pain in her voice as well as see it in her expression. All in all it was a thoroughly wretched experience, and Lia’s only consolation was that she’d saved Durwin as he had once saved her. Dagna was a dangerous enemy; even more so now she was in charge, and obedience to her remained the only intelligent course of action.

  Dagna took to wearing the strap on a lanyard thereafter, hanging from her belt, and Lia and Tilda came to taste it often as the days went by. That their misdemeanours were trivial, or even non-existent, seemed not to matter. Dagna wished them to suffer, so suffer they did, and their bottoms were permanently sore as a result.

  There were other punishments too, of a more imaginative nature, the cruellest of which came a couple of days before Holmann was due to return. Lia somehow managed to drop a dish of eels, which shattered on the flagstone floor, and Dagna pounced eagerly. She produced an object she must have been saving for just such an occasion and told Lia she must wear it.

  At first sight it seemed innocuous enough: a long strip of linen, but closer inspection revealed its dark secret. At one end tiny hooks had been fixed to one side of the fabric. They were rose thorns, Lia realised, hundreds of them, each one painstakingly stitched in place so that they covered that end of the cloth completely.

  The method of use couldn’t have been easier. The strip of cloth was laid over Lia’s bare breasts, the thorns in contact with her flesh, and the length of material was then wound tightly around her torso, so that the cruel thorns bit excruciatingly into her fleshy breasts.

  Dagna told Lia she must wear it all day, and went to great lengths to ensure she would feel it. The least movement was painful in the extreme, and the tasks Lia was given entailed reaching and stretching. By the end of the day, with Lia’s breasts pricked and scratched mercilessly, she was given more bad news; she must keep the binding on all night.

  Though finally allowed to rip off the cruel item at dawn, Lia’s troubles were not over, for that same day, tired and clumsy from lack of sleep, she made mistake after mistake. She was strapped five times in all, and by nightfall her bottom was so raw she couldn’t sit down. She did wonder whether Holmann would have put a stop to such sadistic victimisation had he been there, or whether Dagna would have bent him to her will in her usual fashion.

  On the final day of Dagna being in charge a minor crisis arose. Just before noon a stocky, dark-haired youth appeared in the kitchen, with a message for the acting overseer. Lia learned later that his name was Edwyn, though everyone called him Maggot, for some reason. He was a page in the royal household, and came with a request from Queen Gudrun for rhubarb served with cream for her dessert, to which Dagna was obliged to act promptly.

  Durwin and Tilda had already been dispatched on other errands, which is why Lia found herself a few minutes later hurrying through the town seeking first a fruit seller and then a dairyman for fresh cream. Having returned with the items, and hastily washed and chopped the rhubarb and poured on the cream, she was dispatched to the royal apartments to deliver it, a thing Dagna had once assured her would never happen.

  More than a little nervous at the prospect of meeting a lady of such stature face to face, Lia made her way up the stairs, passing first the guardroom, then the great hall where the king held court, to arrive, breathless and a little light-headed, at the topmost floor, where the royal family dwelt. To her consternation there were several doors, all shut, and she had no idea which one was the queen’s.

  At the far end of the landing was a guard wearing a helmet and mail armour, and bearing a spear. He grinned and winked, and she saw it was Terrell, the nice-looking one Tilda liked. She approached, thinking to ask him which was the queen’s room, and as she did so the door beside her opened and a woman hurried out, almost bumping into her in the process.

  ‘Oh, forgive me,’ the woman said in a soft, cultured voice. Lia was too flustered to speak, for this was a great lady, clearly, dressed in a long blue gown embroidered with silver thread, and wearing a silver cross on a chain about her neck. That Lia should meet her was remarkable enough, for she was more beautiful even than the statue of the Madonna in the cathedral, but for this person to speak to her, a mere servant, and to beg her forgiveness… that went beyond comprehension. And so Lia simply gawped, mute, while the lady waited, a gentle smile on her ruby-red lips.

  ‘Did you want something?’ the lady asked, when it was apparent Lia had been struck dumb. ‘Speak up, my dear; don’t be afraid.’

  Her kind smile and soft words finally broke the spell. ‘The… the queen wanted this, my lady,’ Lia stammered, holding out the bowl of fruit and cream. ‘I fetched it from the town and prepared it… and here it is for her.’

  The lady beamed and inclined her head. ‘Thank you, I’ll take it to her, shall I?’

  Such politeness, such consideration from a highborn person was more than Lia could cope with. She babbled some response or other, handed over the bowl, bobbed a quick curtsey then turned and bolted. With the sound of musical laughter in her ears she fled down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her.

  The one good thing about the time with Holmann away, was that Durwin came to her bed each night. They cuddled and kissed, and touched each other intimately, with Durwin giving her pleasure and Lia stroking his cock until he ejaculated into the cloth she kept under the mattress for that purpose. Afterwards they lay together, and he explained that he hadn’t been able to come before because of Jarold.

  ‘I know about the hencoop,’ he whispered, keeping his voice down so as not to wake the others. ‘Jarold was forever boasting about it. He said you enjoyed it and begged for more.’

  ‘I hated it,’ Lia whispered. ‘I hate him.’

  ‘I know that. Jarold’s a rat and a liar. He said you offered to suck him too, but no one believes him. Even Tilda can’t stand him, and she’ll fuck anybody any time. That’s what they say down at the army barracks, at least.’

  ‘Not any time,’ a voice protested mischievously from the next bed. ‘I’m pure on Saint Ivar’s day.’

  Lia smiled, and Durwin chuckled softly. ‘I can’t come once Jarold’s back,’ he went on. ‘He’ll know, and get you punished for it.’

  Lia sighed. He was right, but she was going
to miss him badly all the same. And she would definitely miss his gentle caresses, taking her mind off her troubles.

  The next day, with Holmann back from his excursion and everything as it was before, Maggot put in another appearance. This time it wasn’t rhubarb he was seeking, but Lia, who was summoned to the royal apartments. The others regarded her strangely as she washed her hands and tidied her smock, and Tilda and Durwin looked apprehensive, which made Lia uncertain too, so that her knees were trembling and her heart thumping as she followed Maggot up the stairs.

  When they reached the top floor he stopped outside a door, knocked, and told Lia to go straight in. Lia swallowed anxiously and opened the door.

  It was a lady’s bedchamber, and the lady was in residence, perched on the end of the bed. And it was none other than Lia’s lady in blue, the one who’d spoken kindly to her and taken the bowl of rhubarb and cream to the queen.

  ‘Come in, Lia,’ she said, her voice just as kindly as Lia remembered. ‘Come sit here, beside me.’

  She patted the bedcover, and Lia, astonished that a lady of such breeding would know her name, walked over on weak legs and sat beside her.

  ‘Are you thirsty?’ the lady asked. ‘Shall I send for pear cider, or just some water, perhaps?’

  ‘N-no, thank you, m-my lady,’ Lia stammered.

  ‘You called me that before,’ she said. ‘It’s a title to which I have no claim, however. My name is Velda, and that’s what you should call me. Or you can call me mistress, if it would make you feel more comfortable.’

  ‘Thank you… mistress,’ Lia mumbled self-consciously.

  Velda nodded with satisfaction. ‘I’ve asked you here for a special reason, my dear. I want to examine you in an intimate fashion, though I can’t explain my motives at this time, but would you allow me to do that?’