Roslyn looked back despairingly, praying for some sympathy, even though she knew that there was only one response to the Duke’s urgings. Cringing with shame, she wiggled her bottom like a dog shaking his tail, then listened to the wild gales of laughter from the jubilant crowd.
“Come on, more!” the Duke ordered.
She wiggled more.
“Yes, like a little doggy, huh?” He gazed happily at the crowd, while Roslyn’s behind was their sole focus. “Here, let me pull this silly skirt away. Beasts don’t wear skirts, do they?” He swiped at the silk that covered her hips, tearing it from her body and exposing her pink, fresh-washed bottom cheeks. With the skirt removed, those behind her could now see the plump pink lips of her cunny form a pretty heart between her legs, on them, a pale red blush of pubic hair. “Lovely, lovely! Shake that tail now,” the Duke exclaimed, as if he’d found a brand new toy. “And put your head down on the floor so we can see your arse even better!”
Roslyn lowered her head to the floor as her shame magnified. At least in this position no one would see her face, for she hid her blushing cheeks behind her long hair. It was not easy, but she continued wiggling her bottom as the Duke required. Someone had handed him a cane and he was tapping it against her rear should her enthusiasm for the activity wane.
“I want her to whimper,” Lady Josephine called out. “Can she whimper?”
“Yes, little doggy, whimper for us,” the Duke amended his requirements. He tapped her ass with the cane, and when she didn’t respond immediately, he gave it a firm thwack! She jumped, letting out a sorrowful moan. Another solid thwack and she started to whimper as much from the pain as any desire to humiliate herself more. “That’s it, my pet,” he ran the cane between her cheeks. When he drew it away, he came right back, this time poking the end against the tight rosebud of her anal opening.
Roslyn shuddered with the bizarre sensation causing her body to react in the strangest manner—and it was not at all unpleasant! Her whimpers turned into odd sounding moans, and though she understood that this was the grossest humiliation so far, something more powerful seemed to sweep her embarrassment aside. At least for a few brief moments as the Duke toyed with her taut bumhole, she cared little about where she was and under what circumstances. All that was forgotten with this pleasure descending on her now…
At least until the cane was suddenly removed and the Duke thwacked her roused ass end squarely across the middle.
“Yeeeeeeeeeeshhhhhhh,” she hissed under her breath.
“Oh, look! Here’s your sweet maid,” the Duke suddenly stopped the caning and reported Celia’s entrance with great delight. The girl had disappeared for some time and now returned to the room, looking as if in a daze, a sexual daze. “Oh my, see how she’s dressed!” the man said to Roslyn. “Look up, I think you’d like to see this.” He poked her in the side with the cane and the cowering redhead rose up on her hands again and gazed in amazement at the sight before her. She instantly recoiled, being both repulsed and intrigued by the ungodly sight.
“What a saucy pair you two turned out to be! Can you imagine,” he spoke in mocking tones to his guests, to Roslyn, to the mesmerizing Celia, “someone told us that it was the noble Lady Roslyn who took this poor girl’s virginity. Imagine? The maid confessed the truth to the ladies who bathed her. Well, knowing that,” he simply quivered with merciless spite, “I thought it only right that she, your very lusty maid—as we’ve all seen—break in this very…pretty…behind of yours!” He tapped Roslyn’s bottom with the cane again.
A ripple of excitement flew swiftly through the room. Than a round of clapping began; this was a randy crowd! The Duke let the frenzy build once more, then he suddenly stopped it with a wave of his hand. “Enough! Enough!” And the roar dwindled into the last of a belly laugh and a nervous cough or two, while the focus of attention was placed squarely in the middle of the room where Roslyn knelt and her maid Celia stood a few feet away.
What had shocked the gentle noblewoman, what caused her body to quake and her belly retch with spasms that were on the one hand nauseating and on the other hand arousing, was the harness Celia now wore about her middle. From that harness swayed a thick phallus, a startling reminder of the one that Celia created for her mistress to wear; though this was not some simple handmade tool, but one that had been sculpted of wood and was veined like the actual fleshy tool between men’s legs. This one had been polished to a glaring shine that mocked the loving intentions of the crude one Roslyn used to spear the maid. Seeing the cock at nearly eye-level, Roslyn froze in panicked fear.
“You’re going to bugger the bitch who screwed you, girl,” the Duke told Celia.
Although Roslyn knew that the man would get his way, she expected her loyal maid would raise some protest, at the very least recoil at the idea of abusing her mistress so violently. But there was no such response recorded on Celia’s face; she stood with engaged interest eyeing the woman she so respectfully referred to as ‘milady.’ Something about her eyes—a molten, earthy quality emerged from them, enough to make Roslyn fear that feral lust. Certainly, Celia trembled and was filled with fear, but behind that fear was a desiring want that made her aura one of savage exhilaration.
The Duke moved in on the maid, speaking in her ear, his tone barely above the whisper: “Fuck her, girl—the way she fucked you.” Because the great hall was now so terribly quiet and in wait, the command seemed to echo through the space, hitting every ear with the urgency that this lusty company fed on.
“Make her bleed like you have bled for her!” a voice from the crowd shouted above the din of the waiting audience. Only then did the maid get moving, sauntering toward her mistress. For one moment she bent down and grazed Roslyn’s back with her fingernails, then, having reached her rear, she dropped to the floor behind the terrified lady, where a pillow had been provided to protect her knees. No such comfort had been offered to Roslyn. Celia nestled in behind the nicely rounded ass and laid her hands on the small fleshy mounds.
The girl seemed a bit confused for a moment, and she looked up at the Duke. “I can’t do this,” she said—enough of a protest to make Roslyn breathe a little easier.
He looked back at her surprised and the room quieted. Why would she balk now?
“Something to grease her ass,” she explained, “I won’t go in dry.”
The Duke snickered. “Ah, yes, then let’s grease her ass! A pound of butter, or maybe some lard!” He raised his voice so that someone would scurry to the larder and bring back his request.
Was it compassion that swayed the girl to request the lubricant? Or wise caution? No one could be sure.
In the intervening minutes, the silent room watched Celia’s passive expression with great interest. From some inner reserve, the maid drew feral energy beyond her young years. She was no more the innocent girl, but a woman who seemed released from any bonds of earthly loyalty. She wanted only for herself, and this act was arousing her in every way the Duke hoped—and far more.
The bristling quiet became so difficult, so encompassing, that everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief when one of the scullery maids raced toward the scene with a slab of grease on a plate. Offering it to Celia, she then watched as the maid with the harness gave her a saucy smile and she reached to swipe a handful of the white substance. Once the grease was smeared along Roslyn’s cleft, Celia drew back enough to aim the head of the phallus, then she shoved forcefully, hearing a painful howl rise up from her mistress’s speared body.
“Oh, girl, noooooooo! No, no, no, please stop!” the lady wailed in pain.
But Celia only paused. Her cheeks were flushed, her excitement running high. After thrusting deep, she pulled back and started slowly working the head of her fake erection into the tight, inflexible space.
The pain in Roslyn’s ass receded in small degrees, but for several minutes, every movement of the prick was sheer agony, producing another wave of pitiable tears. Soon they were streaming down her cheeks, whil
e her cries, her exclamations and her pleas were ignored. If Celia had some sympathy for her, it didn’t show. But then, of course, the girl was bound by the requirements of the moment, on orders from the Duke to complete the task; he’d allow nothing else from her: no pity, no mercy, nothing but a ruthless taking. The more the girl moved, the more it seemed to please her, the more she thrust with greater abandon until her face filled with resplendent bliss. Her fingers dug into the rosy ass cheeks with more zeal and her hips thrust hard. Her body filled with fire and her eyes recorded the change—as if she’d been inhabited by a demon.
The thrusts were enough to raise her sexual heat, and the way the apparatus rubbed, her love-bud was massaged and her inner body flowed with sexual juices. Meanwhile, Roslyn went from abject pain to some curious acceptance. Driven deep into a submissive space, she knew some peace, even as the humiliating act continued to shame her. Forever would her relationship with the girl be altered; forever would she be altered by the act, forever cast into a world where there was no comfort but what she could give herself. Certainly, she did not reason all this out in those dreadful moments, but it would come to her later when she had a chance to breathe again and was no longer in the midst of her woes, but on the sidelines observing.
For those watching, the picture of the two women was amazing to behold. Some rubbed their crotches in reply, and even the prettily dressed ladies rubbed against their men in suggestive manners. Lady Josephine was especially stimulated. She let the Persian kitty leap away, turning to one of her fawning young men who was quick to do his mistress’ bidding. The subtle Louis had been standing behind her during the proceedings, his hand upon her shoulder, massaging it gently.
“You wish that were your cock inside your hand?” Josephine raised her head and whispered to the virile youth. This was an exceedingly pretty young man with a head full of blonde hair, soft blue eyes and a sweet smile. His lips were pure heaven pressed against a woman’s crotch, though for now, he gave his mistress another squeeze and a twinkling smile.
“They are an extraordinary pair, don’t you think?” he said.
“I don’t think they’ll be much of a pair after this day,” the lady observed, with haughty amusement. “I so love a good story, and they make a fine one.”
“You have too little to do, Lady Josephine,” the young man observed.
“Oh, you’re terrible! Come here closer.” She pulled him into the vacant chair beside her, and his hand went immediately to her bosom.
The Duke watched his wife with a wry disdain, but was more interested in the little fucking machine of a maid who buggered her mistress’ ass with ever increasing abandon. She was reaching her crisis while the poor lady with the prick in her bottom still suffered for the hard thrusts that rent her body. Roslyn clenched her fists, her jaw went taut, and she breathed in and held her breath. As the Duke watched the performance, his crotch pulsed with fury and fire—his cock would be planted in the redhead’s ass as soon as the girl was finished. Then he’d leave her to the wolves who drooled on the sidelines in wait, aching for that moment to arrive when they would get their promised reward.
In the last few moments, they heard the cries of the maid rise like a terrible wind. Some would swear that she cursed the woman she screwed, but for most of the leering audience, they simply heard a savage wail. “Anughhhhhhh, ssssssssssssssss,” hissing, seething, sputtering, gasping for breath, when there was no breath… as the room closed in around her, bodies gathered too close for her to drink the air. “Yeaaaaaaaaa! Ah, ah, ah,” again and again, the nonsense peppering the atmosphere. As if all climaxed with her, the room was rent by a savage sweep of power, then as the girl returned to consciousness from a place so far away, the feeling subsided into something they understood. Some pairings went on their way to satisfy their lusts, while others stayed to watch the finish.
At long last, Celia backed out and sat on her legs, the phallus sliding from her mistress’s bowels with a bit of a pop. The lady slumped forward, her naked body now glistening with sweat. She was barely able to breathe. Silent and pensive, Celia waited for what came next. Her face was a blank; looking lost and perhaps aloof, just as she’d been before the buggering began. No one could predict what emotions would rise up an hour, a day, a week later, in the young maid. Certainly, she would know of the rift that began in that fateful hour. Would she care? Did it matter that she might be estranged from her lady? Would she seek her favor again, throw herself at Lady Roslyn’s feet and beg forgiveness? Or would she be left to her own devices, denied access to the woman she claimed she loved with a loyal heart? Was the fond relationship of their past now over, and this raunchy act the last fracture in a tiny world now fractured beyond repair? That world was once so protected by a father’s love and a master’s loving care that one would have sworn that nothing could break its firm substance. Never would one have expected this kind of show from the lovely lady and her maid. But never is a word so extreme that it seems pointless to use. Time and circumstances change…
So the world, even Roslyn’s mean world moved on.
The Duke would not be denied what he had so excitedly waited for. It should have been his cock greasing the way for the others to follow, except that the word of Lady Roslyn and the rape of her maid gave him new inspiration—too good to pass on. Once this brutal rape was over, however, the Duke pushed Celia aside and took his place on the purple pillow, knees sinking into the soft cushion. Grabbing the pretty tail end from its collapsed repose, he held it in his firm grasp, aimed his exposed organ and thrust. So easy was the entry now that the lady hardly gasped as the man impaled her bottom. The Duke rode her hard, but then, she’d been ridden hard before, and this felt like nothing more than an afterthought following the bold initiation.
Once the Duke was groaning from his spirited climax, men lined up to follow him, with their loins hot and seeking satisfaction. Roslyn’s ass was buggered six more times that day, her cunny pummeled three or four. For a while, the dwindling crowd looked on, but soon they, too, were turning away from the scene. As the party diminished, Lady Josephine took her lover into her boudoir, and the Duke finally left the scene on matters of state to be discussed with his lieutenants. Celia eventually left the room; having taken off the harness, she let it dangle from her hand as she walked in listless fashion back through the door from where she came. The grunting noises from her mistress still rang a hollow wail in her ear.
“It is done?” the servant Anne asked her, when she saw Celia return to the room where she’d been prepared.
“I think so.”
“You got your share, didn’t you? Feel mighty proud ‘o yourself rutting with yer mistress, I’ll bet.”
Celia stared at the woman. “Yes, that’s what I did, huh?”
“You’re the kind ‘a woman the Duke loves. I imagine you’ll be a favorite ‘a his, till he’s done with you.”
“I never wanted that,” Celia said, still looking dazed.
“So. That’s what you ‘ave ‘ere. If the fucking’s over out there, you’d better gather your lady and bring her in. There’s some who’d drag her into the streets.”
“Oh, but I can’t do that!” She seemed, all of a sudden, quite aware of what she had done and how Lady Roslyn would hate her.
“Oh, yes, you can. She’s yours to attend to until Duke Wilhem says otherwise. I got me orders to take you two straightaway to your quarters.”
“I’ll sleep in her room?”
“Don’t worry. We won’t let her ‘ave a knife, if it’s your throat you’re worried about.”
Celia held back the temptation to massage her throat, feeling already the sensation of a sharp blade sinking into her flesh, going for blood.
The great hall was strangely quiet when the maid finally had the nerve to return. Celia stood at the door watching while the remaining guests were moving elsewhere in the castle, or maybe back to their homes in the village. The servants were mopping up the mess that remained, gathering dirty flagons and swe
eping the floors.
Lady Roslyn had pulled herself up from the violent collapse to the cold hard stone where she’d lay wasted for nearly a half hour before she felt her body begin to come back to life. Above her now, through a stained glass window, the light from the setting sun reached down, casting a warm red and yellow glow on her slouched shoulders. Her auburn hair gleamed like glowing embers, while her pale face looked sad, but oddly at peace. She refused to think—too dangerous and troubling now.
“Milady,” she heard the familiar voice and looked up, seeing her maid’s pensive face looking down on her. “I am to take you to our quarters. They are done with us for the night.”
“As they should be,” Roslyn replied. She allowed the girl to help her to her feet, and even when she slumped, she used her maid for support.
Perhaps she won’t remember, Celia thought silently.
Joined by Anne who led the way, the two journeyed through the winding hallways of the castle to a room different from where they’d slept the previous night. Unlike that forbidding cell, this was more pleasant: anything would have been more pleasant than that! The bed was soft that cradled the mistress and once she fell exhausted to the mattress, she seemed to drift unconscious, if not asleep, then in an unknowing stupor. Anne had brought a jar of warm water for Celia to bathe her.
“Perhaps you should,” Celia whispered to the servant, as she hung back, still afraid.
“This is your task, girl. She might ‘ate you now, but she won’t hold it against you. Not if she’s smart. You don’t let these things change your course, you accept and keep going. You bathe your lady and I’m sure she will not reject the kindness.”
If Roslyn knew who, or even what was happening to her as she lay in a fitful insensible sleep, Celia would never know. The girl began to bathe the lady as she’d done before, first with trepidation, then with a well-remembered kindness that reminded her of all that was good in their long friendship. Once it was clear that her mistress was falling into a more profound sleep, Celia wiped her own face and arms, her breasts and crotch, then put the cloth away. Taking an unused blanket from the bed, she lay on the floor to sleep, curling up inside it like a cocooned butterfly.
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