Caralissa's Conquest

by Reese Gabriel

  Though he said nothing by way of encouragement, Caralissa was proud of herself. She was obeying him and - she hoped - pleasing him in the process. She blushed at the implications of her thoughts. She was sounding like a beaten cur, an animal that lived for its master’s approval. Where was her fire, her indignation? Had she suffered so much abuse, and at so many different hands that she no longer grasped her own identity? If so, how would she ever prove to her subjects, let alone her enemies, that she was rightfully queen, fit to govern?

  ‘Trajor?’ she heard herself ask, her voice sounding hollow and distant. ‘I am hungry. Will you please feed me?’

  It seemed a strange request, irrelevant at best, and yet it was only now she’d felt the sharp hunger pangs, the result of not having eaten in over a day.

  Trajor gave no response except to whistle, the high-pitched sound carrying far across the meadow on the light breeze. To her amazement a few moments later his horse appeared, happily chomping on a mouthful of grass. Patting the horse in praise, he reached into one of the twin saddlebags.

  In it were sugar cubes and a thick slab of bread. Taking the bread for himself, biting off a large chunk, he thrust several of the cubes up to the mouth of the horse. As the animal devoured them noisily, Trajor withdrew his sword and scabbard, which was tied to the side of his saddle. Baring the blade he thrust it cleanly overhead, severing the rope that held her, cleaving it midway between her wrists and the branch.

  Caralissa’s release was unexpected. Hands still bound she lost her balance, falling forward onto her knees. Instead of offering her help Trajor snapped his fingers, pointing to a place at his feet. Remembering what he’d said, about how a woman of his should behave, she did not rise but lowered herself onto her hands so that she could crawl to him.

  For a reward she was given two of the sweetened cubes, nearly as many as he gave his horse. Weak and hungry, dizzy and exhilarated, she took them from his hand, using only her lips and teeth. The sugar was good, and when she was done she felt grateful. Unbidden she pressed her head to his crotch, kissing him gently, emitting as she did so a soft sigh. It was all a dream; it must be. At any moment she’d awaken and be somewhere else - back in her room or in the tournament field or upon her throne. This was not her: this cringing girl, willing to take her place at a warrior’s feet, her status lower than that of his mount.

  Caralissa rubbed her cheek over his throbbing cock, its outline clear now through the rough material of his britches. She wanted him, needed him badly. For a long time he let her beg, with her body, her kisses. At last, having been satisfied with her self-abasement, he opened his belt, allowing her to take him deep inside her hungry mouth. If only she could love him well enough, she told herself, he would keep her safe, spare her from her trials.

  ‘Trajor,’ she breathed, releasing his unspent shaft, ‘will you not take me away and make me yours? I will live even as your slave.’

  Trajor put her mouth back on him. ‘I must take you back to the castle,’ he said. ‘It will be the dungeon for you now. A stone cell and heavy chains. You will be released each day for your trial, so long as it lasts. Whether you are freed ultimately will depend upon the verdict.’

  Caralissa arched her neck, parting her lips as wide as they could go. The dungeon would be dark and lonely. She would need this memory, this final act of passion to sustain her. Trajor grunted once, twice, his tones modulated, regulated, like those of a true soldier. He flooded her then, giving her his essence to drink. Obediently she continued her motions, pulling out every last drop, not daring to move until he commanded it, not daring to release his sweet cock again until he withdrew.

  ‘Good girl,’ he offered softly, rubbing her head with the flat of his hand. Then, more wistfully, ‘I do believe I shall miss you.’

  He gave her no opportunity to ask what he meant, for no sooner did he speak the words than he was lifting her to her feet, raising her arms and dressing her as though she were a child. Silently, passively she waited as he helped her into her torn dress, lacing it tightly.

  ‘You must be bound now,’ he explained, holding up the long coil of rope. Caralissa put her arms to her side, sensing his intent. The twist of his design was cunning, the rope being wrapped tightly over and across her velvet-covered breasts and down between her legs. Her dress was rucked up to her waist in the process. To conclude, he used the end of the rope to secure her arms to her body. Pursing his lips he paused to admire his work. The intent of it, clearly, was not merely to secure her but to sexually bind her, in ways that both flaunted and tamed her womanhood. Caralissa blushed at her arousal, flushing all the more completely to have him notice.

  A tiny gasp escaped her lips as he rubbed her hard nipples, pinched efficiently between two layers of the cord. She gasped again when he tugged at the rope invading her crotch. Were he to check with his hand he would find her shamelessly wetting her dress with the juices of her submission.

  Having accomplished this initial layer of bondage upon his fair prisoner Trajor hoisted Caralissa over his saddle, on her belly. Pulling a second coil of rope from his saddlebag he secured her, wrapping the cord tight about her so that she could move neither hand nor foot. Checking the ropes and finding them satisfactory, Trajor administered a sound smack to her upturned buttock cheeks before hoisting himself on the saddle.

  What an arrogant brute he was! How like Varik, and how unlike the men of the valley, with their sneaking ways and their deceitful cunning. Barbarians, by contrast, took what they wanted and made no effort to hide their desires and lusts. They were men of few words and when they spoke it was to an end. To the end of achieving victory.

  The whole way back to the castle, her own mount in tow, she thought more fully of what it would be like to yield to such a man as this mercenary Trajor. It was a frivolous thought, wicked and traitorous, but real nonetheless, reflective of desires that she feared no amount of self-denial would eliminate.

  The question was what would become of her if she were made to admit those female desires before Telos and before Norod and his court. Would they use them as pretext to strip her of the throne, turning her rightful place of power over to Romila? Or was Caralissa’s sister in danger too?

  Certainly there was no cause to trust the likes of Telos or to assume that he would serve anyone’s interest but his own. It was not impossible and perhaps even likely that he himself fancied the throne of Orencia.

  Caralissa struggled, testing the limits of her bondage. Trajor was clearly skilled, having affixed upon her bonds that were both secure and maddening.

  Upon their arrival at the castle, Trajor rode directly across the moat and into the courtyard. The dungeon keepers were already waiting for them. Caralissa identified them immediately by their sallow colouring and by their stained grey tunics. It was nearly enough to make her wretch. She had never once set foot in the dungeon, nor did she ever desire to do so. It was one of her goals, in fact, to eliminate the place entirely.

  Two of the dungeon men carried her, still bound in the ropes, as though she were a rolled carpet, they lumbered down the dank narrow stairway. The stairs were circular and they seemed to go on forever. Were it not for the steady drop in temperature and corresponding rise in dampness, she might almost believe they were taking her to the very pits of fire.

  Caralissa did not like it. Her tender skin, made even more sensitive by the ropes, prickled with every step. There were rumours about the dungeon and the horrors that supposedly took place down here. Stories of rats the size of cats and of brutal instruments of torture used on criminals too wicked to see the light of day.

  Surely they would not subject her to such things! She was only a temporary prisoner, a defendant being held for trial. They would never dare to harm her. In fact, by all rights she should be back in her room, under guard or house arrest, and not the dungeon at all.

  Caralissa stiffened, her ears pricking as she heard the mournful soun
d, a lonely, faraway wail. Was it some kind of bird or was it another sort of cry - a human scream to be precise? How she wished she could be with Trajor now, or even Alinor. Perish the thought, even to be in a room with Telos, his hand in her crotch, being forced to eat from his fork was better than this!

  At last the stairs ended and they were on level ground. It was difficult to see, the rough stoned walls being only imperfectly illuminated by the torches, one every twenty feet or so.

  In between the torches were rows of vertical metal bars. Doors to cells, within which, peering from the dark, she saw eyes. Human eyes, she assumed, though they seemed so lonely and large, so hollow and haunted. Every now and again there came the rustling of chain which made her wonder what sort of men were locked within those terrible cells. She shuddered to think what might happen to her should any of these desperate creatures actually seize hold of her and drag her into its filthy lair.

  In one cell she beheld bony knuckles on the bars and deep yellow eyes. As they passed the claw-like hand reached out to graze her tightly bound breast. The fingers made contact with her tender nipple, causing her to scream in horror. A guard came running down the passage and as they passed, he could be seen entering the cell, wielding a large wooden club. From inside came a terrible din as the man surrendered to a beating.

  Caralissa felt sorry for him. She hadn’t wanted to be touched but he must be so lonely and she was, after all, only a female. Only a female. Had her thinking come to this, that she would so demean herself?

  She was grateful when they reached a better lit area, one with newer stone. Here the doors were rounded and wooden, like the ones upstairs in the castle. Before a particular one they stopped, one of the men rapping upon it lightly.

  ‘Enter,’ she heard a gruff voice proclaim.

  They carried her across the threshold, depositing her on her feet before a wooden platform. Behind it, stooped over, a hammer and spike in his hand, stood an enormous man, both in girth and breadth of shoulders. His eyes were small and red. On his forehead was a birthmark in the shape of a small lake. Caralissa identified him at once as Drendel, the dungeon keeper. He seemed engrossed in breaking some bit of chain and did not even bother to look up at her.

  ‘Welcome, your majesty, to your humble abode.’ The voice was all too familiar and she did not have to see the man emerge from the shadows behind Drendel to know it was Telos. ‘What’s the matter, your majesty - have you nothing to say to your royal food taster?’

  She looked at the man, doing her best to conceal her emotions - the revulsion, the shock, the hurt. ‘I see the answer is no,’ he conceded, his face locked in a superior expression, his gloating barely disguised. ‘In that case, perhaps you would like to greet me instead in my new capacity as your defence attorney.’

  Caralissa narrowed her gaze. The news of this latest effrontery was serving to jar her from her earlier state of passivity. ‘And by whose authority is this?’ she demanded.

  ‘King Norod,’ he said, folding his arms cockily. ‘Apparently he was impressed with how well I took care of you this morning. Naturally, I assured him I would do a splendid job.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Caralissa agreed dryly.

  Telos sighed, his narrow shoulders vibrating very slightly. ‘I daresay you don’t seem very excited. Should I take this personally?’

  ‘No, Telos, what you should take personally is your own upcoming execution - you and all the rest of your little cabal. And I assure you, this is an event I intend both to orchestrate and to personally witness, from a front row seat.’

  ‘Still the same old girl, I see.’ He shook his head. ‘I had so hoped the events of the last few hours in Trajor’s company would have, shall we say, altered your disposition towards me?’

  She snorted. ‘Trajor is a man, Telos. Too bad you aren’t one yourself, or you might see for yourself if I’ve changed.’

  ‘Oh, I think I will see plenty,’ he smirked, snapping his fingers to draw Drendel’s attention. ‘Keeper, remove the prisoner’s bonds.’

  ‘I want to see my sister,’ she demanded, as Drendel lumbered towards her with a sharp knife, easily stripping her of the cumbersome ropes. ‘I want to see Romila.’

  ‘All in good time,’ laughed Telos. ‘Trust me, you’ll find it worth the wait.’

  Caralissa didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. ‘So will you,’ she bluffed, ‘because after I get out of here I plan on something special for you and your little friends from breakfast. I won’t spoil the surprise, but I will say it involves your losing a bit of weight, from the neck up.’

  Telos smiled condescendingly. ‘Save your breath,’ he advised, striding to a place inches from her face. ‘And concentrate on doing what you’re told. For starters, we will require the removal of your clothing.’

  Caralissa straightened her back. If Telos thought he would play the part of the dominant warrior he was sadly mistaken. ‘Go ahead and try,’ she told him.

  ‘Really, Highness, do you think you are in a position to resist us?’

  A grunt came from Drendel, who was standing close behind her. ‘Step aside,’ he complained to Telos. ‘I have no patience for your prattling. Eyeing Caralissa he growled, ‘Girl, strip yourself naked before us. Arms extended and crossed. Now.’

  Caralissa complied, unable to meet Telos’ gaze. It was as this morning, only worse, for now she was betraying her open and easy submission to the horrid dungeon keeper. She wished to fight the impulse, and yet, how could she help herself? Drendel was ugly and foul, but he was a man, strong, elemental. And she was a female; weak, desirous, needful to obey.

  Her knees trembling, her lips soft and open, Caralissa removed her dress. Gracefully, fearfully, she stood hands before her, wrists crossed, quite naked.

  Caralissa saw the chains, dangling and gleaming in Drendel’s hands as he fetched them from the worktable.

  ‘You will not get away with this,’ she promised Telos as the man began to lock her in the merciless bonds of steel.

  ‘I already have,’ Telos countered. ‘I already have.’

  Chapter Eight

  For the next several days Caralissa led a double life; split, as it were, between two worlds. During the day, upstairs at her trial she was a politely demure defendant, silently sitting on a comfortable padded oak chair, the ever-leering Telos at her side. Meanwhile, by night she was an abject prisoner in the dank hole of her cell. Each morning, in order to effect the transition, Deelia was permitted to come to the dungeon to help her, cleaning her, perfuming her and helping her on with whatever particular gown Telos might choose for her to wear that day.

  Not surprisingly they were all cut low at the bodice and tight at the waist. It was his special pleasure to sit beside her at the defence table gawking, his drool practically pouring onto her creamy breasts. During the trial itself she was not allowed to speak, except when asked questions by her lawyer. Moreover, she was to keep her hands in her lap at all times. This was especially challenging since Telos seemed not to know how to keep his hands off her to save his life.

  At first it was infuriating and frustrating, especially as the man was so entirely childish, sneaking tiny opportunities to grope her breasts or rub his leg on hers. After a while she came to look on it as merely pathetic - an obvious sign of the man’s weakness.

  On two occasions he compelled her to take him in her mouth in a dark hallway during a recess. The first time she performed the act with such dispassion he was unable to complete his ejaculation. The second time she moved so quickly he spilled himself before he could derive any enjoyment. The one time he’d tried to lay with her in the judge’s chamber she’d been as a corpse.

  Her lack of emotion frustrated the man no end. If he were looking for her to betray herself before him, however, he would find himself sorely disappointed. As for the trial itself, she remained expressionless the entire time, reacting neither positively nor
negatively to any of the testimony. Naturally the evidence was quite damning, the prosecution having secured endless bits of evidence of her sexual escapades since returning home.

  Alinor was there, to testify to her reaction to the hairbrush on her buttocks and also concerning her wanton desire to be laid by him. Deelia provided her testimony - she sobbed the whole time, begging forgiveness from Caralissa over and over - as to the queen’s pleasuring herself in her sleep as well as her erratic behaviour with regard to the bed sheets.

  Trajor, in turn, was called to account for his time with her, though to his credit he remained largely closemouthed, despite frequent warnings of proceedings against him if he did not cooperate. After a long barrage of questions, with Telos being as hostile in his inquiries as was the grey-haired prosecutor, the warrior finally rose to his feet and walked out, declaring that they would have to cut him down where he stood to induce him to speak any further on the matter. They let him go and the next day he was gone for good.

  There were also the so-called expert witnesses, men claiming to be skilled in the ways of the Rashal, offering to the court outlandish accounts of ritual Rashal sex acts that would abhor any civilised man. It was a farce of course, although she was quite surprised they were being this careful, amassing such a detailed case, albeit a specious one. Personally, she’d expected to be found guilty within the first hour. Norod, however, seemed intent on dragging things out, with endless minutiae.

  Frankly she wished it would all end, for there was nothing in the trial or in Telos’ behaviour that was so unnerving as the constant going back and forth to the dungeon; each emerging into the light of day for brief periods only to be returned once more to Drendel’s dark little world with its thousand miseries. How she dreaded the return each evening to her cell! For starters, she was required to strip in Drendel’s presence. The humiliation of undressing, unfortunately, did not diminish with repetition. Nor did the unwanted thrill she felt when the chains would be brought and she would be required to kneel on the cold stone floor to receive them. The routine was unshakable. First her hands would be shackled, the cold steel encircling her wrists as she placed her arms in front of her, head bowed low. Next would be the collar, with interconnecting chains that would fall directly between her breasts and thighs. At the other end of these were the ankle chains.