Her bondage was only the beginning. There were in the dungeon certain rules she must follow, rules that made her status as virtual slave indisputable. Under no circumstances was Caralissa permitted to rise to her feet unless commanded so by a guard. The occasions for standing were twofold. Number one, to be bound for a whipping or beating, and number two, to be bound for sexual usage. Otherwise she was to convey herself on all fours, head lowered, eyes continuously peeled for male boots, which she was required to kiss and lick whenever she encountered them.
Caralissa was always exhausted at the end of a day. Before she would be allowed to go to her cell, however, she must first crawl to Drendel so he might make use of her mouth. The dungeon keeper was fond of this ritual, especially as it contrasted so greatly with her position as queen - a fact that he delighted in reminding her of. Drendel generally expelled himself in her mouth. Afterwards she could not release him without permission. On one occasion he made her linger over him with her servile tongue till he re-hardened and achieved a second ejaculation.
After Caralissa paid obeisance through oral service she would be allowed to make known any needs she might have, assuming there were no other plans for her which might preclude this precious personal time. It was at this point that she could request to use the bathroom or perhaps beg for a small treat. The term ‘bathroom’, of course, was a euphemism, as she was required to relieve herself over a grate in a large common area full of chained prisoners, all male. There were also the guards who enjoyed watching her as she squatted.
The guards delighted in torturing her on these occasions, requiring her to caress her breasts as she peed. She dared not disobey, for she knew full well it was in their power to decide whether to simply use her themselves or turn her over to the inhabitants of one of the dank cells. Caralissa was quite diligent in seeking to appease the guards and proved to be for them a most arduous lover, for any omissions on her part were corrected with the whip.
If in the end she did not please them enough, or if they simply wished to be cruel, they would allow the prisoners a turn. Caralissa dreaded these times, not only for the horrible stench and the filthiness of these benighted, half-mad creatures, but for the terrible fact that she was helpless to resist these near animals. Even the dirtiest and most pathetic aroused her now and she could be heard to scream in pleasure at their slightest touch. It was as if day by day she was sliding deeper into something dark and irresistible, something in her soul which was less than human, and yet every bit female.
When not in use, Caralissa was kept in a damp cell with barely room for her to lie outstretched. Each night she endured this captivity. Upon her release shortly before dawn she would be required to observe another set of rituals, beginning with her crawling to kiss the feet of the Keeper Drendel. As a signal to rise, a whip would be tapped against the outside of her thigh, inclining her to straighten her back, prettily, obediently.
In this position, her mouth, breasts and sex were all open and available once more to the guards if they so desired, or any early morning visitors who might be present. Alinor made frequent morning stops, as did Remik and several of the council members, the ones she treated most harshly in her rule. Once she pleased the men sufficiently, performing whatever servile acts they might require, she would be allowed food, in the form of scraps for which she begged and licked, having learned quickly that her one bargaining chip was her own helplessly proffered body.
Caralissa sought to earn a good breakfast, for all too soon she would be dressed and returned to court to begin the cycle all over. With the passage of each day it grew harder to distinguish which part of her dual life was more real. At times it was the dungeon that felt like a dream, or rather a nightmare of chains and endless capitulation. And yet more and more this seemed to be her true reality, while her time in the courtroom upstairs, in the light of day, clothed and dignified, the picture of prim royalty, felt like a cruel illusion.
In any event it was with joy that she received the news from Telos towards the end of the second week that there was a ‘sudden break’ in the case and that, thanks to a plea of mercy on his part, Caralissa was to be allowed to make a full confession, after which she would abdicate the throne and receive her sentence. Telos required only her signature on a document to that effect. Naturally, he’d authored the confession himself.
As the terms were read she was put on her knees on the dungeon floor, Telos’ stiff member jammed to the rear of her throat. It made no difference to her now what she might sign or what might happen to her. All she cared about was Romila, and how at last her greatly wronged and mistreated sister would take her rightful place on the throne.
Telos grunted as he expended himself down her gullet. ‘There you have it, my dear. You need only scratch upon the dotted line and we shall be done with the matter.’ He tossed the parchment paper upon Drendel’s worktable.
‘I will not oppose you,’ she said, under his stalwart gaze.
Telos studied her where she lay exhausted at his feet, then shrugged. ‘I must admit,’ he confessed, drying his shrivelling member with a thick wad of her hair, ‘my disappointment. Have we really broken you so easily?’
‘My life is nothing,’ she told him. ‘I would have signed such a document from the beginning. I only ever wanted one thing in exchange.’
‘And what might that be, my sweet?’
‘My sister’s safety. And the knowledge that she will be made queen, as is her right.’
Telos laughed dryly. ‘You underestimate me again, my red-haired slut. Surely you can see I must remove both you and your sister if I am to become king? Guards!’ he called out through the open doorway. ‘Fetch prisoner number twelve!’
Caralissa felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. She did not need to see the face to guess the identity of the mysterious number twelve.
‘Ah,’ Telos chortled as they brought her in. ‘The grand reunion.’
Caralissa was allowed to rise, her balance shaky in the heavy chains. It was, of course, her sister who hung limply in the arms of a huge guard. Romila was in rags, wearing the remainder of a sheer undergarment torn at the left hip and at the bodice. Her lustrous black hair was loose, a wild tangle about her shoulders. She was barefoot and dirty.
‘Romila,’ she gasped, the tears welling in her eyes. ‘What have they done to you?’
‘Let them embrace,’ Telos said, as they sought to keep the two apart. ‘I am a sentimentalist at heart.’
Romila was shaking all over. Her eyes were full of fear. Despite her earlier bravado it was clear she lacked her sister’s strength and imagination to endure her subjugation. ‘Caralissa,’ she said, her voice so very tiny. ‘What have I done to us?’
‘Romila has been our guest nearly as long as you have, my dear,’ Telos explained, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Though we’ve not given her the luxury of a cell. She is somewhat more inexperienced than you. I have taken the liberty of breaking her in personally. I keep her chained at the foot of my bed when she is not otherwise occupied.’
Romila lowered her gaze, her cheeks red with shame.
‘You son of a bitch!’ Caralissa screamed, lunging at Telos. ‘I swear I’ll kill you with my bare hands!’
She never reached him, having been seized immediately by a guard, her arms pinioned behind her.
‘Really, Caralissa,’ Telos sneered. ‘I expected better coming from you.’
She spat at him, falling far short of her target. ‘And from you I expect nothing - nothing human, at any rate!’
Telos laughed. ‘Always on your moral high horse, aren’t you? Why don’t you ask your sister what she thinks of me and my methods?’ Snapping his fingers he called to Romila. ‘Come girl, show your sister how affectionate you’ve become.’
Caralissa squirmed in the guard’s grasp. ‘No, sister, don’t do it!’ she cried, seeing how Romila was about to abase herself.
For a moment Romila hesitated, looking both to her sister and then to Telos. Finally, as he snapped his fingers again, calling her name more harshly, she jerked forward, traversing the distance step by step.
‘Good girl,’ Telos said smoothly, rubbing his hand over her head as she fell to his feet.
Caralissa felt a wave of pure nausea as she watched him put his hand to her sister’s mouth, receiving from her a series of wet, servile kisses. Romila closed her eyes and trembled the whole time, as though fighting her own desires. It seemed a conditioned response. A trained reaction.
‘Before her enslavement, your sister would never actually touch me. Did you know that, Caralissa?’
‘You won’t get away with this, Telos. My sister has committed no crime.’
Telos was busy running his pinkie finger over Romila’s lips, inducing her to open them. The girl whimpered at first, clearly ashamed, but after a few seconds she opened her mouth and began to suck at his fingers.
‘Your sister lacks your skills, Caralissa, and your natural whore’s instinct, but she’s not bad. And yes, I will get away with it. I told Norod she was kidnapped by your Rashal friends and the old fool believed me.’
Caralissa would have ripped her own arms off to escape the guard’s hold on her. In a heartbeat she would be at Telos’ throat, squeezing the life out of him. ‘By the goddess,’ she vowed, ‘you’ll pay for this, I swear it!’
If only she possessed a man’s strength - even half that of a Rashal warrior. Or for that matter, if she could but borrow a company of Varik’s men so they might sweep down upon the castle and burn it to the ground. Better to see it in ruins than under the rule of Telos. As for the crown, she wished it did not exist. What good had it done her or her father or her sister? Let the Rashal destroy everything; let them build again from the ground up.
‘Do you hear me, Telos? I curse your name.’
Telos ignored her threats, his lust-filled eyes focused exclusively on his hapless victim. ‘She lacks your curvaceous form as well,’ he observed, grabbing cruelly at Romila’s small breasts. ‘Then again, not all women can have the body of a slut.’
‘Insult me all you like, Telos. Possess me, whip me, but leave her be. She is innocent. It’s me you want.’
‘You?’ Telos snorted, pulling Romila to her feet and facing her in Caralissa’s direction. ‘What a vain little whore you are. What do you know of what I want? What do you know of true love? Romila, show your sister how much you love me. Show you sister your belly.’
Romila’s eyes were vacant, downcast. Mechanically she lifted the hem of the torn, stained garment. Caralissa nearly cried out as she saw the whip marks, crisscrossing her stomach and breasts. Further down she was wet, her open vagina, primed for use. Like herself, Romila had become a man’s plaything, nothing more.
‘Oh, sister,’ Caralissa wept. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. It should have been me. I should have suffered in your place.’
‘No,’ said Romila, finding her voice. ‘You shouldn’t have.’ Turning her head towards Telos, she asked, ‘Sir, will you please release me, that I may go to my sister?’
The request was so mild, so servile, even Telos seemed taken aback. Wordlessly he complied with her desires.
Romila went to her sister.
‘Release her,’ Telos ordered Caralissa’s guard.
Caralissa fell into her sister’s arms. They both wept openly.
‘Romila, I’m so sorry. I only wanted to help our kingdom.’
‘Oh, Caralissa,’ her sister cried. ‘I am the one who should be sorry. I should never have allowed this to happen to you. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘It’s all right,’ Caralissa said at last. ‘Now that I see you, I know it’s all right. We love each other, that is all that matters.’
‘How touching,’ sneered Telos, yanking Romila by the hair and thrusting the blade of a dagger against her throat. ‘Now sign the paper, Caralissa, or I will kill you both.’
Numbly, as if walking on air, Caralissa went to the table and picked up the quill pen.
‘Good choice,’ he told her as she showed him the completed signature. ‘Now we can conclude this ridiculous trial and send that senile old fool Norod on his way. Guards, chain these two slaves from the ceiling. We won’t be needing them for the time being.’ He pointed to the huge man and to one other, a short fellow. ‘You and you, do what you want with them for the day. Use your imagination and don’t worry about getting in trouble. I sent Drendel on errands for the day.’
‘But Telos,’ Romila cried, tears in her eyes, ‘I thought you loved me!’
Telos laughed cruelly. ‘You expected me to waste my time on a skinny little bitch like you? Don’t be ridiculous. You were valuable only when you might have become queen. Now you’re just a slut like any other.’
‘Please!’ she cried. ‘At least let my sister go! Caralissa won’t harm you!’
‘Neither of you will harm me, once Norod crowns me king.’
Telos laughed all the way to the stairs. Caralissa was trying desperately to comfort her brave sister but the guard was holding her fast, attaching her to the chain. In the end she could get no closer than a foot from Romila as together, arms pinioned overhead, they were chained on tiptoe, side by side, their bodies stretched wantonly.
‘Oh, Caralissa,’ Romila wept as her scant covering was torn away,’ I am so ashamed. Telos made me do things; he made me want him. I could not help giving him...’ Romila’s voice trailed off as calloused fingers, thick as bananas, began mauling her breasts. With his other hand the guard flicked a thumb over her dark fleece, casually, insolently.
‘We’re going to play for a while, princess,’ the hulking man croaked, the man who’d brought her in, his stinking alcohol-soaked breath in her ear. ‘Doesn’t that sound nice?’
She tried to turn her head away to avoid his kissing mouth. ‘Please, just leave us alone,’ Romila begged. ‘What have we ever done to you?’
‘Nothing,’ he conceded. ‘You did nothing, you and your stuck-up sister both, strutting your arses, flashing your tits, making us all hard and not a damned thing we could do about it.’
‘Nothing at all,’ echoed the second guard, a stocky fellow with a stringy beard who at the moment was occupied with Caralissa’s nipples, pinching them between his smaller thumbs and forefingers.
‘Just let them have what they want,’ Caralissa gasped, her words a ragged string as she fought the mounting sensations. ‘Come for them, and they won’t hurt you any more.’
‘Get away!’ Romila shrieked, ignoring her sister as she squirmed to avoid her tormentor’s liquor-saturated kisses.
‘You have to know how to handle ‘em,’ the stocky fellow advised. ‘Observe my technique.’
Caralissa saw stars. He was ratcheting up the pressure, sending shooting sensations down the front of her.
‘Kiss me, queenie,’ he told her, leaning in malevolently, one hand at her crotch. Desperately Caralissa gave him her mouth, allowing him to plunder it with his tongue. ‘There, you see?’ he bragged, releasing Caralissa’s throbbing nipples. ‘She’s nice and easy. Yours will be just the same.’
Caralissa felt herself flood at the casual mention of her subservience, her nonexistent virtue. It shamed her deeply to react this way in front of her own sister.
The big man muttered an oath. ‘Why do I always get the frigid bitches?’ he complained.
‘Why not switch?’ the other offered jovially.
‘I’d be much obliged,’ the giant said.
The stocky fellow hooked his thumb inside Caralissa’s vagina and pressed hard enough to get her attention. ‘You be nice to my friend, understand, queenie?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered out of reflex, ‘master.’
Caralissa let the new man kiss and fondle her, giving him appreciative little moans as well
as the full effect of her curvaceous body, as much of it as she could move in her present bound state.
The man’s belly and shoulders heaved. He was red-faced, hard and hot. Scrambling to undo his trousers, he plucked between his legs to expose his member. Puffing and snarling he fed himself inside her. She was wet, of course, and completely open. She thought he might have a heart attack as he rutted at her. Trying to forget her own predicament she looked over to her sister. The stocky fellow, obviously the cleverer of the two, retrieved a leather drink pouch from his pants. Unscrewing the top he put the bottle to Romila’s lips.
‘Drink,’ he said menacingly. ‘Or it won’t be my cock you’ll have to slake, it’ll be a bullwhip.’
Romila looked at him wide-eyed, as if waiting for him to tell her it was all a joke. Would that it were! Alas, she knew in her heart it was only the beginning of an intended life of slavery and degradation, one that would reduce the sisters to cringing beasts, scarcely recognisable as human beings. Pinching her eyes shut against the tears she thought of Varik even as she addressed her terrified sister. ‘It’s okay, Romila,’ she lied. ‘Just drink, it’ll do you good.’
Romila parted her lips, allowing the man to press the mouth of the pouch to them. She sputtered, but managed to take down a large gulp anyway. The stuff seemed to calm her almost immediately, which was just as well, for the man was behind her now, opening his trousers, taking careful aim in the furrow of her cheeks.
Romila cried out briefly, but as he began to thrust his way in and out with increasing vigour she grew strangely silent. How Caralissa wished she knew what was going on in her sister’s mind. Was she coping, preparing to yield, or would she succumb to madness?
Caralissa's Conquest Page 19
