Chapter Four: CLAIMED
When he left, I immediately began my chores. I did not want to think about my feelings, my situation, my new existence. I needed to be distracted, busy. I started with his laundry and found myself inhaling his shirts, taking in his scent, looking over my shoulder guiltily. I didn't want to feel it, but his smell intoxicated me, and I shook from desire, thinking about him, remembering his hands on me, the memory of orgasm flushing hotly over my body. I didn't want to admit it, but I wanted him to take me, to soothe me, to make me forget about all I had witnessed, to make me feel like I was different from the rest, somehow safe and cared for.
I thrust myself into cleaning and pushed the ridiculous thoughts from my mind. I couldn't possibly care for someone who had taken me to be his slave. More pointedly, he couldn't possibly care for me.
By 4:30 pm, I had finally finished everything. The small compound was clean, all the laundry was done, I had scrubbed every nook and cranny of the place, and clean sheets were on both beds. My body ached, everywhere, and then I heard someone at the door as I was about to head to the kitchen to make dinner. I hadn't eaten lunch, I realized, and I was famished. I expectantly and nervously waited for Erik to enter, and when he did, I felt every muscle tighten in my body. I felt myself wanting to run into his arms, to kiss him, to beg him to hold me. I couldn't explain it, but I longed for him, for his touch, his voice. How absolutely absurd, I thought to myself. But none of my feelings mattered, because right behind him was Malachi, and I froze.
They were in heated dialogue, angry whispers as they entered. Both men's eyes found mine as I stood naked, trembling, unsure of what was expected of me.
Erik looked tired, worn-out, and yet, all him, masculine and confident. His eyes said so much and so little. If only I could crawl into his mind to know what he was thinking. It made me crave him all the more, because I knew, I just knew, there was so much he kept hidden.
“Go draw my bath, Imogen. After I bathe, we will eat in the main compound," he said, distant, cold, and I shivered at his aloofness.
Malachi came up behind me and slapped my ass, and I yelped, totally surprised and taken off guard. He grinned. "Aaah," he grumbled, "a rise out of that perfect little mouth yet. Perhaps you are not a dead fish after all. Perhaps I just need more time with you to discover what really makes you tick. Not tonight. But soon. Tonight, you will watch what happens to dirty little slaves like you, and you will watch your master's talents with another woman. Maybe then he can get a rise out of you."
I visibly halted, fear gripping every part of my body. I stood frozen, looking desperately into Erik's eyes. Erik firmly said, "Go run my bath, Slave. Now." He then turned to Malachi. "We shall see you tonight?"
"Yes," Malachi said, finally removing his gaze from my trembling, vulnerable body, focusing back on Erik. "Fine work today, Erik, and always. You are truly the finest soldier we have here. We will bestow you with the medals you so deserve this evening. And your reward will be my little slave I took today. She has had a rather," he paused and laughed, "Difficult day."
I tried not to gasp at what I heard, but couldn't stop myself from straining to hear more of what Malachi said.
"She has been bound and tortured by other slaves the entire day. Every time I checked in on her today, she was either screaming or moaning or begging them to stop or begging them to let her come." Again, he laughed. "I may not tire of her for quite some time, but you may borrow her for the evening. I promise, she will be primed and ready for you."
"I look forward to it, Malachi," Erik said straight-faced, and my stomach dropped. Was he serious? Would he enjoy the pleasure of a woman who had been tortured all day? Would he enjoy torturing her too? Would she? He glared at me again, and I rushed to draw his bath.
When Malachi had gone, I felt Erik's presence. "Your bath is ready, Sir," I said meekly, trying to hide my emotional turmoil, my sadness, my fear, my anger, and what could only be described as a form of misplaced, confused jealousy.
"Thank you, Imogen," he whispered but didn't try to touch me.
I held back tears.
He took steps towards me and stood mere inches from my exposed, shivering body. He lifted my chin that way he did, and I refused to make eye contact. "Look at me, Imogen," he ordered.
I refused. I couldn't let him see my emotions, my mixed feelings. I needed to stay strong.
"Imogen," he started again. "Obey me or pay the consequences. It's been a very long, trying day. I have zero patience right now."
Something in his voice made me obey, and I looked into his chocolate brown eyes to see that tenderness, that kindness that always lay just below the surface, muted with sadness and distress. I wanted to cry. I wanted to melt. I wanted to beg him to take me in his arms. I wanted to ask him to take me right there, hard and fast. Instead, I stood motionless.
"Tonight will be…" He struggled for the right words. "Unpleasant."
I refused to cry. I refused to show him any emotion. Instead, I haughtily said, "Then don't do it." And even as I said "it," I wondered what it really was.
He sighed, long and heavy. "If only I had a choice, Imogen. Now go. Get ready for tonight."
I desperately hoped he'd ask me to join him, but he didn't, so I turned to go get ready, whatever that meant. I didn't have clothes, and I had already bathed myself. I felt lost, so alone, so cold.
But before I left, he cautioned. "Imogen, obey me tonight in everything, starting with that tone of voice. Do you understand?" He spoke as if angry with me, disappointed with me.
I slunk out of the bathroom, barely able to speak, the lump in my throat huge and unwavering. "Yes, Sir."
I went to the other bedroom that had become mine and let the tears flow. I absolutely, positively hated myself for not trying to fight him, that I was so obedient. Why? Why wasn’t I screaming at him? Why wasn’t I doing more? And I had no answers to those questions, except to admit that I had a deep need not to disappoint him, and it wasn’t solely based on fear.
I must have fallen asleep, because I felt a light touch on my cheek as I looked to see Erik brushing away long strands of my hair from my face, struck against the wetness of my tears that had lulled me to sleep. "Oh, Imogen," he soothed. "Come. Sit on my lap." He held a brush. He was so hot and cold that my mind wanted to refuse him, and yet my body wouldn't allow it.
I couldn't control it and I did as he asked, needing to feel his comfort. My insides were in knots, my head ached, and I just wanted to crawl onto his lap and continue to cry, even though I knew I shouldn't feel that way.
He didn't say anything else, as he stroked the brush through my hair, gently, sweetly, and I tried not to moan at how good it felt. I felt like a cat snuggling into his warm touch and hated myself for how needy and weak I had come to feel.
He broke my silent self-berating and spoke softly. "I need to ask you some things, Imogen, and I need your honesty."
The calm he had created vanished as tension seized my body again. "Okay," I simply said.
"Explain to me how you felt when I touched Arthur's slave. I need to know."
My pride was up on guard, full-force. I would never admit I had felt jealousy, and then again, I'm not even sure what I felt.
I remained silent. "Answer me, Imogen. Were you jealous? Or did it arouse you? How did it make you feel?"
Oh dear god! Aroused? Was I? Was I aroused and jealous? Jesus. "No, of course not! I already told you that!" I spoke too loudly, and even I knew I was protesting too much.
"No? No to what? So you weren't jealous? Or you weren't aroused?"
"Stop it, Erik!" I started to sweat, uncomfortably embarrassed.
"Suit yourself, Imogen," he said, putting the brush down. "You are only hurting yourself by not being honest with me. It does not please me to see you cry. But I warn you. Tonight I will be asked to do things that may make you uncomfortable. I may have no choice in the matter. If I do not follow orders, I can be demoted, I can be exiled. And that would not bode well
for you. Chances are very slim that either of those things would happen, but I don't want to take any chances."
He waited for me to speak, to give me another chance to tell him how I truly felt, to bare a part of my soul to him. But somehow, I felt an indescribable rage and said nothing. I wouldn't allow him to see just how weak I had become. I just couldn't.
"Come. It is time. Again, don't forget to keep your emotions in check. Do not forget what I have taught you. I was hoping tonight we could continue with your training, but we are called for. I am called for."
My rage ebbed, and fear grew in the pit of my stomach as there was no way to avoid the night's events. Slowly, I left the comfort of his lap, and we made our way over.
Before we even arrived back in the main compound, I heard shrieks, and I instantly knew it was the slave from the morning who had shared Malachi's lap with me. I shuddered and grabbed Erik's hand instinctively, trembling.
"No, Imogen," he scolded and removed my hand from his. He looked down at my face, and I began to well up, all my strength evaporating.
"Erik," I couldn't help it. I whispered, "I'm scared."
"Sssh," he said, his face softening, sending tremors down my spine, and he stopped to stare into my eyes. "You are a very prideful person, Imogen. This pride of yours is something you are going to need to let go of, sooner rather than later. It puts you in danger. There is absolutely no place for pride here. Not from a slave. Not if you want to survive." He let out a long sigh. "And it frustrates me. I never truly know what you're feeling."
I couldn't speak, pushing the lump down as I swallowed and swallowed, trying to look away from his eyes. They melted me every time, and it wasn't fair.
He forced my gaze back up, holding my chin in place. "Whatever I do tonight, do not weigh it too heavily. What I will do I do because I have to, not necessarily because I want to."
At once, I saw what the shrieks were from. The slave was tied in the center of the room, and at least fifteen other slaves surrounded her. Everything imaginable was being done to her. I hated my fellow people in that moment, that they would do this to one of their own, and then I realized I would probably do the same thing, lest it be me. There really was no choice in the matter.
The woman tied was sweating and panting, welts and marks everywhere on her body. Her long hair stuck to her torso when two slaves pulled it back tautly, cruelly, exposing her neck and breasts in an awkward and uncomfortable position for easy access and abuse from the others. While immobile completely, several slaves kissed her or bit her. Others flicked whips around her and on her while giggling and taunting her. She screamed out each and every time she was bit or whipped, drool pooling around her mouth, and it only seemed to egg on her tormenters.
They took turns in groups to tease and torture her, alternating between pain and pleasure. A new group of slaves took turns twisting, sucking and biting her nipples, while others licked and tickled her pussy, as she bucked and jumped and struggled as best she could in her tight restraints. She groaned and moaned with a different tone when they inflicted this sadistic teasing on her, and she squeaked out pleas, begging, but for what I couldn't be sure. A few slaves had feathers and were tickling her squirming, red, hot, marked body. Almost inaudible, she begged, "Please," but the gang of slaves seemed entranced with their manipulations, too far gone to think of stopping, cruelly giddy, no sight of her torture ending in sight.
She continued to pant and scream and beg. Malachi and other soldiers watched, drinking and laughing, spurring on the slaves, heightening their fervor. Malachi yelled out, "If one of you slaves accidentally makes her come, you will be so severely punished, you will wish you weren't born. And if any of you relents or goes easy on her, you will be next!"
Almost everyone laughed and cheered, even some of the other slaves, out of fear, out of true excitement, out of their minds. I froze at the spectacle, sick and nervous and cowardly grateful. Malachi waved Erik over.
"Stay seated at the table with the other slaves and their masters," Erik whispered into my ear.
Malachi held up an ale in Erik’s direction, and Erik made his way over. "To the guest of honor!" Malachi cheered. "For finding what appears to be our enemy's last camp!"
"Cheers!" They all yelled in great mirth and happiness, except for Stephen who I saw approaching me, and I shivered, sinking down in my chair.
"Hello," he began, sitting on the edge of the table. "Imogen, is it?" he questioned.
I didn't know whether to ignore him or be polite. I trembled without Erik's presence and direction.
"Yes," I mustered, looking down at my knotted hands.
"You are quite a prize for Erik. You like him, don't you?" he teased.
"Sir?" I feigned innocence.
"Don't worry. Your secret will be safe with me, as long as you please me. I will give you plenty of opportunities to do so. Soon you will have my fat cock stuffed down your throat, choking the breath right out of your pretty, little body. After tonight, you won't be so fond of Erik, when you see what he's truly capable of. You don't really know him at all, do you?"
I tensed and visibly shook out of pure fear.
"Stephen." I hadn't even noticed Erik until he was squarely in front of Stephen. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Stephen smiled. "So testy, possessive. I was just having a lovely conversation with your slave, Erik, you know, slave," he emphasized my status.
"Yes, Stephen. My slave. You would best remember that," Erik growled.
"Yes, Erik. Your slave. But there is no reason I can’t have a piece of her, and I intend to get it." He stormed away.
He looked at my shaking body. "Did he hurt you?" Erik asked, as if he truly cared.
"No," I admitted.
"Good." Erik continued to look me up and down. "God damn you, Imogen. You are so fucking beautiful, it's hard for you not to garner attention, even if you're not trying. If only I could cover you up, but I can't. God, I worry. I…" He seemed to be warring with his emotions. He ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. "I want to take you right now, right here…"
I gasped. I never knew which way he would go, what he would say. It was so unnerving. And yet I felt the dampness, the wet drops between my legs from his words. "Erik, I…"
"Erik. Come. Your reward is waiting," Malachi interrupted. "Please everyone take a seat on the carpet over here. Our little slave girl will be allowed some respite in a few minutes, but let's see how much more desperate we can make her."
“Come, Imogen. Do not disobey me," Erik glared down at me.
We walked over and Erik pointed for me to sit down. The young slave was drooling and swaying, alone in the center of the room. The other slaves had backed away, also seated on the floor. Malachi yanked things from her body, first something in her anus, and then something from her pussy. Streams of liquid shot forth from her holes, and she moaned. Malachi laughed, cruelly. "Been a long day for you, my dear?" Malachi growled in her ear. "Your time with me is just beginning. Maybe you will be put out of your misery in just a bit, or maybe not. Such is the life of a slave."
Her former master, Gregory, yelled out, "She loves to come! This must be absolute torture for her!" He laughed loudly and others followed.
"Let us begin again, then, one by one." Malachi held up his mug. He turned to the tied slave. "The other slaves I have chosen to torture you, do so, so that they, themselves, will be spared. So they will do whatever I want. And I want them to bring you to the brink of orgasm over and over again, endlessly, until you think you might lose your mind. Then and only then will I release you to Erik to do with as he chooses. But tomorrow and the next and the next, you will be mine again, until I am sick of you. And I'm not sure what will happen to you after I tire of you, but I promise, it will be worse than this." He chuckled deeply. "You have your ancestors to thank for your predicament, Slave. What they have done to us. You women, nothing but whores." He turned back to the crowd. "Alas! Let the festivities continue. Be creative, slav
es, or your fate will be crueler than any of you could imagine."
Slowly, one by one, each of the slaves brought the tied, tortured soul to the brink of orgasm in different ways. Some stroked between her legs, focusing on her pleasure spot, others played inside of her until she tensed and trembled about to explode, others did both, and still others sucked and licked her. It was difficult to watch and yet mesmerizing at once. I wondered how she could be so aroused, so wet in such a humiliatingly brutal situation. But her arousal was visible and obvious, her scent, her sound, the dripping white cream between her thighs, was evident to all.
"Please," she begged, each and every time she approached orgasm, dripping in sweat, drool flowing down her chin, and the streams of her arousal and the strained pain in her face unhidden. "Please!" she yelled, hoarse, squirming, crying. "Please, I can't take any more. Please! It hurts. It pounds! Please, I will do anything."
And no one did anything to stop it. Some of the soldiers played with their own slaves, making them squirm and beg in time to the show of torture in front of them.
Finally, Malachi got her some water. "Halfway there, slave. Who would like to whip her pussy for intermission?" He laughed viciously, feeding her some water.
Gregory jumped up and began. He whipped her pussy, sending a loud, wet snap echoing in the large room. He paused to let the pain sink in, and then he continued without respite as she screamed out.
"Please, please…" she whimpered, looking pleadingly at Malachi, begging him to make it stop. Tears cascaded forward uncontrollably now, no scream left in her. But he smiled and motioned for Greg's cruel whipping to continue.
"Erik," Malachi said, completely ignoring the pleas of the girl. "It is up to you. Shall we stop here? Would you like to take her? Whip her?" Malachi, at last, held up his hand for Gregory to stop. He approached the helpless girl and drew his finger up into her. She was audibly wet for all to hear, and she sobbed in utter humiliation.
Malachi simply laughed and licked his finger. "Careful, Erik, she might actually burn your dick off. Her cunt is a furnace!" He looked sadistically into her eyes, "Knowing how much you clearly enjoy torture, I will be certain not to stop in your future."
THE IMOGEN SERIES BOXED SET PART I: (Books 1-4) Page 7
