by Terri Pray
She watched from her place at Davien's feet, listening to the two men. Since he had granted her a few moments of privacy behind the silk and painted screen she'd been given no other moment of reprieve. Instead, he had forced her to attend his toilet, aiding him in dressing, though trying to pull his trousers up by her teeth had been a lesson in patience.
Just why he had done this she didn't know. Her jaw ached from the way she had tried to hold the cloth. Another nail had broken to the quick, leaving her finger sore every time she was forced to crawl across the floor after him. Still, she had not been given leave to speak or stand save for that moment to clean herself.
“I know, and under other circumstances I might be tempted, but I have matters I must attend to at home. The girl will also be easier to train there, I have my toys on hand and the dogs will be given her scent. She will lose the chance to escape once and for all in my own home. Here there is the chance someone will try to come to her aid.” Davien reached out, sliding his fingers through her hair.
“The Raven perhaps?” Brian mocked.
“No, he wouldn't risk the noose for a wench. Not even one like this if they had enjoyed some pleasures together, which we both know never happened.”
Oh that had been clearly seen. She could still recall the feel of her own blood slick on her inner thighs. The mark of a maiden, taken for the first time.
Rape. She'd heard the word bantered in hushed tones in the gathering of women in the village. A woman raped, dishonored, it didn't matter she had wanted nothing of the men who had taken her. She would be labeled with the blame. It was the way of life. She'd have done something to lead them on, encouraged them, and now would bear the mark of that shame for the rest of her days. Even if she managed to break free, if they found out what had happened, her own father would cast her off.
Mystic could do who she wanted and when, but she was expected to behave, to hold the traditions of being untouched until she married. Without her maidenhead, she'd be thrown to the wolves.
Warmth coated her inner thighs, the tight walls of her sex. If what had happened truly was such a shameful thing, why did a part of her ache to be touched again?
Wicked, wanton, was she nothing more than her sister in the making?
“She squirmed well. In time she'll arch to your touch Davien.”
“More than arch, she'll beg for it.”
She had to shut out the words, ignore them. It didn't work. Her body tightened, thighs craved to close on something as it buried between her walls.
“And the chest is ready?” Brian nodded toward the large wooden box that sat next to the bed.
“Padded and ready. I had the restraints fitted in the chest some months ago.”
The iron bound chest was large enough to hold a woman a little bigger than she stood, but only if she curled within the confines of the box. She had no doubt the restraints would hold her tight during the trip. He knew his evil tasks too well.
“I still wish you would stay. She has a sweet mouth.”
“Then feel free to use it.”
Her jaw clenched tight. Use her mouth? He couldn't mean forcing his cock between her lips could he? Did people do that?
“I thought you meant to leave?” Brian's gaze fixed on the kneeling woman, the hunger palatable. He wanted her, and he'd take her from Davien, if given but a slim chance. Did Davien see that?
“I do, however I see no harm in giving you a few moments to satisfy the itch.” Davien rose, leaving her by the side of the chair. “Five minutes should be enough, I would think.”
“Bastard, you think I need only that?” Brian growled. “You didn't take that long to take her last night.”
“Nor did you.” Davien quipped, flipping open the chest. “She was new and tight, and I had already whipped the woman. You just needed to see her being taken in order to be ready.” As fast as Davien had been, Brian had taken only four thrusts before he had coated her inner quivering walls with his seed.
“This is how you treat me, after I granted you the safe haven of my home?” Brian demanded, pushing up from the chair, his hands clenching into tight fists.
She wanted to hide, find a way to scramble back from the man and his anger. Being caught between the two of them only served to add to her fear, but there was nowhere she could go, and moving might have only brought their anger down on her instead.
“You've become an old woman Brian, if you cannot take a joke or two.” Davien smiled without a trace of warmth. “I have a long trip ahead and won't be delayed so you can take my pet again. You have a dozen or more wenches here, so lift one of their skirts instead.”
“You have a poor taste in humor.”
The tension died, the moment when she might have seen the two men at odds faded as if it had never been.
“Crawl over to the box, slave.”
Her eyes closed, gaze lowering to the carpet. The box offered a reprieve from prying eyes but marked her entrance into the world of being his slave once and for all. There'd be no chance to break free. Locked and bound in the chest she'd be reliant on his good will for food, drink, rest.
She glanced toward the window, the moment of insanity. She could have run to the glass, thrown herself through it and died instead of obeying him. What good would that have done. She'd be dead, no hope, no way of breaking free. No matter what, she couldn't let herself sink into that depth of despair. He'd win if she did that.
With a heavy heart she lowered down to her hands and knees, glancing up once before crawling toward the open chest. Despite everything she felt, she kept her head up, recalling what he had told her to do. Punishment and the box combined might have been too much, pushing her toward the edge, so she would have screamed in terror. She still had her pride and that, he had not stolen from her yet.
“She moves well,” Brian acknowledged. “The welts are healing well also.”
“She'll become used to those and more in the coming months.” He stood at the side of the chest, watching her. Her skin crawled under his gaze, hair rising on the back of her neck. He'd never let up, no matter what she did, and those few moments of kindness were not to be trusted. “Kneel.”
Celeste moved to her knees at the side of the box, her thighs parting, resting her ass on her heels. Even now, she could feel the welts, taut and painful across her ass.
“Head up,” he snapped.
Pale and shaky she raised her head, keeping her gaze lowered.
“Much better. You'll find I have a certain type of preference where your presentation is concerned.” His words carried on a low, whisper of breath that chilled her to the core of her being.
“Interesting, most women would have balked far more than she has, tried to speak or plead with you.” Brian looked over her, though unlike Davien his gaze moved simply between her parted thighs.
“She has an uncanny intelligence and understanding of the situation. I have no doubt she will attempt to run at some point, and will disobey on occasions. However I am expecting that.”
Was she that transparent?
“Ah, I see. And when she does?”
“She'll be punished. She's aware of that, and will be saving those attempts for when she thinks they are the most effective. It will be a challenge. I prefer those that challenge me, test me to my limits instead of simply complying. Oh this one will test, push, attempt to escape, but in the end she will come to crave what I offer her and seek ways to please me, won't you my pet?” Such arrogance. It radiated from every pore of his body. He really believed she would submit to him, come to want him and every breath he offered her.
“She'll cry out for help in the box.”
“No, she won't be able to.” He turned, bringing something into view. A gag, or so it seemed. A ball of leather with straps that would fasten at the back of her head. “Not with this in place. I've done this a time or two before. Open up my pet.”
Her lips pressed tight, into a thin, bitter line. She didn't want that thing in her mouth, but if she didn't
submit to it, he'd force it, perhaps break a tooth or rip the corner of her mouth if she fought him. Slowly she relaxed, parting her lips, looking up at him. She didn't hide the anger or hatred she felt toward the man. Why bother when he had to know what was going on in her mind. No woman taken the way she had been could ever feel anything but loathing toward the man responsible for her dishonor.
* * * *
How long had she rested within the chest? Time had lost meaning. Her body ached, jaw cried in protest at the gag between her teeth. Large bands of leather had been fastened around her body, securing her within the confines of the metal wrapped wood. She couldn't move but an inch here and there.
At least the contraption had been padded with some level of care. Thick leather, wool beneath and a soft blanket thrown over her form, keeping her from being harmed during the trip. The fear of suffocating had sprung into life for a time, but the small holes in the chest kept her supplied with fresh air.
It had to have been hours, longer even. She'd tried counting at first, measuring out the time, but had fallen into a dull sleep at some point. Now she felt the carriage move, rocking her softly against the padding, a chill in the air that spoke of the day drawing to an end.
Or it could have just been a damp spring day.
She had no way of knowing. Frustration and helplessness merged into one sullen lump of emotion.
She could hear other voices on rare occasions— men and women alike, sometimes children playing. Her teeth had sunk into the gag, the desire to cry out had grown and died over the length of the trip. Doing so would have been pointless, who would dare question a man of his status and wealth?
One, two, three, four...
Counting wouldn't help, yet she did it anyway, desperate to find a way to measure the passage of time.
One hundred one, one hundred two...
Foolish, she'd not be able to figure out anything that way, yet she clung to the pointless exercise.
Five hundred ninety-nine...
Her mind faded into a weary rest, sinking into the darkness of her own making.
* * * *
The chest hit the ground hard, jolting her awake in the confines of the wood. She heard male voices, but the chest wasn't opened. Her throat was dry. She'd have given almost anything now for a sip of water and the time outside the box in order to relieve herself.
“Hoist it up. His Lordship wants it taken into his chambers on the ship.” There were several voices, but not ones she recognized.
Ship? Had they reached the coast already? She'd not been to the shore in years and could barely remember how far away it was. Add into that the time in Brian's home. They could have made it in one day if the horses had been pushed, and she hadn't been awakened for any rests or stops that her body now craved.
“Why not the hold?”
“He says the cargo is too valuable. Best to be doing what His Lordship wants. He's a mean one that man.” The chest swung in their grasp, her body slamming against the padded sides. She tried not to cry out, her hands clenching as she felt them jerk the crate up into the air.
Now that they were on a ship, they'd reach the mainland within a short time. Such trips took little time if the wind was behind them. Not that she could be sure. It could be a week for all she knew of such matters.
Ropes? Had they wrapped ropes around the chest? No, she could hear them, carrying it up the gangplank? She was uncertain if the terms she'd heard in passing fit the circumstances. She could taste the salty air through the holes, sounds of voices, water slapping against wood, odd noises that might have been anything from footsteps to wood hitting the deck.
“Settle it down here, he'll be here in a while, I'm thinking. Not someone I want to be around. Least the chest is doing okay.” She bit hard into the gag, her body jolted against the wood. Did they care if they damaged the chest?
“Aye, time for a drink before we head out I think.”
“Sure, as long as the boson doesn't catch us.”
Steps moved across the wood, and a door latch closed, as silence enfolded the closed chest.
* * * *
Her bladder ached. She couldn't hold it much longer. If he didn't open the chest soon there would be a mess, and the thought of that left her struggling to contain it.
She heard a sound, soft, then the latch opened on the chest. A pair of cold eyes stared down at her, bringing a sense of relief.
“Well now, you survived the first step of the trip, and the second, but what about the last two parts?” He smiled, reaching down into the chest, undoing the straps that held her in place before pulling her bodily out of the confines of the wooden hell.
She whimpered into the gag. Her body refused to keep her on her feet. She didn't even have the urge to try to stand as he put her on her knees on the floor. Every limb ached. Pain that lanced through her muscles, but the need to relieve herself only grew further.
“Ah, I know that look.” Davien smirked. “There is a pot over there, crawl and use it. You may sit on it.” He nodded, looking over toward the shielded wooden seat with the pot sitting in the middle of it.
Her limbs protested, but the threatening cramps across her bladder forced her into action. With a low moan of pain she lowered down to her hands and knees, crawling across the bare wooden floor of the small chamber. Already she could feel it, the sway of the ship on the water, forcing her to adapt how she moved. Her body wasn't ready for the change from dry land to a ship. Her balance was off long before Celeste pushed to her feet and settled on the pot.
Not a man, but a brute, a beast who cared nothing for how she felt.
She shut him out, closing her eyes, forcing her body to relax as she eased the pain in her body— or one source of it.
“Come on, slut, no need to be sitting there all day.”
Her teeth caught into her bottom lip, chewing at the tender flesh. A moment longer, that's all it took. A small damp cloth, a quick wipe and she was ready to move again. With a blush creeping back over her face she eased back down to her knees, nipples puckering under the intense gaze that had followed her. No part of her life would be hidden from this man, this creature of hell.
“Sluggish, well to be expected after the time in the chest. You'll have plenty of time to work out the kinks when we arrive home.” He moved back into the only chair in the small room. A bed, two tiny windows that were little more than the size of a dinner dish, the chest she'd arrived in, the small pot, a few bits and pieces in the room, but nothing that spoke of it being more than a stop off point.
A tin bowl and pitcher sat on the dresser, a piece of furniture that appeared to have been bolted to the wall. Well that made sense, high seas, a bad storm and such a thing could kill a man. No doubt the bed had been bolted in place as well. The tin of the pitcher and bowl spoke of common sense, items that wouldn't shatter if they hit the floor.
“I can see you taking in everything, not looking for a way out though, not yet.” Davien spoke softly, his words caressing a path through the air. “Too smart for that, there'd be no where for you to go right now. Not with the men on this ship. A naked woman, you'd be thrown to the wolves.”
She glanced toward the door. Wolves, that was one word for it. She'd be raped by half the crew, maybe killed. Not something she could risk.
“So why the interest? I'd have to guess it's a matter of habit for you. Taking in your surroundings in case you need the information for a later date— or the need to learn. You strike me as one always looking to learn which will play in your favor.” He might have been holding a conversation in a parlor, with her dressed in the finest court fashions. “You'll sleep most of the trip, with a little poppy juice. For your own protection if you will believe that.”
Poppy juice? A drugged sleep to carry her to England.
“But first we have a little business to attend to. I've been traveling a long time today and require a little, shall we say, amusement.”
She flinched, weary despite the sleep her body had ‘enjoye
d’ during the trip so far. Amusement, whatever he had in mind was doubtless meant to harm her, or at least give her reason to cry out. Was that why she still wore the gag, so the men beyond the closed door would not hear the soft cries of a woman and come to claim her for themselves?
“Yes, the gag will stay in place, little bitch. I have no use for your mouth this time. A simple use, a taste of the leather, then some poppy juice to lull you into the warmth of sleep.” He reached down, grasped her by the hair, dragging her closer across the floor. “Time to use you as the bitch you truly are.”
The grip didn't ease. His hand twisted in her hair, forcing her head to the floor. Even if she could have pulled free it would have done her no good. He'd have punished her, or the men outside would have taken his place. Better to submit, to let him have what he wanted, there would be time to slip free after they arrived.
A slim hope, but one she clung to.
“Damp? No, that would be too much to hope for just yet, with you.” He moved behind her, his free hand slipped between her thighs, cupping against the soft lips of her cunt. “Of course, in time I will train you to take a man with your mouth and ass. For now, I will be satisfied with your cunt, and a few small sounds of pain. Your gag will hide most of that, however I will enjoy what you can offer me for now.”
Her teeth sank into the gag. She wanted to close her thighs, to fight the touch, but her body remembered what it had been like— remembered and wanted more.
A wanton, a tease. She had become nothing more than a slut, just like Mystic. No, she didn't believe that about herself, so why did her body press back into his touch? A way to survive, that was it. Not a true desire for him, but a way to make him think she was adapting to the training.
“Interesting, your hips rock, and by the look on your face you're busy trying to convince yourself there is a reason for that.” His finger slipped between her lips, stroking softly. “Lie to yourself all you want, slut, already your body seeks more of the delights you experienced yesterday.”
