Damsels in Distress

by Amanita Virosa

  ‘Quite a poor showing, even for incorrigible barbarian slatterns,’ Lavinia said conversationally, and then cracked the whip without warning, the two naked slaves jumping simultaneously and quivering fearfully anew.

  ‘Two minutes,’ the woman went on. ‘That was all you had to control your animalistic instincts for, and you couldn’t.’ She cracked the whip again for punctuation.

  It was true. In Delicia’s place on the dais Flavia had been determined not to climax, but it was much harder than she’d imagined. Delicia and Lavinia’s climaxes seemed to have done something to her. There was a strange sensation emanating from somewhere deep inside her, threatening to drive her insane with longing. And there was Delicia’s tongue, which had turned out to be surprisingly cunning, with inevitable results. And there had been Lavinia and her whip. After her wild orgasm the woman had calmed down a little, but her malevolent presence behind Flavia was impossible to ignore. She cracked the whip a couple of times, gave both girls another agonising stroke, and quite prevented Flavia thinking about something dull and cold, as had been her plan.

  It was the second lash on Delicia’s bottom that settled the issue, however. The dark-haired slave girl had just reached Flavia’s already throbbing clitoris when it struck, driving the kneeling girl to even greater and ever more skilful efforts, and then Flavia’s head exploded with incandescent lights.

  After that they had been towelled down by Zenobia and even given some wine to help quench their thirsts.

  ‘There is no point in whipping them in this state,’ Lavinia had decided. ‘They will hardly know what is going on.’

  So they were given a little time to recover, while their mistress passed the time by idly tickling Zenobia’s beautiful breasts with nettles until the tears coursed down the black girl’s exquisite face.

  The respite was brief, however. All too soon Zenobia had been sent to gag and chain them, ready for their whipping. Now her racing heart and pounding temples told Flavia the time had really come.

  ‘I’m going to teach you girls an important lesson,’ Lavinia announced, taking an elegant sip of wine from her goblet, before throwing it casually over her shoulder. ‘Life is not all about pleasure. Well, not for slave girls, it is not. You climax when, and if, I allow you to climax. From now on your life is about total obedience to me.’

  Flavia stopped breathing as she sensed her mistress make ready behind her. There was complete silence for a moment. The tingling between her thighs had returned and her nipples stiffened, pressing harder into the warm flesh of the other slave girl’s breasts. Flavia felt her bottom clench and the muscles in her back twitch. There was nothing she could do but quiver in those unyielding bonds as she waited for the inevitable whistle of the whip.

  A Damsel in Distress

  ‘What is the problem, Brother Sebastian?’ Lady Eleanor asked as the horses stopped again.

  The captain of the little troupe of yeomen was intent in some discussion with the friar, who looked up at her and smiled reassuringly.

  ‘No problem, Lady Eleanor,’ he said, rather too quickly. ‘We are just ensuring that we take the right road from this place.’

  Eleanor looked around anxiously. A short distance back the road had dwindled to a rough track across the heath, and then the track had plunged down a deep ravine. Now the track forked into two, both ways leading into a foreboding forest. It was obvious that the men-at-arms were worried. Brother Sebastian looked around, an expression close to panic on his fat face. Eleanor guessed he had as much idea of the right track to take as she did.

  ‘So, you remembered the way?’ she asked archly as the little troupe set off again, taking the left fork.

  ‘Oh yes, my lady,’ the fat friar said, mopping perspiration from his face with his sleeve. ‘’Tis just, well, in these parts it is best not to stray.’

  ‘And why would that be?’ she pressed him, in no mood to let him drop the subject.

  ‘Erm, well, these lands are peaceful now, of course. My lord, the Earl of Pewsey keeps the roads safe, but some of the more remote paths, well…’

  Mention of her betrothed, the fat earl who was over twice her age, made Eleanor suppress a shudder. ‘Well…?’ she echoed, pressing him on his point.

  ‘There are still some outlaw knights in the wilder forest,’ he expanded, somewhat reluctantly. ‘Sir Turquin has his castle in these parts and he captures all the knights that ride his way. They say he strips them naked and beats them with thorns.’

  The idea of lusty knights stripped naked and being whipped with thorns was certainly a startling one. Eleanor considered the image for a moment; after all, it was preferable to dwelling on her coming nuptials with the repulsive Pewsey.

  ‘But we have no knights with us for him to seize,’ she said, after considering his words. It was something of a sore point that the escort her wealthy betrothed had sent to fetch her had not included any dashing young men. Eleanor’s beauty, her long golden hair and fair form, had always attracted no little attention from her father’s own soldiers. So much so that her marriage seemed to have been arranged somewhat hastily, as if to forestall amorous adventures with impecunious but dashing knights errant.

  Eleanor had even daydreamt about falling in love with a lusty young knight on this very journey, who would carry her off and away from her vile fate. But instead Brother Sebastian had come to lead the escort party; perhaps Sir Percival of Pewsey had considered the same possibility.

  Brother Sebastian shrugged. ‘No, my lady, but he may seize us and ransom you.’

  At that moment this did not seem so bad a fate to Lady Eleanor. To be held captive by the bold Sir Turquin, forced to watch as he whipped his naked prisoners, well, the idea made her mouth turn quite dry as she rode on; down into the deepening murk of the forest.

  Despite Brother Sebastian’s obvious anxiety, nothing occurred as they passed through the darkly brooding defile. At last they came out into less hilly country, where the dark yews gave way to less oppressive birch trees.

  Just then there was a shout from several of the men-at-arms as they came into the clearing, and a knot of mounted men charged across, blocking her view so that at first she could not see what had caused their consternation. Brother Sebastian, perhaps loath to leave her unguarded, seized her reins and spurred his horse after the men, and by the time they arrived most of the guards had already dismounted and a most amazing sight greeted Eleanor’s astonished gaze.

  There was an unusually tall, stout birch tree, standing alone in the middle of the clearing, with two large boughs spreading from the trunk a dozen feet from the ground in opposite directions. Chained to each of these branches by heavy iron wristbands, their arms straining above their heads as they stretched up on tiptoe, were two naked damsels.

  They were both young and comely. One had long glossy chestnut hair and a full figure; the other was darker and more slender. The chains that linked their wrists had been passed over the sturdy branches and were too tight to allow the girls much movement at all. Thus they stood in an almost symmetrical display, one on either side of the tree.

  All this Eleanor absorbed in one astonished glance. Then she saw the items around the girls’ waists and blinked in amazement.

  She had heard tell of chastity belts, always thinking such things a jest, but the two chained damsels wore real girdles of silver gilt, a band around their waists meeting tongues that curved between their legs. Sturdy padlocks secured them, much to the men-at-arms’ consternation.

  ‘Damn me, who has a hammer to strike this lock off?’ Bellowed one of the ogling men.

  ‘Oh please, unhand me, sir,’ the chestnut-locked girl pleaded.

  ‘Who can pick a lock?’ the captain demanded, quite ignoring her.

  The two girls were naked except for their gleaming girdles, and the sight of them seemed to have driven the guardsmen quite out of their senses. The captive maidens squea
led and shrieked as the rough men-at-arms pawed them and wrestled futilely with their silver girdles. Even the captain seemed to have disregarded everything but the girl who struggled in his mauling embrace.

  ‘Captain, please consider…’ Brother Sebastian frantically looked around the clearing as blathered. ‘This must be some devilment, some trap.’

  ‘These damned things are the devilment, friar!’ the captain declared as he pushed away one of the men and began clawing at the chestnut-haired girl’s chastity belt in vain.

  To her horror and astonishment Eleanor noticed, as she stared at the bizarre tableau, both girls thighs, buttocks and backs were streaked with thin red lines, as if they’d been recently whipped. The sight made her temples pound and mouth go dry, and she barely noticed her own hand slip surreptitiously between her thighs. Unlike most of the guardsmen who were starting to fight over the right to paw the damsels, however, she was not so entranced that she did not notice Brother Sebastian’s shrill cry of alarm. Nor was she so distracted that she did not hear the pounding of a charger’s hooves, and turning she saw a terrifying sight; thundering across the clearing was a fearsome knight on a huge black horse. His surcoat was crimson but his armour was as black as night. As she saw him hurtling straight towards her, a gleaming sword held aloft, Eleanor fell into a swoon.

  ‘W-where… where am I?’ Lady Eleanor blinked and looked about her, getting up into a sitting position. She was on a wooden cot in a small cell with stone walls on three sides, the forth an iron grill, from where a buxom, pretty girl with raven hair peered inquisitively down at her.

  ‘You’re in the castle of Sir Peris de la Forest Savage,’ the girl said softly. ‘I am afraid you are a prisoner like me. My name is Guinevere.’

  Eleanor studied her more closely. She wore a fine shift of delicate white muslin that showed off her figure marvellously. The girl had full breasts and a narrow waist that swelled to generous hips. She was comely and shapely, and to her astonishment, Eleanor could make out the shape and even the hue of her pert nipples, pressing through the delicate material of her shift.

  She looked down and saw she was now dressed in a similar gown.

  ‘Be thankful that you have something to wear at all,’ the girl said, noticing her blush. ‘Sir Peris often prefers his captives to be naked; for his pleasure and to shame us, but also so that we are ready for his whip and that of his… well, you will see…’

  Lady Eleanor shivered. ‘What sort of a beast is he, to so besmirch the name of chivalry?’

  ‘He is a cruel man who likes his dungeons filled with damsels. He had three score of us captive here, at least.’

  ‘And… and will he ransom us?’

  The girl shook her head and smiled sadly. ‘I have been here half a year and in that time he has only added to his collection. I fear Sir Peris is a rich man who prefers to possess maidens rather than exchange them for gold.’

  At that point the conversation was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in a lock. There was a chorus of girlish cries of alarm and the two prisoners hastened to the iron grill door of their squalid cell.

  Eleanor saw that this was but one of many cage-like fronts that guarded a series of cells on either side of a gloomy corridor. At each iron grill beautiful young maidens waited, clutching the bars and peering out. Some cells held two girls, like Eleanor’s own, most of them had more. All the girls, excepting some exotic dark-skinned beauties, had long hair falling loosely about their shoulders. Some were naked, whilst others were dressed in diaphanous gowns, like Eleanor.

  But unlike that lady most were manacled. Iron collars and cruel wrist and ankle cuffs fettered dozens of shapely necks, slender wrists and pretty ankles. The brutal bands were secured to heavy iron chains that clinked and clanked dolorously against the grills of the cells and added to the chorus of alarmed murmurs and gasps that echoed around the dungeon as a door slammed shut and the key was turned again.

  By pressing her face against the bars and peering sideways, Lady Eleanor could make out a strange, stumpy figure holding a blazing brand, clumping towards them down the passageway.

  ‘It is Dagonard, the dwarf of Sir Peris,’ the girl whispered in alarm. ‘Do as I do if he comes here, and obey him for he is a cruel creature, and his master allows him to misuse us much as he pleases.’

  Eleanor could not but notice that her fair companion had paled and that she held her hand before her face, as if fearfully. She sprang back as the dwarf stopped in front of their cell.

  He held the torch up to peruse the captives. He was an ugly creature with a bulbous nose and thick black beard. Less than five feet in height he was powerfully built and seemed almost as wide as he was tall. He wore a dirty leathern tunic, though his stocky legs were bare. There was a coiled whip of braided brown leather stuck into his belt.

  ‘Well, well,’ the dwarf said to the girl, his eyes on Lady Eleanor, his voice a deep growl like that of a mastiff, ‘my master spoke truly, Lady Lynet, our latest guest truly graces the castle Saunce Pite with her beauty.’

  He unhooked a large iron key from his broad belt and unlocked the cell, and both girls stepped back as he entered, closed the door behind him and put the key back on his belt, and then shoved the flaming torch into a bracket on the cell wall, his predatory eyes glinting as he perused his prey.

  ‘My ladies, would you be so kind as to disrobe?’ he said, mocking them with a bow.

  There were some sighs of relief from other cells, and Lady Eleanor felt the colour spring to her cheeks. ‘I will do no such thing!’ she snapped. ‘I will speak with your master. I am Lady Eleanor of Surluse—!’

  She got no further, as still smiling the dwarf lurched forward and grabbed her by the wrist, and with a cunning twist he easily forced her to bend forward with her hand held up behind her back, then ripped the gown off her with one vicious tug. The sound of tearing cloth was accompanied by more gasps from other cells, and the chuckling of Dagonard as he pulled the remnants of her shift off and flung them into a dingy corner.

  ‘So, you are a proud one, milady,’ he mused, licking his rotten teeth with a broad tongue. ‘I am glad; I like them proud. Pride comes before a fall, they say. But not here, my proud beauty. In the castle Saunce Pite pride comes before a taste of Dagonard’s whip.’

  In a trice she found herself forced over to the rusty ironwork. The dwarf produced a leather thong from a pocket and proceeded to bind her wrists together. Though Eleanor struggled hard it made no difference. He held both her hands in his one, almost crushing her fingers as he tied her, but this seemed little effort to him. Once her wrists were bound he climbed nimbly up the horizontal iron bars of the door to the cage until she found her hands stretched high above her, and with a deft movement the dwarf tied the loose ends of the thong to the grill.

  Lady Eleanor stopped struggling, her dire situation suddenly all too plain. She was naked, secured to the cage door. The wide eyes of the maidens in the cells across the gloomy passageway, their knuckles white as they gripped the bars of their cages, seemed to reflect back and amplify her own terror.

  But Dagonard had not finished yet, and Lady Eleanor gasped as he seized her left ankle and hauled it to the side. A horizontal bar of iron formed the base of the cage door and she found her foot forced onto it before her ankle was secured there by another thong. Next he grabbed her right foot, and she caught the eye of a damsel in the cage opposite. A sweet-faced blonde as naked as Eleanor herself now was, apart from a brutal iron collar and chains, the girl put a hand over her pretty mouth and blinked at her with horrified blue eyes, for Lady Eleanor’s legs were now forced far apart and her hands were tied high on the grill, the balls of her feet barely resting on the iron bar at the base of the door.

  There was a moment’s quiet and then the dwarf gave a low whistle. ‘My lady,’ he growled, ‘on my life I swear, never did I behold me a nobler arse!’

  Eleanor could
not stop a squeal of indignation escaping her lips as he slapped the object of his admiration. Then she felt two strong hands grasp her bottom cheeks and squeeze. She tried to avoid looking into the eyes of the girls in the cages opposite, some looking horrified, some astonished, and some strangely aroused, but all mortifying her, naked and mishandled by such a grotesque knave. Then to her utter dismay, the loathsome dwarf pulled her buttocks apart.

  ‘What a sweet little hole!’ he exclaimed. ‘After I have chastised you, my lady, we must test this particular tunnel for tightness.’

  He let go of her bottom, and Eleanor could hardly breathe as she wondered what was coming next. The dwarf grabbed a bar of the cage door, which creaked chillingly as he pulled it open, Lady Eleanor swinging with it. Chuckling throatily, he shuffled out into the passageway and swung the door, and Eleanor, back closed again, then stepped back, the better to peruse her, Eleanor finding his lecherous gaze quite unbearable. Lowering her eyes she waited, her heart beating furiously.

  ‘What exotic fruit are these?’ the dwarf tormented, taking the whip from his belt. ‘I have seen but few larger and none so firm and shapely. My lady, your nipples are the colour of ripe cherries and of similar size. You will permit me to chew on such sweetness?’

  ‘Please…’ was all Eleanor managed, and then a little whimper, for the dwarf stepped forward, leering, the whip still in hand. By accident or cunning design, the position he’d tied her in meant that her breasts, which protruded some way through the iron grillwork, were at the same level as his ugly head. Very slowly, tormenting his victim, he pinched a succulent nipple between his few rotting teeth and proceeded to nip and chew and slobber, whilst maintaining eye contact with her the whole time.