by M Palmeri
“He’s waiting.”
Tall, sturdy oak doors opened onto the Great Hall of the Keep, a chamber big enough for a formal ball, lit by hanging chandeliers and the light of the fire roaring in the huge hearth. Archways that might lead to other galleries were curtained off by tapestries. A long table set with four finely crafted chairs faced them by the hearth. Other long tables with benches were ranked off to the side. The Count stood alone by the hearth, tending the fire.
As if rehearsed, the other servants left Rose and Ella to lead Harriet and Marie in alone. But once inside, the doors shut behind them, and Marie saw that the redhead was with them as well, as if guarding their entrance (or, more likely, preventing their exit).
Rose approached her husband and kissed him in greeting—again, something that Ella did not seem to mind in the least—and they turned to look at the two girls.
“Who shall we begin with?”
“Ladies first,” he told her easily. Rose frowned just a bit.
“But I’ve already unwrapped mine,” she pouted.
“Ella hasn’t,” Richard observed. This brought back her wicked grin. She nodded to Ella, who quickly and smoothly unlaced Harriet’s dress and slipped it to the floor. She pulled the serving maid’s arms behind her and led her forward, naked, to stand before Rose and the Count. Rose moved behind her, whispered something in her ear, and Harriet stepped her feet apart, opening her thighs. Then Rose had one of her cords out and tied Harriet’s wrists together behind her, then ran the ends of the line up her back, and used what was left to pull her shoulders back and tie her elbows together. This thrust her full breasts out even further.
“My wife has some interesting skills with rope,” Richard remarked casually, “as you may have already noticed.”
“With far more than just rope,” Rose corrected. She produced a two foot long iron rod with eyes on each end from an alcove by the hearth and set it between Harriet’s feet. Loops of rope through each end-eye quickly wrapped her ankles, holding her legs separated.
“A softer, more tender specimen than you usually favor,” Ella criticized analytically, cupping one of the girl’s breasts in her hand while steadying her with the other. The breast hand then ran down Harriet’s somewhat plump belly, and the fingers combed into the blonde fur between her legs. Harriet bit her lip and swayed on her feet, but Ella held her up.
“I fear my wife becomes more and more impulsive with her purchases of late,” Richard played.
“Woman’s beauty comes in many forms, my husband,” Rose defended lightly. “You know that well enough.”
Marie saw Richard look at the redhead and smile then. The smile that the redhead gave him back frightened her.
“Besides,” Rose continued, “variety is spice, as they say…” She took Ella’s stroking hand and led it further up between Harriet’s legs, guiding it in a smooth, pumping rhythm that Marie was now familiar seeing. But then she stopped just as suddenly, and Ella put the fingers that had just been inside the helpless serving maid in her mouth and suckled them with a purr of approval. Rose turned to Marie.
“Your turn, my husband.”
Richard stepped forward and took hold of Marie firmly but gently, pulling her wrists behind her back with one hand while the other unlaced her dress. Marie felt a rush of anxiety that almost buckled her knees as her dress was suddenly pulled down, exposing her breasts. Richard released her wrists to finish slipping the dress to the floor around her ankles. Marie flushed and reflexively moved to cover herself, but Richard held her wrists at her sides.
“You made your promise knowing, in your heart, what I would likely have in mind for you,” Richard told her softly. “Though what I actually have in mind for you is so much more than you could possibly imagine.”
Marie wanted to speak, wanted to ask what awaited her, but no sound came. She trembled in his grip, and closed her eyes as he stepped her free of the dress and led her forward to stand facing Harriet, though more than an arm’s reach away.
“You must never be ashamed of your body,” Richard coached with gentle but firm authority. “You will always come naked into this hall, until I tell you otherwise. And otherwise, you will never deny me access to your body. Step your feet apart.”
Marie’s legs were shaking as she complied, and while Richard held her arms, Rose—with quiet glee—produced another bar and secured Marie’s ankles in place.
From a hook on the wall, Rose took the end of a doubled loop of rope that hung from the rafters. There were several ropes secured there together—Marie had thought them to support the chandeliers, but quickly realized otherwise. Rose coiled the end of the loop into something like a bow with a magician’s grace, and Richard guided Marie’s hands up in front of her. Slipping the loops over Marie’s wrists and pulling them snug, Marie realized Rose had made manacles. A windlass on the wall wound the rope up—Marie could see it passed up through one of several pulleys in the rafters and back down to the crank—and it pulled her bound wrists over her head. Rose kept winding until Marie’s arms stretched straight up and she was raised up on the balls of her feet, alarmingly exposed and helpless.
Her body convulsed involuntarily when Richard started running his hands over her: first her stretched and exposed flanks, then up her arms, then down and gently over her breasts. He played her hardening nipples between his fingers, and Marie fought not to moan as the sensation shot through her body.
“A plainer specimen than you tend to favor, my husband,” Rose countered. “Mousy hair. Few curves. Small breasts. A fair but ordinary face. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you’d developed a taste for boys.”
“Woman’s beauty comes in many forms,” he repeated back to her. “And if I didn’t know you better, I might think you’d developed jealousy.”
“Only because you aren’t sharing,” Rose pouted. Richard looked Marie in the eye while he replied:
“That will be her choice. She only promised herself to me.”
Marie felt something like relief despite her overwhelming horror at her situation. And then she struggled again as Richard slid his hands down her taught belly and played with the thick, dark hair between her legs. She almost came off her feet entirely when he began to lightly stroke her nether lips, yet she didn’t fight against the bar to close her legs.
“The seduction of being bound,” Richard whispered in her ear. “Helpless, you are free. The burden of responsibility is lifted from you. The sin becomes mine alone.”
Marie bit her lip as she felt his fingers part her outer lips. The lightest fingertip teased her inner lips like the touch of a feather. It was so much more intense than when she did this to herself, and now she couldn’t help but moan. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. Involuntarily, she bucked her hips against his hand. His other hand on her tailbone held her firmly. The feather-light brushing made her writhe, and she felt her sex swell and heat and moisten. But her shame was fading, as was her awareness that there were others intently watching. She closed her eyes. It was just the two of them.
“Without shame,” Richard continued, “there is no sin in feeling pleasure. Let go.”
She felt herself divided, struggling within herself between her life-long ingrained shame and her mounting hunger. Territories divided within her. It was as if from the neck up she was fighting to protect what she had learned was her honor, but from the waist down she was desperate for him to stop teasing her and show her what he could do with his hands, his mouth, his cock. Between the two battle lines was, she realized, her heart, pounding terrified, vulnerable to being taken by either side.
When she opened her eyes she found herself glaring jealously at Harriet—still bound as she had been—because Harriet had already had him. But then she realized: no one was paying attention to Harriet, because they were all watching her, and despite her still-unshakable shame, Marie felt herself swell with a kind of pride.
Lightning flashed through her body as his fingertip slid now between her lips and met her we
tness. There was no more hiding her body’s response now, he had found her out. Her heart surrendered as he held her, and she made his fingers all the more wet to slide effortlessly between her lips (though he was careful not to threaten her maidenhead). She hung from her wrists almost limply, oblivious to whatever pain it caused her. She was melting.
“Helpless, you will know power,” he was whispering. “I could do anything to you now. Torture you. Kill you. Or simply abandon you. I am free to do anything I wish. But what I wish to do is give you pleasure…”
He knelt down between her legs, and in a flash, she felt his fingertips replaced with the dancing serpentine velvet of his tongue. He began lashing her passionately with it, even finding her most precious treasure (which, to her surprise, did not mind the soft attentions of his tongue even when applied directly), and the battle was over.
Gasping so hard she couldn’t breathe, Marie felt the lightning strike and strike, arcing right through her, but he did not stop, only giving her the briefest respite before the next attack (though thankfully shifting the focus of his attentions just slightly away from direct contact with the one spot that was most demanding mercy). She began to slip into delirium, losing all control over herself—she was actually thankful for the ropes that held her on her feet. She was now shamelessly grinding her sex into his mouth, thrilled at how eagerly he devoured her no matter how “dirty” she had been taught those parts of her body were. Her whole body felt like it would explode, but she was still too self-conscious to cry out (though perhaps she did anyway). He had spoken of torturing her, killing her, and she was almost convinced that was exactly what he was doing to her. The flashes of ecstatic lightning began to merge into one continuous rolling explosion. He held her up at the peak of this wonderful agony on the tip of his merciless tongue until she was sure she would die. And when she finally couldn’t bear it anymore and jerked away from his mouth, he let her go, eased her down off her toes, let her start breathing again. Standing, their eyes met with more intimacy than she had ever felt.
But just as quickly, Rose crushed it. She took her husband’s head in her hands and kissed him hungrily, and Marie felt shamed again because she knew that Rose was tasting her on him.
“Silly impatient man,” she scolded him. “I wanted her fresh, not licked raw.” She looked at Harriet then in a way that made Harriet blanch. “I’ll just have to start with her.”
Rose produced another overhead line, and weaved another bow manacle. But she left Harriet’s wrists tied behind her. Instead, to Harriet’s horror, Rose wound the loops around her breasts and cinched them tight. Harriet’s breasts swelled and reddened under the constriction, and Rose began to knead her nipples.
“I couldn’t do this with your little girl’s tits,” Rose condescended toward Marie. “Not that I don’t know ways to take advantage of them. I’m not any bigger myself, after all.” She got rougher with Harriet, who began to moan. “So much more sensitive, now, aren’t they? And so much more vulnerable. I could prick them with needles, slash them ever so gently with razors, tease them with candle flame, scald them with hot wax, tear at them with pincers, or just simply whip them…” She bent and began to suckle, then bite until Harriet cried out. Then Rose cranked up on the ropes and pulled Harriet up on her own toes by the tension on her breasts, which were turning from red to purple.
Rose took another line from the rafters, tied a large knot in it a few feet from the end, then led the end of the rope between Harriet’s legs and tied it to the bonds of her wrists. She took up slack on this rope, taking care to set the knot just below the nub of what must be Harriet’s own most sensitive nob, pulling her lips apart so that the rope slipped up deep between them. Then cranking the windlass, she lifted Harriet up a bit further by the pressure of this cord. Marie could see that Harriet was drenched in sweat.
“I wanted Marie to be the first to feel this,” Rose purred. “I have a lot of variations of this particular agony. But they’re best when you’re fresh. The best part is how you pleasure yourself as you struggle.” She started to maul Harriet then, rubbing her crotch into the rope. Harriet began to whimper.
“There are many punishments for disobedience, girl,” Rose warned Marie. “Pray your master doesn’t find reason to give you over to me. At least, not until you’re a bit more experienced.”
With a grin, Rose let the tension off of Harriet. The ropes came off her breasts and groin, and Rose dragged her over to the table. Bending her forward at the waist, Rose pressed her still-tender breasts down against the wooden surface, then knelt down behind her and began to go at her mercilessly with tongue and fingers. Harriet moaned with a gasping rhythm that was almost like song.
“The rope makes you go numb down there, like when your leg falls asleep,” Ella (whom Marie suddenly realized was standing just over her shoulder) explained softly, like she was describing something common. “You can imagine what it’s like to be attacked so, just as the blood begins to flow again.”
Richard let Marie down from her own suspension. He massaged her stiff arms and flanks until she could lower them again. Then he took off the spreading bar. Ella seemed disappointed at this. Rose was far too busy to notice. She had pulled back from Harriet just long enough to reach for a small silver pitcher on the table, from which she poured something that looked like light oil on her right hand. Then, while Marie watched in horror, Rose coned her fingers and thumb together, and with skillful aggression fed her entire hand into Harriet’s sex.
Harriet writhed frantically, banging her head against the table top, unable to escape. Her moans became almost a roaring. Rose added the thumb of her other hand into the mix, wetting it with stray oil and then hooking it somewhere up inside of her victim. Marie could now clearly see its target was not the serving maid’s agonizingly stretched sex, but her anus. The whole hand inside her moved in very short, quick strokes, and after several agonizing moments, Harriet’s moans went completely breathless. Her body arched back hard off the table, held itself taught there for quite a few seconds, and then she collapsed, body limp, whimpering.
“You will both be bathed and groomed before your first night’s bed,” Ella announced when Rose finally let up. Harriet seemed to faint as the pale hand slipped slowly out of her. “You will be bound during this process, to illustrate how completely you are putting yourselves in our care.” Catching the horrified look in Marie’s eye, Ella came close again, and with an unexpected warmth, told her:
“It is customary that you be bathed by women. But we understand that not all women are so comfortable with the attentions of their sisters. You may therefore choose to go with us…” Ella turned toward Richard with a look almost of condescension. “…or with him.”
Without realizing it, Marie was clinging to Richard.
Ella and Rose looked disappointed.
Chapter Five: Magic Lessons
Richard led Marie—unbound but still naked—to one of the tapestry-draped arches. The redhead was there ahead of them, pulling back the curtain with a look of cold irritation. Richard paused to sooth her icy gaze with a reassuring smile and an introduction.
“Marie, this is the Lady Claire. She is my personal guard, huntress, and sword-master of the castle. She will, I hope, teach you many valuable skills.” Richard then leaned in close to Claire and whispered something that brought a bit of a grin. Then he seized her by the hair and kissed her with an animal roughness, which she returned in kind.
Marie took the awkwardness of the moment to look back. Rose had helped Harriet to her feet, and the two were entwined in a tender lover’s embrace. Ella came up behind Harriet, and then she was sandwiched between them while Ella kissed Rose. Rose turned Harriet to kiss Ella, and the three disappeared through a tapestry on the other side of the Hall.
Richard pulled away from Claire (she did not seem eager to let him go), took Marie by the hand and led her up a winding stone staircase. When Marie glanced back again, Claire had vanished.
On the floor above was a
n opulent sleeping chamber with a large canopy bed. Another fireplace kept the room warm, lighting it softly with the aid of a few candlesticks. In one corner, a large wooden tub was filled with steaming water, tended by two maids in plain white dresses.
Richard guided Marie toward the bath. High on the wall near the tub was an iron ring. A simple cord looped through it, and Marie’s wrists were again bound over her head. She had enough slack this time to stand comfortably on her feet, though her body was quite exposed facing Richard and the two maids. She looked down and saw what appeared to be a drain in the floor.
“I will wash and groom you first, before your bath,” Richard told her, “to rinse away the dust of the road and the sweat of your former servitude. We must start fresh.” One of the maids had a comb, which Richard took with some initial awkwardness to Marie’s hair. He had to press close up against her to do this, and she found she did not bother to pull away, even when she felt the hard lump in the front of his breeches prod her belly. He pulled away from her when he was done, and undressed in front of her.
He was not particularly large or overly muscular, but carried himself with strength. The hair on his chest was also frosted with a touch of gray, and his skin was tanned. He seemed very casual in his nudity, seemingly not even conscious of the erection that began to grow larger as soon as he had removed the last of his garments. The maids also seemed to take this as a normal occurrence. Marie, however, was reluctant to look at him below the waist, and kept her eyes fixed on his chest. His eyes roamed her body freely, as if he were appraising a piece of fine art.
