by M Palmeri
Unable to move, unable to even open her eyes to look at him, she could hear him breathing, feel him looking at her, his desire building in him (for she was indeed very beautiful). She could sense him as he moved over her still form, could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. She awaited his kiss, thrilled and terrified at the same time. But he did not kiss her, not at first.
His hands lightly explored her body, tracing over her breasts, her belly, her hips and thighs. She felt him slide her gown up above her waist, leaving her exposed to him below. Then he stopped, and though she could not see him, she knew he was looking at her, enjoying her nudity, savoring her total vulnerability. She could feel his warm breath again, but this time as a gentle breeze fluttering through the fur of her sex, as he drank of her scent. Then a furtive fingertip combed through that fur, tracing the fold of her nether lips (her legs were still closed, as a lady’s should be). And Marie felt her gown dissolve until she was completely naked on the bed, helpless to defend herself from his teasing caress.
And then he did kiss her. His lips touched hers as his fingers began to explore her more aggressively. Still, she was frozen. The spell that bound her refused to break. His lips parted hers and his tongue darted lightly between her teeth. But when she didn’t respond, his mouth left hers and glided down her neck, over her breasts. The tongue flicked at her nipples in turn like a butterfly, and they responded by hardening with a thrilling shiver. She felt his teeth on them, tentative, teasing. Her breathing became more urgent, and a slight cry escaped her throat as she felt that teasing mouth leave her breasts to dance down her belly.
Two strong fingers combed into her fur and pulled the hood of her clit back, parted her labia, and she could feel his hot breath on her sex again. He held her there just like that for another hundred years. Then, just when she thought she would die of the unbearable waiting, his tongue began to lash her. Waves of pleasure tortured her immobile body, as two magics fought for control of her.
She struggled with all she had to move, to break her bonds, to respond to him, but failed. Sobbing desperately, she cursing his cruel tongue and more so her hopelessly closed thighs, wanting so badly to scream at him to stop tormenting her, to free her, to do what he surely knew he needed to, to break her imprisonment.
And with sudden swiftness, he did. Strong hands slid between her thighs, parting them as he lifted her hips up to his hungry mouth, and he devoured her passionately. Her paralysis began to melt away. Her arms flailed until they found purchase on the bed for leverage and she began to weakly push herself into him. Her legs didn’t have the strength yet to assist—she tried—so instead she wound her ankles around his neck, opening herself to him, guiding him to make her explode…
Her orgasm brought her most of the way back to waking.
It had not been an uninspired dream, her reeling brain confirmed as her body convulsed in ecstasy. She was lying naked in Richard’s bed, legs splayed, and he was licking her furiously, drinking the nectar of her orgasm with a ravenous enthusiasm. But she had not, as she had expected, been tied. Her hands weakly found his head and combed through his hair, pushing him back a bit to give her some respite from the exquisite torture.
He rose up from her, letting his fingers substitute for his tongue to keep the pace while he smiled down at her and bid her a tender good-morning. She found her paralysis continued at least to the point that it limited any attempt at reply to a trembling half-grin.
“There aren’t many better ways to greet the day that I have yet discovered,” he purred. He shifted position to kneel between her legs, taking his cock in his free hand and stroking her sex with the tip of it. Then he filled her with it. Shifting position to half-lay on top of her, he massaged her breasts with one hand while he supported himself with the other, looking over her body approvingly as he smoothly and steadily pumped in and out of her. Her body melted under him, surrendering, arms and legs splayed limply as he continued his work, watching her responses thoughtfully.
Almost breathless, she closed her eyes and let it go on and on. She felt him rise up again. Back up on his knees, he threw her left leg across to her right side, turning her sideways, while he continued his assault unbroken. He felt deeper in her now than ever before. He pulled her left leg up to his shoulder, threatening to split her body apart. The thumb of his left hand began massaging the hood of her clit in rhythm with his pumping, and the thumb of his right began to tease her anus. Marie bit her lip and whimpered, turning her head into the pillows to muffle her cries.
“Get up on your hands and knees,” he commanded, turning her until she was in the position he wanted her, never fully pulling out of her. His hands on her ass spread her ever wider as he slammed into her with an even more merciless violence, his grip on her pulling her hard into every thrust. Then the thumb began to probe her anus again. She turned her head to try to look back at him.
“You can if you want…” she tried to tell him, though the words barely came out. Still, he understood. His thumb probed her deeper, a dull ache and raw sensation her body couldn’t make sense of. It initially disturbed her, distracted her from what his cock was doing to her, but it also enhanced it in a way, and made her feel all the more filled. His thumb worked in to the first knuckle, but no further, joining the rhythm of his cock.
“That will be far enough for today,” he told her softly, easing the thumb back out after several minutes of the intimate massage. But then there was more: two fingers of his left hand slipped into her sex above his cock, pressing him harder down against the front of her, stretching her, filling her. He began to groan, then to roar. Then with in a flash he pulled out of her, sliding his slick cock in the crevice of her ass. What she did then surprised them both:
Marie flipped herself around wildly and took hold of his cock, pulling it into her mouth. Her tongue began to lash the front of the shaft madly as her hand pumped it against her lips. Richard took her head in his hands and corrected her rhythm, panting and gasping. She could taste the subtle tanginess of her own sex on him this time, smell her musk, but she didn’t care, and something about that made her giggle in wicked satisfaction. Then Richard began to convulse, and the taste of him went slightly metallic for a moment. And she flinched as warm, thick liquid began spraying out of him in spurts, raining down on her upturned face and running back down his shaft into her mouth. It tasted something like raw egg and tears, shocking her for a moment, so that she recoiled. She forced herself back to her task, and licked it from him. He continued to convulse and groan as she worked. Then with a final burst of bravery, she took his cock as far as she could into her mouth and sucked the last thin remnants that squeezed out of him.
Then they both collapsed together on the blankets, winded, and after a moment’s respite he surprised her one more time by kissing her deeply.
He held her close until they both fell asleep again.
The arrival of breakfast woke them.
A soothing hot buttermilk porridge and bacon was brought by a raven-haired chambermaid that Marie drowsily took to be Rose for a moment. But she was younger, more petite, and smiled wryly at their unveiled nudity. Marie reached blindly for a blanket to cover them.
“Thank you, Sofi,” Richard greeted groggily as the tray was set by the bed. The girl sat by Richard and she ran her fingers idly through the hair on his chest. Ignoring Marie (and the hard glare that she was beaming at her), Sofi’s fingers traced down his belly, drew a semi-circle around his scrotum, and then began idly stroking him with her fingernails. He started to swell.
“Thank me properly,” Sofi purred forwardly, and to Marie’s growing alarm, she bent her head down toward his hardening cock.
“Later,” he told her softly but firmly, stopping her descent with his hand. She took his fingers in her mouth and teasingly sucked them. Richard pulled them away. “I promise.”
Sofi got up with a pout, walked over to the wall by the tub, and dropped her dress to the floor. Her body was indeed lithe, but her otherwise smo
oth clear skin was striped with faint crisscrossing scars that covered her back, ass and thighs. Turning to face him, she raised her wrists above her head to the ring that had secured Marie for her first night’s bathing, and splayed her feet apart, daring him with her eyes as her naked body feigned helpless struggling. There were more scars on her belly and breasts.
“Later,” Richard repeated firmly, staying put. Pouting again, Sofi gathered her dress and began to leave. She shot Marie back a cold glare when she got to the door. “Expect I’ll need to punish you for that,” Richard told her, more playfully than angrily. This brought a grin to the girl’s lips and she was gone. Richard offered Marie the breakfast.
Somewhat shaken, Marie ate in silence. She cursed herself silently for forgetting the obvious: There were over a hundred women in the castle, Ella had told her, and apparently only one man. And they were certainly not all Sapphic, Rose had made that clear.
“The story of the Huntsman and the Baroness…” Marie spoke up nervously, trying to distract herself with conversation from her growing discomfort. “There is more to the tale, certainly…?”
“Certainly,” Richard answered thoughtfully. “Much more, in fact.
“In the weeks after the Huntsman’s initiation into the Baroness’ world, he was kept busy day and night. During the day, he would venture into the surrounding wood to bring fresh game back for the larders. He would also help the three-dozen young women who struggled to keep the Baroness’ estate by taking on some of the harder labors, including repair of the deteriorating structure. And he would provide them intimate comforts in turn, as they longed for the touch of a man as much as they feared the perversions of their mistress, which the Huntsman grew more familiar with as time passed.
“Each evening, the Baroness would repeat her sadistic contest, changing the contestants each night. She would also vary the fate of the loser as her whims suited. Sometimes she would use wax, sometimes the flame of the candle itself. She also proved skilled with a crop and a switch, explaining the art of ‘bastinado,’ where rhythmic light whipping of sensitive parts like the soles of the feet, the ass, the breasts or (perhaps the worst) the exposed clitoris would build to a cumulative agony that would leave the victim delirious. She had special vises that squeezed breasts until they bulged dark purple, and a selection of curious metal objects called ‘pears’ that—inserted wide-end into vagina or anus—were expanded alarmingly with the turn of a screw. And there was, of course, her skill at inserting her hands whole into her subjects, which she taught her Huntsman with great enthusiasm. Poor Collette seemed to get the worst of this treatment: one night, two hands wound up in her sex at once; on another, her ass received a greased arm well past the wrist.
“The ‘winners’ disappeared with the Baroness each night, and did not return to work until a full day had passed—an apparently necessary respite—sworn not to speak of their ordeals in their mistress’ bedchamber.
“And then one night, the rules were changed:
“‘You have had each of my girls at least once, enough to perhaps develop certain favoritisms. Let us rebalance the odds…’ And producing a blindfold, she kept her Huntsman from seeing who would be chosen to suck him.
“But something was strange: he did not recognize the technique of the mouth that took him. It was more violent, more hungry than he had known before. Teeth raked him, and fingers played his balls and probed his anus, while a hard tongue danced along his shaft as he was swallowed to the root. More, this seemed to go on well past time, and no turn was called. It became clear that there would be only one player tonight, and the Huntsman let himself declare her victory in hopes of learning her identity. She sucked him hungrily, and kept sucking until he was almost about to collapse from the agony of it. Only then was the blindfold was ripped away.
“The Baroness herself kneeled before him, grinning in satisfaction.
“‘A lesson to remind you who is the master here,’ she declared. Rising, she chose one of the girls—a strong brunette named Rachel who worked in the castle bakery—and took her by the hand, along with her Huntsman, and led them to her chambers, telling him that it was time he learned more of what she had in mind for him.
“The Baroness’ bedchamber was large but sparse, except for a plush canopy bed with a strong hardwood framework, a large wall mirror, and another curious framework set before it. This other device was a rectangular frame of heavy timber, the size of a door, stood upright. Heavy iron rings were set at intervals on the inside of the open frame, which was mounted on pivots to sturdy pillars on either side, allowing it to be tilted in the middle and locked into various positions. The Baroness ordered Rachel to strip and stood her inside the frame. Her feet were tied apart to the two lower corners, and her arms were pulled straight out to each side and bound in place. Then the Baroness produced a curious pedestal, about thigh-high, set with a sturdy crank, and capped with a sharply pointed pyramid of polished hardwood, a handspan wide at the base and somewhat more than that high. She set it between her victim’s legs (as the base fit nicely over the lower beam of the frame), and used the crank to raise the pyramid up toward the shivering girl’s sex.
“‘This is called a Judas Cradle,’ she explained clinically. She knelt down and began to lick her victim wet, adding her fingers to the task. Rachel struggled, but gave in (out of fear or experience) to her body’s responses quickly. But then the Baroness raised the pyramid by inches, feeding the sharp tip up into Rachel’s sex, spreading her open with her fingers to ease its passage. She raised it until the poor girl was up on her toes, her arms having poor purchase to do anything more than try to keep her steady as her weight rested ever-increasingly on the wedge being driven into her. Then it stopped. ‘It works equally well in the ass,’ the Baroness explained with a purr, ‘but I have other plans there.’
“She then fetched a pair of sharp fish hooks, with she pierced her victim’s nipples with. Line ran through loops at the top of the frame, and Rachel’s breasts were stretched under tearing tension. The Baroness then ordered her Huntsman to insert himself in the struggling girl’s ass, and to show no mercy in doing so, lest he be next to experience the ‘cradle’. There was barely room with the pressure of the pyramid filling her to do so, but he did as he was told, more concerned at what his mistress might do in rage to Rachel should she be frustrated in her play.
“‘I told you there is no greater medicine on earth than what a woman will produce with her sex,’ the Baroness reminded him, ‘but it is far stronger when fermented by her suffering.’ The Baroness slipped out of her own dress and stood naked before her mirror, appraising her own lean, pale body. ‘I am the most beautiful creature you have ever seen, am I not?’
“The Huntsman readily agreed, though he was not sure if it was he who was being addressed. The Baroness began to caress herself, her eyes glued to her own reflection, only occasionally glancing at Rachel’s continuing torment reflected behind her. Pale fingers dug into her hairless sex, and she began to masturbate feverishly.
“‘Let me show you how I stay so young and lovely…’ the Baroness purred, then turned and dove to her knees between Rachel’s legs, tonguing her ravenously while she continued to finger herself. Her free hand reached up and took hold of the lines to her victim’s breasts, tugging on them cruelly, while her Huntsman continued the pace from behind. The Baroness licked Rachel while making herself orgasm time after time, all the while the simultaneous sodomy kept grinding the girl viciously into the pyramid. Rachel whimpered deliriously, as this went on and on, until finally her mistress fell back, apparently sated.
“It was then that the Huntsman became aware of another presence: someone watching from somewhere above in the rafters, perhaps moving within the walls themselves. He had heard it before: a slight breathing and movement, and the feeling of eyes on him at various times, especially when he was engaged in some of the Baroness’ ‘sport’, or trysting with the maids. But he could never catch sight of who it was.
“Th
e Baroness—still on the floor--commanded him to untie her victim. He was grateful to find that the fish hooks, while needle-sharp, were not barbed and came out of Rachel’s breasts easily. He wound the pyramid down out of her, loosed her bonds, and held her while she got her legs back. He was surprised when she responded by reaching down and stroking his still-erect sex.
“But the Baroness had other plans: Rachel soon found herself tied to the bed, spread-eagled but faced down. Her mistress set some pillows at the headboard to create a soft couch for herself, and sat back on it with her legs spread wide, such that her sex was shoved up against Rachel’s mouth from below. Here she lounged idly while her servant licked her for an extended period, passing the time by directing her Huntsman to apply some of the tortures he had been shown during their kitchen games, correcting his technique as he went. Rachel, despite her ordeals, never broke the rhythm of her tongue once throughout. As a reward (or to feed her apparently endless hunger), the Baroness had her unbound, turned over, and devoured her yet again, while her Huntsman fed her his cock until he emptied himself for the second time that night.
“Then, praising his performance, the Baroness told him, ‘It is time I showed you more of what I have in mind for you…’
“Leaving Rachel to recover, she led him to a winding staircase up into one of the tall towers. There she showed him a locked door, reinforced with iron. Continuing up yet one more floor, a tapestry pulled aside to reveal a secret panel, which let them into a small attic space just above the locked chamber. She directed him to a series of discreet peep-holes through the floor, so he could see what was shut up in that cell:
“There, on a small bed in a simple, sparse room, was a young woman that bore a striking resemblance to the Baroness: hair black as coal, lips red as a rose, skin white as snow. She was asleep naked, only partly covered by her blankets, revealing her to be similarly slim and small-breasted. The Baroness quickly denied the first thought that crossed his mind:
