by M Palmeri
“The sister raised the girl as her own daughter, never telling her that Lena was in any way related. Still, the sister cared just enough for her sibling to ensure her welfare by sending her food, and perhaps hoped that one day the old wanton’s heart would soften to her own daughter. This was what led to the girl’s regular errands to the cottage on the edge of the wood, where she found not a parent’s love, but years of abuse and humiliation. Her only solace was the life of the wood, where she grew magnificently.
“One of Duke Charle’s men had the mixed fortune of witnessing the girl’s plight and related what he’d been made to watch to his lord. So through Mayleen, the story of Lena’s daughter reached Rose, and dear Rose sent me to investigate the matter, perhaps knowing full well that I would be taken with the girl. Rose, I think, had come to feel that she was neglecting me for Ella, whom she had become inseparable with. Ella, of course, had no taste for my like; and my hovering presence, I feared, was proving to be a damper on whatever passion they shared. I had even considered returning to the forest—indeed, I was spending more and more time there—when Rose engineered my meeting with Claire. The rest, well, I suspect she told you.”
Marie nodded, the story replaying in her head now with new meaning. But one detail that had been bothering the back of her mind for the last days resurfaced:
“The mother… Lena… What became of her? Claire did not say.”
Richard let out a thoughtful laugh. “Claire does not know. Nor does she seem to care. We are her family now. And the woman who took her in and raised her is her true mother as far as she is concerned. Let us say that a good highwayman like the ‘Wolf’ would certainly have a loyal band of henchmen—or not men, in this case. But for what actually distracted the hideous woman during Claire’s seduction, you’d be better to ask Rose, or perhaps Ella. They have kept that escapade as their own secret.”
Marie spent much of her next days with Claire at her bedside as she healed, alternately wracked by fever and stubborn to get up and get back out into her beloved forest. Between sweats, Claire suffered shivering chills, but would allow only Marie to climb under the covers with her for warmth. They would lay cuddled like sisters until the worst of it passed, and Claire showed an unexpected softness and vulnerability in those times (Marie became aware of her weeping—though only briefly—and soothed her by gently stroking her flame-red hair, never mentioning it otherwise).
It was on the third day that the fevers broke. Claire herself insisted that it be Marie (or no one) that helped her with her first real bath, being careful not to disturb her dressings. Richard came to see her then, bending over her without a word and kissing her deeply. Marie was surprised to see what looked like a blushing in Claire’s ruddy complexion at this tender attention, but she was more astonished to find she did not mind it—she was, in fact, warmed by Richard’s display of affection for Claire. It was then that Marie noticed the other women in the baths covertly watching her, gauging her response as if expecting to see a flush of jealousy. The fact that there was none for any to see gave Marie a flash of self-satisfaction: she had become more than just accepting of things. She found that she actually cared enough for Claire (and Rose too, actually) that she felt a vicarious thrill when Richard gave them passionate attention.
That night, Rose announced to the estate that there would be a “celebration” of sorts. Though she did not specify, Marie assumed that it was in honor of Claire’s recovery. But then she became aware of the women of the castle hurrying about as if preparing for something with great anticipation—and some stealth as well, as Marie suspected that Richard’s distracting her up into his chamber might have been intended as a way to keep her from knowing fully what was being planned.
After sunset, the summons came in the form of Rose herself, dressed in her usual black, entering wordlessly but with meaningful gaze. Richard replied only in nod, helping Marie from the bed. She reached for her dress, but Richard stopped her, holding her hands behind her back and running his hands over her flesh to imply that she must remain accessibly naked.
Richard led her down to the Great Hall, where the tables were arranged and set with a feast. No one, however, was seated. It seemed that most of the castlewomen had been summoned, and all—perhaps a hundred or more—were standing along the walls of the hall, all equally nude, all waiting in patient, disciplined silence.
In the center of the room stood Ella in her golden gown, a leather quirt hanging idly in her hand. Rose, in her black, stepped up to join her, toying with a delicately cruel stiletto, its ribbed silver handle almost as long as the blade.
To Marie’s surprise, Richard led her to his own seat, making a silent show of placing her in that chair of honor. There was a blur of red, and Marie saw Claire enter, dressed in her usual gown, to take her own seat next to Marie. Marie tried to meet her eyes, but Claire did not look at her, keeping her expression cool and her eyes locked forward.
Rose smiled once at Marie, then gave a nod to Ella, who slapped her quirt loudly against her own leg.
“As a gift to our own dear Marie, and in honor of the Romans who built this castle,” Rose sang darkly, “I present to you: A Circus.”
Chapter Nineteen: Circuses
Through the tapestried arches, servants wheeled three large apparatus into the center of the Hall.
Marie was familiar with two of them: One was the standing frame used to apply the Judas’ Cradle. The other was some portable version of the cross from the tower roof, complete with crank to raise the center pedestal. But the third she had not yet seen: a sturdy tripod, standing about hip-height, with strong eyebolts at the base of each leg, crowned by a small, convex hardwood “seat.”
“Once upon a time,” Rose began with theatrical earnest, still toying with her blade, “there was a faithful daughter, a beautiful young maid who selflessly cared for her father’s household, though all the while it was being ruined by the vanity and avarice of her hideous stepmother and her shallow, spoiled daughters-three.”
Marie stiffened in her chair, blushing uncomfortably, yet Rose pretended to pay her no attention, addressing instead her naked “audience”. Richard simply stood behind the chair, stoic and unmoving.
“And though the girl toiled endlessly without complaint, in her heart-of-hearts she began to dream of what might be: of freedom, of happiness, even of love… But every heart has a shadow, and in shadow-dreams might lay the seeds of other desires. Cruel, perhaps. Unspeakable, certainly. Erotic, possibly…”
Marie felt a chill flash through her. How did Rose know? Or had she simply guessed, given how quickly Marie had gone from willing victim to enthusiastic torturer? But there was no time to think about that:
Another crack of Ella’s quirt came on cue. The tapestries parted again, and three women were led naked into the center of the hall, wrists bound behind, faces obscured by what looked like hoods of black silk, each guided by a pair of maids. They faltered and hesitated as they were pulled into the center of the room, perhaps blinded by their hoods or reluctant to their roles. From their exposed bodies they appeared to be young, similar in age, of fair and delicate skin, slender and small-breasted. The patches of fur between their legs were fine and dark. Marie thought she could see them trembling.
Marie swallowed and tried to deny the obvious conclusion that flashed in her mind: that these were indeed her own step-siblings—she knew the shape of their bodies not near well enough to identify them in such a state—somehow seduced or taken for this strange performance; perhaps as a sort of “gift” to her from Richard, she considered. Or from Rose, seeing into the depths of her heart. Or perhaps even Claire, whose expression betrayed only that hungry leer at the sight, her legs idly parting under her gown. But that seemed so impossible. No: More likely Rose was just hoping to play with Marie’s uncertainties, to make her believe the outrageous—these couldn’t be her step-sisters. Still, the doubt was enough to make her flush and tremble, but not entirely with horror.
Marie tried to re
ad Rose’s face (for she could not see Richard behind her) for some hint of gleeful subterfuge, but Rose only flashed her icy eyes at Marie for an instant, just for effect, before returning to her performance.
The guiding maids left their charges helpless in the middle of the “stage” and joined the audience of silent women. Then Rose stepped smoothly up close to each of the hooded girls in turn, her long fingers caressing their bare bellies, toying with their breasts, and leaning in, she whispered something to each of them, pausing for a moment as if waiting for a reply. Marie could not hear what Rose was saying to them, nor could she hear any answer. This did not appear to disappoint the Countess in the least. She nodded to Ella, who cracked her quirt yet again.
Three maids stepped forward to take charge of each of the bound women. Marie was not at all surprised that two of them were Sofi and Juli, which struck Marie as being doubly appropriate for a performance about the fate of “wicked stepsisters”. The third was not at all expected, for it was Leanna, unfortunate subject of so many of Rose’s recent “games”, yet now somehow agreeing (or coerced, more likely) to play a quite different role.
Each “handler” pulled her charge to a different apparatus. Sofi placed hers standing in the framework, taking care with tying the girl’s wrists and ankles not with rope but with stout leather straps. The need for this became clear a moment after she had been secured, as Rose herself unlocked the frame on its stand and swung it over on its pivots, so that the hooded and spread-eagled girl was suspended upside-down from her parted ankles.
Juli took her charge and carefully bent her backwards over the tripod, the curved “seat” at the small of her back, tying her ankles apart to two of the legs, and her wrists together over her head to the third, so that her stretched belly and exposed sex were thrust upwards.
Leanna—with some assistance from Ella—managed to get her own charge spread-eagled on the cross, though her hands shook visibly while she worked.
When all three of the victims were properly placed, Rose nodded to Ella once more, then to Richard, who came forward to join them. She whispered in his ear, touched his face as if consoling him something, then kissed him tenderly. Richard’s expression revealed nothing. He simply stepped to the back of the “stage” and stood there, arms folded, as if he had to wait for something.
A kitchen maid brought Rose a small pitcher of oil, and another brought her a stout taper. She stepped up to the suspended girl—Marie noted now how the girl’s sex hung at convenient face-level—and wet her fingers with the oil before caressing them through the girl’s nether hair. Teasingly, playfully, she worked her fingers between the girl’s lips, stroking her lightly, never penetrating. The girl struggled in her predicament but made no sound other than to gasp for air as Rose kept stroking, then brought the fingers of her other hand in from behind. The girl made her first real cry when Marie saw fingers disappear—not in her sex, Marie realized quickly, but into her ass—and Rose pumped her fingers (first one, then two) into her victim while she tasted whatever her other hand had reaped from stroking the girl’s sex. Then she took the taper from her maid and slowly, carefully inserted it into her victim where her fingers had prepared. The candle was then promptly lit between the girls’ legs, and Rose stepped back to consider her work.
Rose then nodded to Sofi, who produced a stout leather cat, and with exquisite skill began “priming” the inverted girl’s flesh, lightly whipping her belly and breasts with rapid strokes, steadily adding more force as her victim striped pink and then red. Marie could see her squirm in her suspension, even more desperately when the taper’s wax began to drip down onto her sex.
Rose proceeded then to Juli’s station, taking her dagger and teasing the tripod-contorted girl’s stretched belly, scratching her flesh with the needle-like tip, pausing a few times to bend low and put her mouth to her victim’s vulnerable sex, as if tasting what effect her torment was having. The girl struggled more at the touch of Rose’s tongue than her blade, even though Marie could see very fine traces of blood begin to form. Then Rose called for another taper, only this time giving it to Juli, who dutifully began to drip wax on her charge’s belly, breasts and thighs.
Ella had begun to take her own initiative, ordering Leanna to slowing crank the cross to tension, bowing her victim’s back, stretching her. Ella’s quirt slapped across the girl’s belly a few times for effect, then she ran fingers between the girl’s legs—stroking, never penetrating—and by the time Rose was ready, Ella had sent for a maid with a small silver tray.
Ella produced her phallus then, and Marie was expecting her to put it to the usual use, when instead she walked around to her victim’s head—which was hanging backward—and pulling the hood up just far enough to expose her mouth, fed the girl the base-end of her tool, so that it she held it in her teeth. Then Ella oiled the sculpted shaft, and pulled Leanna away from her duties on the crank, guiding her to straddle their victim’s face. Ella held Leanna by the waist as she guided the phallus up inside of her, then pumped her sex on it, grinding it into the hooded mouth. Leanna blushed and bit her lip while Ella kept her moving, and Marie could hear the girl on the cross struggling to breathe. Then Rose showed everyone what was on the tray.
She took a long, thin needle from it, and with care and precision threaded it through the right nipple of the girl on the cross, whose body jerked hard despite the tension it was under. Then a second needle lanced the left nipple. Leanna looked near panic as she watched, Ella still steadily fucking her with the phallus in their victim’s mouth. Then Rose produced needle after needle, lacing each just through the skin, surrounding each nipple with fine steel, drawing no visible blood. When she was done decorating the girl’s breasts, Rose bent over her and tasted her sex, parting her lips with her fingers, but still never entering.
Ella, meanwhile, held Leanna tightly and continued to fuck her with their victim’s mouth until she started to tremble and jerk with what seemed like involuntary orgasm. Leanna kept her cries bitten back behind her lips, but at last almost collapsed in Ella’s arms, holding onto her tormenter for dear life. Rose came around to Leanna just as Ella was easing the phallus out of her (but not yet out of her obedient victim’s mouth) and kissed her deeply, appreciatively (while Ella busied herself with the flavor of her tool—finally removing it from her victim’s mouth and replacing it with her own hungry tongue).
Rose surveyed her progress. Sofi had whipped her charge to the point that her flesh was bright red and had begun to weep, the candle wax now visibly running through her labia. Juli had worked through most of her taper, having thoroughly spattered every inch of upturned skin on her own victim.
Rose held up her hand to stop them both. She ran her fingers through the veil of warm wax on Juli’s charge before proceeding to remove the waning taper from her first victim. Sofi spun the girl back upright and began to unbind her, as Juli and Leanna did the same.
The three hooded victims were brought together again center stage, this time needing the support of their former tormenters, and it looked to Marie as if they would take a bow together. Instead, their handlers pulled the hoods from their heads, freeing long flows of chestnut and auburn and dark brown hair, and revealing to Marie what she had been almost sure of all along: these were not her stepsisters. In fact, she did not recognize them at all.
“I am sorry if I have disappointed you, my dear,” Rose purred at Marie, “but I am sure you have come to appreciate the soft boundaries between fantasy and reality in this place. More, I hope you have come to know what it takes to turn fantasy into reality, should you so choose.”
Marie felt herself blush again but kept still in her chair, actively fighting to suppress a combination of arousal and revealing disappointment (because she had almost begun to hope). She watched as Rose again whispered in turn to each of her three “victims”, what was apparently a question that each again refused to answer. And again, this did not appear to disappoint.
“A repeat performance, then,” Rose
announced, “with variation…”
The girls were led to different apparatus this time. The girl from the cross—whose hair was darkest—was soon hung upside-down from the framework, breasts still laced with needles. A fresh candle was roughly planted inside of her, and Sofi began to whip her belly in earnest. She accepted her fate with stoic resolve, almost daring the worst. The one who had been last on the frame—the auburn haired—found herself bent back over the tripod for waxing by Juli’s hand, made worse by the rawness of her whip-prepared skin. And the tripod’s last victim—chestnut—was soon stretched on the cross, this time to receive her needles from Leanna herself, her still-shaking hand guided by Ella’s strength.
“And one more variation,” Rose added as an afterthought, pulling Marie’s knees up and apart, hanging her legs over the arms of Richard’s chair, spreading her wide. “For my own distraction, if nothing else.”
But instead of joining the spectacle, Rose knelt before Marie, positioning herself on a brocade cushion like a handmaid, to watch the action as it carried on without her, seemingly oblivious of how close she had conveniently positioned herself to Marie’s open sex.
“Sofia is particularly skilled with her whips,” Rose commented idly as Sofi lashed her charge’s belly pink. “More so, I think, than even my Ella. You have heard part of her tale, or should I say, the tale in which she was but a minor player. Perhaps you should know more of her…”
