Tales of the Huntsman
Page 27
Claire was now behind Marie, blade arm around her shoulders with the sharp tip just under her chin, her other hand holding Marie’s bound wrists fast behind her. Marie could feel Claire’s breath, hot on the nape of her neck.
“Your door is there,” Rose told Marie ominously. “You have the key. Do you open it?”
Richard held the little golden key in front of her—in reach, if only her hands were free.
Marie breathed deep and hard and steeled herself before them, daring the worst, refusing to be vulnerable despite her predicament.
“I do,” she told them with finality.
She heard Claire giggle like a young girl, and the blade danced quick—Marie felt her ropes disappear, and her arms fell free. Rose took her hand—still tingling from the bindings and shaking with her still shivering—and she placed the key in Marie’s palm and closed her fingers around it.
Then Rose took the candelabra from Richard, who promptly took Marie in his arms like a long-absent love and kissed her deeply, taking her breath away. He held her tight against him, and she could feel another body—Claire’s—press close from behind. Richard broke his kiss long enough to share one over her shoulder with Claire, and Marie could feel Claire press back harder—her thigh pushing between Marie’s legs and forcing her pelvis forward against Richard.
Marie gasped for air and took hold of his shoulders and lifted herself, grinding herself against him, and could feel he was already ready for her under his breeches. He kissed her again, but then pulled away.
“There will be time for that soon enough, my love,” he purred in her ear. “But there remains a matter of a door, and a key.”
His hands taking hers reminded her that she still had the small object clasped tight in her fingers. Richard gestured to the lock, and they all stepped aside. Marie’s still-trembling fingers managed to send the key home. She took a breath, felt their eyes all on her, and twisted. The well-oiled lock clacked and the door released, swinging toward her with barely a need to pull on it.
The light within almost blinded Marie, even though it was from but a handful of torches and a brazier that glowed bright orange in a corner of the chamber beyond the door. Marie could see that the chamber was circular and had several other smaller, cell-like doors set in its stone walls (which were adorned with various iron rings and cranks and tools for torment—both familiar and not—hung from hooks). And the chamber was well-occupied.
Marie fought the urge to cry out—she did expect this, after all, though perhaps was not prepared for the reality of it.
Three familiar devices stood in the center of the room: the pivoting frame used with the Judas Cradle, the Butcher Block and the Tower Cross (this tilted partially upright for a better display). Each held its own victim, stripped naked and restrained in absolute vulnerability. Each victim was additionally gagged and blindfolded, but still quite recognizable:
Daniella, Viviana and Angelina.
The prisoners whimpered softly at the sounds of anonymous company, and struggled weakly against their restraints. Other than the stretching or contortion of their bodies, they appeared intact (and they must have been kept here—or somewhere—for days and days since their supposed marriages, Marie considered).
Familiar players tended them: the sisters Sofi and Juli, Ruth, and the three still nameless maids from the ordeal of the runaway princess. All wore their accessible maid’s dresses, and stood in various displays of silent impatience, apparently eager to proceed to work on their helpless charges. And all looked very happy to see Marie.
“My lady…”
Leanna was there as well, standing off to one side as not to be seen immediately. Her coachman’s costume had been traded for a maid’s dress as well. She held out a parcel in a blue velvet pouch for Marie to take.
“And you…” Marie confronted her gently. “Part of this play all the while?”
“Yes, lady,” she answered sheepishly.
Rose took what Leanna held and passed to into Marie’s hands. She could feel the weight and shape of it enough to guess what it was before removing it from its pouch, but she was still overwhelmed to see it in the light: a casting of Rose’s own ivory phallus, carved with writhing nudes, in purest polished silver.
“And why the deception?” Marie confronted no one in particular. “Why the tale of horror?”
“The Blue-Beard is a classic tale to caution young maids not to jump too quickly into what seems like the ideal marriage,” Rose answered, though not just for Marie’s benefit. But then she stepped up close to Marie—body-to-body—and her fingers slipped up between Marie’s legs, slipped just inside her, and found her wet.
“Sometimes a modicum of fear is needed to make the play more real,” Rose explained more intimately as she skillfully played Marie’s sex. “To test your trust in those you give yourself to. Or to dare how much you are willing to risk for what—or who—you really want. And for some, the darkness is simply arousing…”
Rose withdrew her fingertips and tasted them, grinning and humming her assessment to her husband. Richard simply looked pleased, proud.
“You are of us, now, my lady,” Ella told Marie with warm authority, as if some ceremony had been completed, presenting her with a black leather harness to mount her new possession.
“Neither servant nor slave,” Rose confirmed.
One of the serving maids had brought Marie’s blue gown. She made no move to take it.
Claire stood beside Marie now and took her by the hand and looked into her eyes, smiling like a sister. “You have come home.” And she kissed Marie gently on the cheek.
She felt Richard’s strong hands on her bare shoulders then, his face close beside hers.
“My love,” he whispered in her ear.
She leaned back into his embrace, letting him hold her there.
Rose let the moment stand until the impatient shuffling of the eager waiting maids could no longer be ignored. She stood before Marie’s imprisoned stepsisters and explained:
“Though deeply shocked to discover the deception of their supposed betrothals, these dear girls are also unfortunately shamed by the scandal of their predicament, as well as our discovery of certain previous indiscretions that could render them unmarriable—your step-sisters are far from innocent and pure. To avoid this news spreading at Court and beyond, they have eagerly pledged themselves to a bargain for redemption: They shall submit to whatever we would put them to, and in return we shall groom them appropriately and recommend them in time to the Duke himself, who shall certainly find positions befitting whatever graces and talents we discover and cultivate.” Rose’s grin twisted deviously with her implications, as—one by one—the sisters had their blindfolds removed, and cried out against their gags when they saw who it was who faced them.
“You have agreed to submit yourselves to the lord and all the ladies of this castle as your masters,” Rose reminded them. “But I give you especially into the tender charge of my husband’s beloved chief courtesan, the great Lady Marie. You are hers. She will teach you well, that you may secure a suitable place at court, just as you have requested.”
The sisters’ eyes widened further, as if reconsidering their bargain. But Marie noticed: they were not actually struggling to escape.
“They have been appropriately bathed, but that is all, despite much temptation to proceed further,” Rose told Marie conspiratorially. “They are yours to do with as you will, my lady.”
Ella was already assisting Marie in adjusting her new harness and setting her new “gift” in its proper place. Juli brought her oil. Sofi gave her a whip.
Marie felt Rose’s own grin sweep across her face, and she stepped forward to confront her new charges.
“Let me tell you a story…” Marie began in earnest.
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About the Author
M. Palmeri is an artist as well as a writer. Tales of the Huntsman is informed by many years spent studying BDSM subjects (specifically Shibari—Japanese Rope
Bondage—which is also a personal interest) while creating a sizable portfolio of erotic art.
M. has also lectured on the subject of BDSM and performed educational demonstrations of Shibari for a variety of audiences.
M. can usually be found in the green of the Pacific Northwest.