‘But you still lost the battle,’ the sergeant sneered.
‘There will be many more.’
‘Not for you, slave.’
‘I am no slave, I am Tarn of Kabra. Sarin may take my freedom, even my life, but I will never be his slave.’
‘It is Lord Sarin to you,’ the sergeant jeered. ‘And do not try to deceive yourself, Tarn, you are his slave.’
‘I have never bent my knee to him and I never will.’
Rianna admired the prisoner’s brave defiance. Kabra, a land to the east of Percheron, had been conquered by Lord Sarin many years ago. Obviously Tarn was a nobleman of Kabra who had urged his people to rebel. Rianna began to feel even more sympathy and pity for Tarn, as members of the nobility captured in battle were usually treated with respect.
‘Your foolish pride will be your downfall, slave. You must be punished for your insolence.’ The sergeant tapped Tarn’s phallus with the handle of the whip. ‘A measure of pain, carefully applied, can stir the senses even of the most determined.’
‘Do your worst, I’ll welcome the agony. It will remind me that the soldiers of Percheron are cowardly scum,’ Tarn said with bravado. ‘Beat me senseless, kill me, I care not.’
‘I’ll not give you the pleasure of dying. My aim is purely to humiliate, to help you understand what it feels like to be a lowly slave. Today you will take the first step towards total and absolute submission.’
Even from this distance, Rianna thought she detected a faint quiver at the corner of Tarn’s mouth. She knew that a true warrior would not welcome enslavement; far better to die a glorious death in battle.
‘If I were not chained I would crush you with my bare hands,’ Tarn replied defiantly.
The sergeant laughed and took a step closer to Tarn, watching his chest rise and fall, his breathing a shade faster than normal. ‘Admit how scared you really are. Tell me, what does it feel like to be so totally helpless?’
He grabbed hold of Tarn’s scrotum, cupping it roughly, before slowly squeezing it until a flash of pain crossed the prisoner’s features. Satisfied by Tarn’s first real sign of discomfort, he curved his thick fingers around the captive’s phallus and pumped it vigorously.
Tarn’s expression remained calm, but his body tensed, his powerful thighs trembling slightly. Even in his stoic dignity, his inner shame was a tangible entity. However hard he tried, Tarn could not blot out the lewd shouts of encouragement from the watching soldiers. Neither could he prevent his body from automatically reacting to the unwanted touch. His dignity and self-respect were slowly and surely being dragged away from him.
He tensed, clearly trying to control his body’s responses, but his resistance was useless. The rough stimulation was causing his phallus to harden, the skin on his cock rolling back to reveal the moist, purple glans. Rianna could not tear her eyes from the rigid stem crowned by the swollen bulb.
A faint shiver passed over the firm muscles of Tarn’s stomach, revealing his inner humiliation, as the sergeant stepped back and grinned with cruel satisfaction.
‘You’ll learn, slave,’ he growled, ducking between the chains to move behind the prisoner. ‘You no longer have any rights over your own body. You do whatever you are ordered. That includes offering your arse if you are told to.’
Grabbing hold of Tarn’s buttocks, he pulled them roughly apart. Tarn winced as the sergeant touched the tender flesh ring surrounding his small nether mouth, then rudely probed the tight opening. Despite the chill of approaching night, sweat beaded Tarn’s brow. He jerked and clenched his teeth as the stubby finger penetrated his anus, grazing the tender interior.
‘You’re tight, but you’ll soon become accustomed,’ the sergeant growled, slapping Tarn on the rump as he thrust his finger deeper into the virginal opening. ‘When I move my finger thus, the sensation becomes almost pleasurable. I wager that in no time at all you’ll be begging me for more.’
‘Never,’ Tarn hissed, despair fleetingly distorting his handsome features.
‘You know Lord Sarin only too well. He’ll soon find a way to destroy your wild spirit. Try to envisage what punishments he has in store for you, traitor.’
Stepping back a pace, the sergeant cracked his whip. There was a roar of approval from the crowd which made Rianna shiver apprehensively. The mood of the men was ugly, and she dare not move from her hiding place and go for help. She wasn’t even certain that Chancellor Lesand would put a stop to Tarn’s punishment. He had displayed no sympathy for the captive.
Tarn’s cheeks were flushed with humiliation. His full mouth quivered, then hardened determinedly as he readied himself for the first cruel sting of the lash.
Rianna waited, riotously disturbing thoughts crowding her mind, unfamiliar notions that bespoke a darkness in her soul that she had never known existed. She was filled with the sudden, quite inexplicable need to remain and witness Tarn’s pain and humiliation.
The sergeant drew back his arm, and the ugly sound of leather hitting flesh broke the expectant silence, evoking a low sigh of pleasure from the watching crowd. But the blow was far softer than Rianna had expected. She knew the lash must have hurt Tarn, but there was no tearing of flesh, no drawing of blood, just a raised pink weal snaking over the golden skin of his right shoulder.
He didn’t respond at all to the blow, his expression remaining aloof and disdainful. But that was not what the crowd wanted. Their disappointment showed in their faces. They were all desperate to gain satisfaction from witnessing Tarn’s agony.
More blows followed, the lash hitting Tarn again and again, leaving a criss-cross pattern of weals across his back. Soon Tarn began to jerk in rhythm with the blows, his body automatically pulling away from the caressing sting of the whip. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead; the cords in his neck stood out. Only the tightness of his cheek muscles betrayed his discomfort. As the beating continued without mercy, he clenched his fists, straining against his chains until the metal shackles cut into his wrists and ankles.
The sergeant began to aim lower so that the thin strips of leather painfully stroked Tarn’s buttocks and upper thighs. His skin afire, he sucked in his breath. His belly grew concave, while tremors ran down his muscular thighs.
Rianna was enraptured, along with the watching soldiers, as they witnessed Tarn battling to overcome his pain. Glorious in his distress, Tarn took a deep shuddering breath. The soft noise sent a dart of fire straight to Rianna’s lower belly. Her legs grew weak, her groin full and heavy. A strange heat gathered between her thighs, and moisture seeped hungrily from her sex, while her breasts seemed to swell in her tight bodice. She longed to pull Tarn’s broken body into her arms and kiss away his agony.
The strands of the whip curled around Tarn’s hips, the tips stroking his muscular stomach. Oddly enough his phallus was still hard, the shaft engorged. Rianna recalled what the sergeant had said about pain stirring the senses. She’d not believed it possible but, as she watched, Tarn’s manhood appeared to harden even more. The exposed head grew darker, the skin stretched until it was shiny, while a tiny bead of moisture oozed from the tip.
Rianna shuddered, still overcome by a myriad of conflicting emotions, as the lash continued to deliver a caressing agony to Tarn’s helpless flesh. There was a pronounced air of sensual excitement invading the clearing. It hung over the leafy glade like a dark palpable entity. The soldiers, open-mouthed and slack-eyed, were all intent on Tarn’s writhing form. Some were red-faced, tense and breathing heavily. Others were openly massaging their cocks over their woollen breeches.
An insistent pulsing heat permeated Rianna’s groin. She was consumed by the need to feel that magnificent organ thrusting deep inside her. Filled with hungry desire she stared at Tarn. Almost unconsciously she clenched her fist and pushed it between her upper thighs, putting pressure on her wanton sex.
The lash embraced Tarn’s body, stroking the shaft of his penis. It jerked, beating a rapid tattoo against his rigid stomach. Then the leather tips of t
he whip touched his balls. He groaned, and there was an accompanying gasp from the crowd. Again the lash snaked mercilessly over his sex, and he bucked against his constricting chains, trying to escape from the sweetly tearing agony.
Tarn’s discomfort only served to increase the pressure in his penis, and it hardened into a rod of iron, standing out from his groin straight and proud. The glittering dewdrop at its summit grew larger, until it broke free and rolled slowly down the domed head. In unison, one sparkling tear slid damply down Tarn’s taut cheek. He groaned harshly, drawing back his lips in a shameful mixture of pain and pleasure. He was well aware that his humiliation would soon be complete. He was steadily losing the battle with the contradicting demands of his own flesh.
‘No,’ he gasped, trying to deny the inevitable. He moved his head from side to side. His hair, darkened by perspiration, flapped lankly against his shoulders. The skin on his cock looked ready to burst. His sweat-soaked body tensed with sweet agony, his swollen veins visible under his golden skin. For a brief second he froze, looking like a statue of some warrior-like god carved out of solid gold.
Giving a harsh laugh, the sergeant dropped the whip and thrust his work-roughened finger deep into Tarn’s anus. Tarn threw back his head and yelped, his muscles straining to breaking point. Then a creamy jet of seed spurted from his cock, followed by another and another.
Rianna gasped, pressing her bunched fist up towards her sex to relieve the throbbing pressure. An unfamiliar spasm of bliss consumed her completely. She shivered with pleasure as she experienced a climax for the very first time. The sensation astounded her, its aftermath leaving her spent, weak and exhausted.
She looked back at Tarn. He sagged between his chains, a thin trickle of semen running down one leg. His entire body trembled and his head was bowed in shame. It appeared his humiliation was complete. As the soldiers loosened his chains, he sank to his knees, immune to everything but his own despair. His arms hung limply at his sides, while his sweat-soaked locks tumbled untidily over his face.
The sergeant grinned and grabbed hold of Tarn’s sodden hair, jerking his head back until his face was visible to all. It stood out luminously pale in the gradually darkening clearing. His lips were bloodless and two spots of livid colour stained his cheeks.
‘What say you to resistance now, Tarn? Lord Sarin will find you all too easy to subjugate,’ the sergeant said gleefully.
Thrusting a booted foot in the prisoner’s back, the sergeant forced him on to the ground. Tarn pressed his face into the thick grass, making no attempt to struggle, totally overcome by his despair.
Tarn did not see the crowd of soldiers part to allow Rorg to step forward. He moved painfully, obviously still in some discomfort from the blow to his groin. Reaching Tarn, he bent to pick up the whip, and stood over the prone form of the captive. He trailed the sweat-soaked leather strands across Tarn’s fiery flesh and gave a low menacing laugh.
Chapter Three
RIANNA RAN AS fast as she could through the woods, and into the clearing where the rest of the caravan was camped. She had to find Chancellor Lesand – only he could put a stop to the prisoner’s continued misery.
‘Chancellor,’ she cried out in agitation.
Lesand, who was standing in the middle of the clearing conversing with Captain Feroc, turned. ‘My lady,’ he said with concern as he moved swiftly to her side. ‘What is amiss?’
‘You must help,’ she stuttered.
‘Are you unwell? You are flushed. Perhaps you have a fever?’ He put a cool hand to her hot damp forehead. ‘I’ll summon your maid –’
‘No,’ she interrupted, clinging on to his arm and digging her fingers into the sleeve of his black velvet robe. ‘I am not ill, just distressed. I was walking in the woods, when I came upon Lord Sarin’s soldiers abusing the prisoner.’
‘Abusing?’ Lesand frowned.
‘They whipped him, and they . . .’ she faltered, blushing deeply. ‘I cannot say . . . it was so degrading.’
Rianna lowered her eyes, unable to forget the vision of Tarn writhing and straining against his chains. Neither could she forget the wrenching pleasure she’d experienced from witnessing the humiliation he was forced to endure.
‘Go, Captain Feroc, put a stop to it now!’ Lesand ordered.
Beckoning to two of his men to accompany him, Feroc ran swiftly through the trees towards the other encampment.
‘Calm yourself,’ Lesand said in a soothing voice as he guided Rianna towards her wagon. ‘You must distress yourself no longer.’
‘But you don’t understand, we must help the poor prisoner,’ she said anxiously. ‘Not only was he hurt by the beating, he had other, more serious wounds.’
‘Now, now, my lady.’ Lesand placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Feroc is my most experienced officer. He will deal with the matter.’
‘Please let me offer my services. I’m skilled in the art of healing.’ Like all chatelaines, Rianna cared for the medical needs of the servants and soldiers in the castle of Nort. She had also been taught much about herbs by Jenna’s mother.
‘There is a military surgeon in the caravan, Feroc can call on him. Now, I wish to hear no more on this matter.’ Lesand’s voice took on a harder tone. His dark eyes were cold and pitiless as he looked down at her. ‘Your soft heart does you great justice, Lady Rianna, but the prisoner does not deserve your sympathy. My only concern at present is your own well-being.’
Rianna bit back her pleading reply, knowing it would be to no avail. ‘A short rest, Chancellor, and I’m certain I will be fine.’
Lesand looked around the encampment. ‘Where is your maid? She should be here, waiting to attend you.’ Jenna was nowhere to be seen. Lesand sighed impatiently and beckoned to his personal body servant. ‘Baral, you will attend to Lady Rianna.’
Baral approached and bowed to Rianna. With his soft features and large dark eyes, coupled with his slim, slightly built frame and long dark curly hair, Baral would make a very attractive woman. The gentle, pretty young man had a sweet, clear singing voice. In the evenings Baral often entertained the travellers with his lute-playing and songs. Rianna had noticed that Lesand treated him more like a friend than a servant.
‘My lady, it is an honour,’ Baral said.
Just as he was about to help Rianna up the steps of her wagon, Jenna arrived looking flushed and rather dishevelled as she strolled leisurely through the trees ringing the camp site, accompanied by one of Lesand’s soldiers. She clung attentively to the young soldier’s arm in an intimate manner. It was the first time Rianna had seen Jenna look happy since they left the castle of Nort.
‘Jenna.’ Lesand’s icy tones rang loudly across the clearing. ‘Come here, girl.’
Jenna stiffened and shot a glance in the Chancellor’s direction. Lifting her crumpled, grass-stained skirts, she hurried towards her mistress.
Pink-faced and embarrassed, Jenna bobbed a brief curtsey. ‘Lady Rianna, Chancellor Lesand.’
‘Where have you been?’ Lesand demanded to know. ‘Your mistress has need of your services, while it appears that you are more interested in spending your time with one of my soldiers.’
‘I was just taking a breath of fresh air,’ Jenna lied. ‘I’ve been but a few minutes.’
Lesand glared at the soldier. ‘Be gone, man,’ he growled. ‘And you, Jenna, take this as a warning. Your task is to care for Lady Rianna, not to be off trifling in some lewd manner with my men.’
Jenna paled and looked at Rianna for reassurance. ‘Forgive me, my lady.’
‘Now take your mistress inside and attend to her needs.’ Lesand smiled tight-lipped at Rianna. ‘No more worries now, rest easy. We’ll speak in the morning. Baral, come,’ he ordered.
As Lesand strode away, followed by Baral, Jenna took hold of Rianna’s arm, guiding her up the steps and into the privacy of their house on wheels. ‘What is amiss? You appear upset, and I’ve never seen the Chancellor so angry.’
‘Neither have I.’
Rianna was certain that Lesand’s fury did not solely stem from Jenna’s shortcomings. She felt it also had something to do with Tarn. ‘I was upset by something I witnessed while walking in the woods.’
‘You must rest,’ Jenna said, leading her mistress to one of the narrow benches. ‘You appear overheated. Let me cool you down.’
Rianna sat on the padded seat, while Jenna gently bathed her face with cool perfumed water. ‘My head aches a little,’ Rianna complained, feeling suddenly very weary. ‘Take out the pins and let down my hair.’
Jenna deftly removed the pins and uncurled the long braid from Rianna’s crown. Then she loosened the silken locks, fanning them around Rianna’s shoulders and down her back. ‘May I ask what you witnessed that upset you so?’ Jenna enquired, unable to contain her curiosity any longer, as she brushed Rianna’s shining red-gold hair with smooth restful strokes.
Rianna needed someone to confide in, and she could trust Jenna’s discretion. ‘You remember I told you about the prisoner in the cage at the rear of the caravan? I took a walk to the other campsite, merely to see if the Chancellor had arranged for the cage to be cleaned out as he had promised,’ she confessed haltingly. ‘The prisoner was in the lake washing. Curiosity prompted me to linger and see what the poor man looked like.’
‘Was he handsome?’ Jenna asked.
‘Yes, amazingly so. Taller and far more well-favoured than any man of Harn,’ Rianna said, colouring at the thought. ‘They chained him between two trees, then whipped and abused him most terribly.’
‘Why did you not leave?’ Jenna asked, unlacing the back of Rianna’s gown and sliding the bodice down to her waist.
More colour invaded Rianna’s cheeks. ‘I could not. I don’t understand why . . .’ she faltered. ‘The prisoner’s distress and the degrading things they forced him to endure moved me in the strangest manner.’
Jenna gave a soft laugh. ‘You felt aroused, excited. It’s not unusual to feel so, my lady. I’ve experienced the same emotions when watching some handsome miscreant being punished with a whipping.’
Savage Surrender Page 5
