Damsel

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “I would think if you required punishment that I would have been advised of the need and given the task myself.”

  Celia instantly rose up in shock and turned about, devastated that her mistress would say such a thing. “Milad—”

  “Shush,” Roslyn quieted her again. “You are old enough to take such things as this. You must realize that our lives cannot be the same halcyon ones that we enjoyed in my father’s house. We will meet with trying situations and we must adapt with a glad heart and put aside our woes, nurture them only in secret.”

  The girl looked worried. “Oh, how can it be that we have found ourselves in these circumstances?” She slumped to her knees and rested her head on Roslyn’s knee.

  “I believe we must be practical. I have seen things here, observed things. This recent trial tells me much. I don’t know what destiny will befall us, but we must be patient with the present and expect nothing of the future. We must both be strong, Celia.”

  To speak this way revived the worried Roslyn after her bout in the dungeon and the conversation with Markus Leeds. At the very least, it was a good show for the suffering young Celia.

  Roslyn bent down, taking Celia’s head in her hands and kissed the lovely girl on the mouth. Their lips parted, but only briefly. Then they kissed again. And again and again. Their hands moved toward the other, tentatively at first, but then with ease, and soon, Roslyn moved to her feet and pulled the maid with her to the bed, where with unpracticed but natural effortlessness, they stripped away each other’s clothes. Something hot and stirring gathered in Roslyn’s loins.

  Letting her body swoon with pleasure, she again touched Celia’s tender wounds. Her wish was that they were her own wounds, that some harsh demon of a man beat her bottom with pitiless zeal. Brief moments hence, Celia’s hand snaked its way down her mistress’ belly to the pubic ‘V’, where a rush of hot energy poured forth from the enlivened lady. A flood of secretions flowed out over the girl’s hand, while Roslyn’s belly swelled with lust and the kissing, groping, embracing fervor continued. Something ravenous in them both made them clutch tight to the other’s unfamiliar but welcoming flesh.

  “Yes, girl!” Roslyn’s cry issued forth, as with dexterous ease, Celia’s hand searched deeper between her mistress’ thighs to the hungering sex. There she thread her way between the plump folds of her labia and thrummed the tender love bud at the center, learning as she did how that simple act sent her mistress into paroxysms of physical joy. “Yes, yes, yes, girl…” Roslyn vented, “your hand… yes, all over me… yes, your fingers there.” She gasped, lifting her hips to urge the girl on, although Celia needed no encouragement; her fingers slipped into her mistress’ tight quim and wiggled about. A strong spasm rent Roslyn’s belly and she devoured the girl’s face in a rash of insistent, mouth-open kisses. Their tongues searched deep; their wet, hot-blooded passion steaming like a geyser ready to erupt.

  “More, yesssss, do that more!” Roslyn hissed while clutching one of Celia’s fair, round breasts and squeezing, only to hear the girl pause a moment in her lovemaking to gasp in heated response. Ever so carefully, Celia’s fingers worked her mistress’ privates, her thumb caressing against her love bud, doubling the rising pleasure. “More, yes, do that more, my sweet!” the lady uttered as her head fell back and her chest rose. The maid’s mouth grabbed on to a pink nipple and sucked, while her fingers continued their ardent play. For several minutes their great need rose in tandem to a precipice where they teetered in wait, again and again rising in ever-crescendoing waves toward some unseen end. A novice in all these matters, the devoted Celia attended to her mistress’s pleasure, sensing, in her naïveté, that a finale was about to break upon them both.

  Suddenly, like an arrow shot from a bow, a fiery flame of sensation erupted through Roslyn’s body. She bucked hard against the maid’s driving hand and screamed in a low and earthy wail, “God-in-heaven-forgive-me!” the last distinguishable words, “Aaaaaaaaaa, nughhhhhh. Yes, yes, yessssssssss,” following in a manner quite unladylike.

  Celia held her mistress, feeling quite in awe of the rippling naked flesh before her. But before she took the time to ponder the immensity of their love act, she dove into that flesh, kissing the long, white neck and the heaving bosom, biting, sucking, leaving trails of bites down Roslyn’s throat all the way to her navel. The recovering Roslyn finally came up, still breathing raggedly and kissed Celia on the mouth. Then pushing the girl back against the bed, she dove between those ample thighs, letting the fragrance of the maid’s virgin sex drive her forward into the succulent valley. She tasted the earthy ripeness, what was sour and sweet at the same time. She drank in the divine of her maid’s potent center, finding her mouth riveted on the feel of that pink wet flesh against her tongue. Her fingers found the untried love nest tight and the girl squirmed, moaning in anguish but desiring more.

  “Please, milady, have me!” she cried.

  “Yes, I shall have you girl, just as you had me.”

  But Celia shook her head, “No, more than that!” she begged.

  More? Roslyn didn’t understand what the girl meant.

  “Trust me, you will rise to a splendid climax, just as I have, sweet girl.” She clutched Celia’s center with her mouth, tasting the flooding juices while her teasing fingers worked the sensitive opening.

  “Yes, milady, but take me like a man would do.”

  Roslyn came up breathing hard, but amused. “You sweet child, that is beyond my ability to do.”

  Celia scooted back and sat up, looking down on her mistress with sex-flushed eyes. “I want my body rent by you, only you. It can be done. There are ways I’ve learned about—the scullery maids talk of how women can pleasure themselves. Oh, milady, this is how I dream of being made a woman!”

  “You do not think of men?”

  “I think only of the person I love best, and that is you.”

  “But you will soon become some man’s lover. You must save yourself for him.”

  Celia shook her head, shuddering…

  “What if it is not a lover who claims me first, but some foul and gnarled old man, with horny eyes, and wheezing breath, and half his teeth?”

  Roslyn almost laughed at the picture.

  “Please, milady, I would rather be rent by a woman in an act of love than by twenty men who care only for their own pleasure. I fear that I will not survive a virgin much longer. The way the groomsmen look at me, the way the scullery maids in this castle talk—a woman’s body is not her own in this place. Your uncle is not the man your father was, protecting the women in his charge.”

  “Ah, maybe so. But we were young then in that other castle.”

  “Young? It was just days ago, milady, that we were running free about his house, his castle, his grounds, like birds in the wind. Now we are here.” She said this as if it were a death sentence. “Have we grown old in so short a time?”

  “Perhaps so. Perhaps we were too sheltered in my father’s house and face now what we were destined to face all along.”

  “Please, milady, my body burns with this unwholesome need, but you can make of it something holy.”

  “And how would I accomplish such a task without the proper equipment?” Roslyn reminded the girl, still trying not to laugh.

  “There are ways. I know there are.”

  “Oh, Celia, why this now? Why are you so consumed by this unwise passion?”

  “Is my passion any different than yours has been today?”

  “And I have been ready to give you pleasure, but you spoiled the mood, I fear.” Roslyn moved off the bed and grabbed for her clothes. “Time to bathe and dress me,” she said, somewhat coldly.

  Celia didn’t mind the swift change in plans, although she had her mind fixed. She was sure of her desire now, sure she would persuade her mistress, certain she’d win.

  A hollow, forbidding knock suddenly resounded throughout the room. Roslyn looked to Celia a little afraid. Another knock, then the sound of her Uncle’s voi
ce, “I know you are there, Lady Roslyn, I must speak with you.”

  “Just a moment, Uncle,” she called, “I shall be right there.”

  Roslyn looked directly at Celia, mouthing, “You must hide,” to her maid. “In the wardrobe.” She pointed to the cabinet behind her. Meanwhile, Roslyn gathered her dressing gown from the chair and swiftly covered her body before opening the door to her impatient uncle.

  “Ah, see, you are here!” He smiled broadly

  As if she weren’t. Such a stupid thing to say!

  “I was about to dress and come see you, sir.”

  “Oh?” he looked doubtful, gazing toward the bed wonderingly. It looked torn apart.

  “I’m afraid I slept long this morning.”

  “But you were out early,” he noted.

  This did take her off guard.

  “Well, yes, I was. But I have been napping since,” she explained. Would he believe her, or catch her lie? Had he heard the sounds of lovemaking with his ear to her door? She studied his face hoping to read his thoughts.

  “I see,” he said at last. He seemed to let the matter of the messed bed drop, for he had better things to send Roslyn into a stew.

  “I thought I would warn you now that you’ll be leaving here shortly.”

  “Leaving?”

  “Yes, you and your maid will be sent to the garrison in the north protected by General Drago.”

  “General Drago?”

  “Yes. You’ve heard of him?”

  “Perhaps. I am not sure.” Only today she’d heard his name mentioned by the beastly jailer in the dungeon, and not in the most complimentary way. But, in fact, most people in both her father’s realm as well as her uncle Draydon’s, knew of the great General Drago. He was renowned not only as a fierce fighter, but an opportunist and a brutal man. “I believe I have reason to fear him, uncle.”

  “Not if you take pains to be gracious, do his bidding and not cross him.”

  “Do his bidding?”

  “I mean that in the strictest sense of honoring his household. You may be called on to take care of his domestic affair, his servants, that sort of thing, among others. I know it will not be the most gracious setting, the northern lands are hostile, but you will adapt and, most importantly, you’ll be safe.”

  “Am I not safe here?”

  “That I cannot say. I hear dire warnings of approaching armies. I’m afraid I cannot use my resources here to protect innocents such as yourself. You will go to Drago in secret and remain there until the present conflicts pass. Your willing acceptance of this circumstance will do much to relieve my concerns for you.”

  Roslyn looked a bit dazed and answered cautiously, “If you think it best, sir.”

  “I do. Prepare yourself, by first light two days hence, you and your maid will dress to conceal your noble identity and travel the three day journey to Drago’s northern stronghold.”

  She bowed in assent for she had no other choice, “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure we are prepared.”

  “You will pack lightly,” he added. “What is frivolous must be discarded.”

  “Sir, I came here with nothing just two weeks ago. In so short a time, I have accumulated very little and certainly nothing frivolous.”

  “Indeed.” With no more to say, her uncle nodded his head and turned abruptly to leave the room.

  “Milady!” Celia, emerging from hiding, exclaimed in a clandestine whisper. She ran to her mistress and embraced her worriedly, although Roslyn immediately pushed her off.

  “No time for your theatrics, girl. We have much to do.”

  “And you’re not dreadfully worried?”

  “Of course, I’m worried. General Drago is hardly the kind of man I am inclined to serve.”

  “I hear such things…why, they’d make you shrivel away in fright.”

  “Well, I will not shrivel away in fright. Nor will you! Drago is just a man and men can be conquered.” She spoke like a woman much older than her years. If she stopped to notice, she would have heard the sound of her own dear mother’s voice in her self-confident tone.

  “Milady!” Celia looked at her shocked, never having witnessed her mistress quite so bold.

  “Yes, we will prepare to take leave of this place. I had hoped that it would be a haven from our woes, but I can’t say I’m all that fond of staying here.”

  “Oh?” The maid’s expression filled with questions.

  “Think nothing of it, girl. We will move on.” She seemed distracted now and Celia had no choice but to do her mistress bidding without bothering her more.

  There was much for Lady Roslyn to consider. The idea of yet another swift retreat toward the unknown weighed heavily on her mind. She hardly believed that Drago’s stronghold would be safer than her Uncle’s well-fortified castle. Certainly, entering the wilderness of the north seemed like a foolish act, if protecting her against the roving armies was her Uncle’s aim. What were her Uncle’s aim’s, she was forced to wonder. Was he less her champion than she believed? Was he as true to her father as she once thought? Was he the tyrant some whispered of? Oh, she’d heard his rifled commands, the way he ordered punishments with little thought. She suspected he was a cunning ruler, but was he a ruthless man as well? Was he as expedient and cruel as she feared? And most worrisome, was there some particular motive behind the sudden assignment to the notorious General Drago?

  Life was a riddle, apt not be solved with simple questions and easy answers. She expected she would not have answers to any of her concerns for some time to come, thus she would prepare herself, not just for the journey her uncle planned, but for events unknown, for the mystery and the surprise of not knowing all that lay ahead. She certainly hoped, however, that whatever the outcome of her next months, her life would be touched by the passionate thrill of longings finally fulfilled. Her body, poised to enter its full womanhood, sensed the change about to happen with some gratitude.

  ***

  On the very morning that Roslyn and Celia were to have left the castle for Drago’s stronghold, Roslyn observed something quite odd. She’d arise from bed in the early morning hours, preparing for the journey when she heard a commotion in the courtyard below. Looking out the window, she spied the girl from the dungeon, shackled, cuffed and being loaded into a small corner of a fully loaded oxcart. Chained to the side of the cart, she was forced to sit in the awkward confinement for what appeared to be a long trip. The girl was mute, perhaps a bit proud in her attitude, though it was hard to see for sure. Certainly, she was resigned to whatever fate lay ahead for she gave the menservants little resistance. Roslyn recalled then the words of the jailer… that she would be a whore in Drago’s dungeon. Drago, yes. The very man to whom she’d been assigned herself. Was that where the girl was going now?

  Not more than an hour after the oxcart with its female cargo pulled out of the courtyard, Roslyn was informed by one of her uncle’s aides that her own trip to Drago’s stronghold had been delayed. No explanations were offered, which left Roslyn in a huge quandary that did not sit well with her. Any attempts to seek an explanation from her uncle were rebuffed summarily—in fact, she only saw the man twice during the following two weeks. It had been made clear that she was not to enter his chambers without permission. As he was not in the mood for probing questions, he did not bid her enter. More than once, she marched to his door, only to have her uncle’s manservant, posted at the entrance like a sentry, stop her from knocking. He said that her uncle’s current business was too important to interrupt.

  After several attempts in so many days, Roslyn came to doubt that her uncle was engaged in any serious business affairs. Oh, he was busy, all right, but with very different concerns. One evening when the servant briefly left his post, she tiptoed to the door with every intention of entering her uncle’s chambers. But she stopped short when she heard from beyond the door, the unmistakable sounds of sexual activity—the heavy breathing, the savage screams of a woman, the bellowing grunts of a man—her uncle. She li
stened, at first appalled and curious about who was engaged in her uncle’s bed—the man had no wife, no concubine or paramour that she knew of, although he was certainly engaged in acts of a carnal nature with someone at that very moment! Instead of leaving right away, Roslyn listened for some time as the crude sounds of pleasure turned more voracious and intense. Unwittingly, her own body became so aroused, so afire from the remarkable noise that she finally ran flush-faced toward her own quarters, consumed by the ravenous feelings of sexual desire. She slammed the door of her room behind her and stood with her back to it, pressing her hand to her crotch as if to calm the needy beast she’d raised. But there was no calming her now. Her fingers burrowed under her clothes and with little effort brought her body to a momentous climax that left her panting and ashamed at such lack of self control.

  While punctuated by a very few brief moments of unguarded passion like this one, the grueling days of waiting were difficult for Roslyn to bear or understand. Her maid Celia, however, took the delay quite differently. She remained thoughtfully engaged, pleasant and without the fretful face and worried brow that marked her first days in Draydon castle. Roslyn did not press her about why her spirits were so high, but, soon enough, she was to understand the reason for the girl’s renewed energy.

  When at last, Roslyn’s trip north was scheduled for the morrow, her uncle announced the fact himself at dinner that evening—the first she’d seen of the man in many days. Of course, she accepted the planned departure with a grain of salt; postponements had been almost comical—if it had not been for the grave dangers she foresaw. It was difficult to know whether this trip would improve her lot or not—regardless, she greeted the news with a flutter of repressed excitement.

  “And this is for certain this time?” she asked, trying not to be glib.

  “You presume I’d lie to you?” he responded with indignation, no longer disguising a degree of contempt she had never expected from her father’s brother.