Damsel

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “Yes, milady, you may go.” He nodded respectfully, then watched the indignant woman take her leave. The irony in the way he addressed her, however, calling her ‘milady’ still, did not escape either one. A fiendish pleasure for Drago, more fuel to further infuriate the humiliated noble lady.

  When Roslyn returned to her meager room at the top of the stairs, she flung herself to the bed, fully prepared to cry herself to sleep. But her tears did not materialize, nor did her sleep. Instead, her mind raced about the memories of her last terrifying weeks, as if that activity might provide some explanation for why she now found herself in these impossible circumstances. What had she done to deserve such a fate? Had the stars betrayed her? Had the fair earth changed its course? It seemed that every horror she endured had been compounded by another one more vile. This last indignity, this internment in the hateful fortress with this contemptible man could not go on! Denied the company of her maid and the comfort of a home where she could rest and repair, her mind became busily occupied with schemes to alter her bad fortune. She went over the troubling exchange with Drago again and again, hoping that she might find some reason to be optimistic. But she could see behind his false kindness what his true intentions were. She had the collar to prove it!

  There was only one solution to her miseries, she finally concluded. Indeed. Her mind was set. The more the collar tugged at her neck, the more resolved she became. The only defense against the cruel General Drago was to flee his fortress, and that she would do at her first chance.

  Once her decision was made, Lady Roslyn thought only of escape, although the means by which she could accomplish her flight eluded her for some days. In that time, she remained polite with the few servants who attended her. She ate in her quarters alone, and spent her hours with her handwork or reading from a book of poems belonging to her father—one she managed to find in her uncle’s castle. She even took a few tentative strolls through the fortress—ones she counted on to help her in an attempted escape. She learned that there were only three exits from the stronghold; two were guarded by sentries, while the third was through the scullery, where there seemed to be constant activity and any attempt to escape would surely be noticed.

  Roslyn mulled over her plans incessantly, going over the possibilities, but had nothing fixed firm in her mind, except her unflagging resolve. She waited, watchful, wondering, praying, and spent her nights doing the same in her dreams.

  On her third night at Dragon-Horn, she awoke frightened, a nightmare clinging to her like a spider to her bedclothes. With fear crawling along her skin and forcing her from bed, she moved silently into the corridor outside her door and from there crept stealthily down the stairs. As if sleep-walking, she moved in a dreamy trance toward the backside of the fortress, sensing an opening ready for her exit…into the kitchen, then the larder, past a sleeping cook and out a tiny side door she’d never seen before, then into the night. The door led to a garden and the garden path toward a gate, beyond the gate, the woods…

  She moved noiselessly, at first afraid, but hardly panicked; the way was effortless, as if the stars had finally converged in her favor and she would find her freedom. Still dreamy, still only half awake, she saw the forest welcome her and its low branches draw her inside. The way was rough for her bare feet, and soon the cold ground started to awaken her senses and her sanity. Still she pushed herself to flee, to run far, until she could not run back…

  She moved with haste, with no idea of her plans beyond this moment, or where she’d go, what she’d do if she actually were to free herself from Drago’s grasp. She knew only that she must press on…

  Suddenly, her progress stopped, she was unable to move forward. Ripped back, clutched by the claiming collar from behind, her entire body seized up, though her mind quickened, becoming fully awake, sensing in that instant that this abrupt capture had turned her simple flight for freedom into a new nightmare.

  She immediately thought of Drago’s forceful hand, but she turned enough to see her captor and found Geoffrey, not his master.

  Her mind worked fast and she spit out the first excuse to enter her thoughts. “Oh, please, sir, I was just out for a breath of fresh air.”

  “Oh? Running at full speed?” he said.

  “Why yes,” though she was hardly convincing.

  Although he hesitated to smile, she could see that he was amused. “You’ll tell your story to the General. It is not for me to decide what to do with you.”

  “Please, young man, please. Don’t take me to him. Let me go. I don’t belong in this place, in General Drago’s world.”

  “Then where do you belong, Lady Roslyn?”

  She stopped, unable to find a quick answer, and with her once unyielding resolve rapidly dwindling, she finally asked with pitiable desperation, “Perhaps you could take me back to my quarters?”

  But there was no dissuading the young man. In fact, he seemed to enjoy her misery as much as she expected his master soon would. That very thought made her heart pump with maddening fury; her loins did the same. Meanwhile her spirit had been invaded by an unwelcome, but uncommon sense of rightness about this event. The savage forest into which she’d run was no place for her. The boy’s question had been a fair one. Where did she belong?

  Chapter Five

  Yoked & Collared

  General Drago paced the room—the great hall, with its stone walls and bare slate floors, where the haunting animal heads and hides were the only things to break up the vastness of immeasurable grey. He paced uneasily, although he was not surprised that he would be contemplating his next move with the feisty daughter of Duke Ledo. She proved an apt challenge, a diversion from the typical activities of his life. She was a beauty, no doubt about that, and she would take some taming, of that he was sure. But he was as sure of his own desires as he was of the lovely young woman.

  She hung now in the center of his hall, yoked—her arms and head fixed into the wooden stocks he used to tame restless females. She kicked like the devil when his men forced the punishment, and now looked so breathtakingly beautiful in bondage that he could feel his manhood swelling with lust. Thankfully, she was silent now; subdued in her humiliation, although she could not bow her head for the way the yoke forced her head upright. Her eyes were closed, as if that would lift her from this world, into some better place.

  Drago had yet to speak with her; he’d paced thoughtfully about the woman, noting how she quivered inside her white nightdress. The garment clung to her sweating body—Oh! It had been quite a fight she’d waged, kicking, cursing, spitting, biting! But now, she’d atone for her crime. There was much to do in Dragon-Horn that night.

  About the room, torches flamed and soot gathered in clouds above, streaming its way toward the windows high inside the stone walls. Into the teaming atmosphere, Drago’s men, Geoffrey, Trevor and Titus, led Lady Roslyn’s maid Celia. Though the girl trembled in fright, Drago felt from her quivering body a sweeping lust almost attack him at his groin. His already robust organ turned hard as steel. Pushing the reluctant maid to the center of the open space, not more than ten feet from her yoked Mistress, Geoffrey then stepped back to watch as his master eyed the girl.

  Like Roslyn, Celia had been collared with a claiming collar, although she was also cuffed at the ankles and wrists with tight-fitting metal cuffs. Also like her mistress, she wore a simple shift that could barely disguise the body beneath the thin material. Her breasts made indentations in the fabric, as did the globes of her well-shaped ass. One could easily imagine the soft fluff of fair pubic hair where her legs met her torso. Though she wore no perfumes, it seemed there was an uncommonly fragrant scent to her body, one that caught the attention of everyone nearby. Although quite a sight to behold, the girl could not stand still, but fidgeted, unsure, blushing, her eyes darting from the surprising sight of her yoked mistress, to Drago, then Geoffrey and the others. The way in which her body squirmed, while almost childish, was quite provocative, considering that hers was the fully-f
ormed body of a woman.

  “I see you’ve readied her,” Drago spoke to the three men.

  “Yes, sir,” Geoffrey answered.

  “Has she been rent?”

  “Yes. She is not intact.”

  “And you verified the fact yourself?”

  “No, milord. Mim took care of inspecting her when she arrived.

  Drago nodded and moved towards the speechless girl. As he did her eyes darted from Drago back to her mistress, then again to Geoffrey—she had no idea where to place her attention. By then, Lady Roslyn was fully conscious and she stared at the sight of her maid with great concern.

  “You needn’t mind the Lady Roslyn, girl,” Drago said. “You have your own troubles to attend do.” Celia bowed her head, as the man gave the girl another studied inspection. Finally, he stepped back. “How about an unveiling?”

  Geoffrey moved back in and lifted Celia’s shift by its hem, up and off the girl’s body, leaving her in nothing but the collar and cuffs. The unveiling only confirmed the speculations of the men surrounding the scene. White, lustrous skin…breasts voluptuous but firm, hips well-shaped, an arse with two splendid mounds of flesh, invitingly stimulating to the eye of a virile male. “You’ve caught yourself a fine female here,” Drago spoke directly to Geoffrey.

  “Yes, sir,” he nodded.

  From several feet away, where Lady Roslyn stood dangling, the view provoked the same admiration in Celia’s mistress, though she was forced to curb any erotic feeling she may have toward her maid.

  “So, what do you think of her?” Drago approached the lady, asking.

  Just Drago’s presence inflamed her ire. “I think you’re all swine!” she spat.

  Drago laughed. “Pigs, hum?”

  “Yes, pigs!”

  “So, you think the girl is suffering?”

  “What you are doing is very wrong.”

  “Wrong to enjoy my properties? Wrong to observe the loveliness of a tender lass?”

  “You have much more in mind. I know that!”

  “You should withhold your judgment until you know the truth, milady,” Drago mused. He patted Roslyn’s cheek dismissively and moved swiftly toward the lady’s shuddering maid. One hand clutched an ass cheek, the other was at her chin. With the hand on her ass stroking the flesh, her bare chest heaved with excitement and her lips parted, as if she were panting with want. Drago suddenly grabbed the flesh hard, holding it roughly in his fist. “Aroused, girl?”

  Celia looked toward her mistress.

  “No, don’t look at her. She’s been a bad girl and is being punished. Meanwhile you have been a model property—kind of spirit, open, willing, and now aroused. Hum? Tell me what you’re feeling now.”

  “Yes, sir, I am aroused,” Celia gasped.

  Drago smiled. His hand moved toward the girl’s pubic ‘V’, pressing between her thighs, where he made contact with the private treasure stored there. He fished through the valley, finding it wet and gave her sex lips a tug, each one in turn.

  The girl hardly cringed, but she did let out a tiny gasp, saying something like, “Oh, sir,” but very quietly in a breathy whisper.

  “Titus, lay down on the bench,” Drago ordered the man while pointing to a rough wooden chaise.

  Hearing himself called out, the young man was quick. His eyes danced with excitement, and his smile turned into a lusty smirk, as he laid back, propping himself on one arm, waiting.

  “Now, do what he wills, girl,” Drago ordered as he pushed Celia toward the man. She wasted no time moving to the chaise where she slumped to her knees, her hands moving across young Titus’ groin and freeing his organ with little effort. She took it deeply into her mouth as if she were swallowing it whole. Her lips worked the flesh in its flaccid state to start, licking and slurping the head and shaft, then devouring the penis inside her mouth. Drawing back, her one hand clutched the thickening stalk and her mouth fervently continued until the beastly penis grew into a steely rod. All the while, her naked ass undulated behind her as if she were in the throes of her own sexual pleasure.

  Roslyn watched, just as Drago and the others watched, the entire company being a bit in awe of the show Celia made of the carnal act. One would have thought that the girl was a practiced whore, when Roslyn knew for a fact, that Celia was as naïve as she was with regards to the stimulation of the male sexual organ. Obviously, she had some inherent knowledge; or, perhaps, a lot of naughty banter with scullery maids had been her teacher. The girl continued until the youth was about to explode into her mouth. But then Drago abruptly stopped her; he had other things in mind for the initiation of his newest property.

  “Back off, girl,” he ordered.

  Hearing the order, Celia lifted her head, blushing, her mouth wet, her lips parted, her eyes hooded and dark. Her hair was a disheveled mess of flaxen curls, making her look astoundingly sexual for a maid so young.

  “Climb on and acquaint the boy with your randy quim,” Drago said.

  As if she’d been waiting for that very command, Celia eagerly climbed on the chaise and straddled the young man’s hips, while parting her love nest so the erect member could slip easily inside. After undulating in sensuous movements to start, the two soon began to move in a powerful rhythm, with Celia bouncing up and down, her breasts like two lively pillows, the nipples fully erect and boldly pink.

  A few seconds later, Drago was behind the chaise, turning the heavy furniture with the two copulating youths, so that the maid was facing her mistress directly and the tortured Roslyn could see everything: the open cunt, the bouncing bosom, the look of sheer pleasure on the girl’s face.

  The heightened moment had everyone charged and Roslyn herself feeling the effects, with a tickle of excitement between her thighs and a longing that she couldn’t shake. The feel of her nightshift against her skin was as dear as a lover’s caressing hand, though not enough to even start a journey toward the climax her body so urgently desired.

  Suddenly, a thick grunting noise issued from the boy’s mouth, and his body appeared to freeze for a second, while his hands clutched Celia’s hips, keeping her crotch in place as he thrust hard, firing his seed deep on the path toward her womb. Her own cry was a sensuous, even lyrical swoon, a sound her mistress recognized. Pure. Sweet. But earthy, as feral as the feral feel of Drago’s great hall at that very moment.

  Her moment of bliss ended too soon, however, with Drago pulling the girl from the chaise. He held her by the arm. “Did you climax, girl?” he asked—and accusation. Cum was still dripping down her thighs and glistening in the candlelight. “Yes, sir,” she whimpered with her blue eyes wide as saucers.

  “And did you ask permission to do so?” he said sharply.

  She shook her head, “No, sir,” her expression completely flustered.

  “You’ll be punished for that failing. You will learn that in this world, your pleasure is not your own, but mine to grant.”

  She hunched her shoulders gloomily, saying softly: “Yes, sir.”

  “How vile you are! Curse you, Drago!” The previously silent Lady Roslyn cried out so suddenly that everyone was aghast for several seconds. In fact, even Roslyn could hardly believe that she’d spoken her angry thoughts aloud.

  Drago turned her way, letting go the girl. “You dare protest? Hum? Well, be assured you’ll have yours too. But because of your outburst, the girl will suffer twice the blows.”

  Roslyn’s face filled with pained shock and she seethed under her breath. Consumed with passion, her eyes darkened as Drago walked her way. “You care to spit out more curses, milady? I will make her hate you for the punishment you bring down on her. Is that what you wish?”

  “I can never hate Lady Roslyn!” Celia jumped in.

  “Silence!” Drago commanded.

  The girl shriveled instantly.

  “Please, Celia, no,” Roslyn scolded her, though it was too late for that, too late to take back what she’d already caused.

  Returning to the girl, Drago thrust her
over the back of the chaise, so her bare arse was raised high and her legs unbending, the skin tight and quivering from hips to toes.

  “Beat her well, Geoffrey,” the master ordered, then he stood by and watched as both Titus and Geoffrey took turns beating the maid’s firm behind, first with a leather strap, which merely warmed the skin, then with a cat of braided falls, that cut fiery welts across the skin.

  The girl winced at first, and for a time it seemed that she accepted the punishment as a rousing finish to the sexual climax still shuddering sensuously through her flesh. But that did not last long, when the warmth of the leather’s firm caress turned into a rising sting that would not abate. Once Titus finished with the belt and Geoffrey took over with the meanly fashioned braided cat, the tails raked across her skin and she began to weep. Her weeping turned into sobs filled with anguish and her entire body became one enormous shudder of woe. Moved by her distress, Geoffrey tried to lessen the intensity of the blows, but Drago was displeased.

  “Finish her, Geoffrey!” he barked.

  Renewed by his master’s command, Geoffrey took an invigorating breath and reared back, his arm quivering at first, then his resolve toughening. He brought the cat forward with a flourish, laying a final pair of successive strikes against Celia’s raw behind.

  Roslyn could barely look at the sight of her maid’s blistered ass. Although not unlike her previous experience with such punishment scenes, she found her own body quivering in that most dreadfully enthralling way. She hardly realized that Drago was at her side, that his hand had clutched the back of her head, so that she could not look away even if she tried. Little did he know that Roslyn found the sight so enthralling that she was just briefly tempted to close her eyes.

  “Your turn next?” Drago whispered to Roslyn privately when the beating was over and the crying Celia had slumped to the floor.