Damsel

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  He then left the lady to stew in her own misery while he briefly attended to the girl. For nearly a minute, Drago hovered over the crying young woman, then he finally kicked her gently with the toe of his boot. “So, you’ve been punished for your sins and those of your imprudent mistress. You will survive. A resourceful girl as beautiful as you will thrive here.” He gave a second, more forceful shove and Celia looked up at the master’s face.

  “I am glad that I could bear milady’s punishment. That is how I will serve her if I cannot attend her in any other way.”

  Impressed by her loyalty, Drago smiled. “My, my, the lady should be grateful to have such a loyal servant.”

  “I am grateful that I have such a worthy mistress, sir. I will gladly take her blows.”

  “Oh? Perhaps you enjoy being beaten?” he wondered. “If its punishment you relish, I would guard yourself against too much disobedience; my methods of training the obstinate and unruly are not all as pleasurable as this one.”

  Had Drago seen something in the girl that the others did not? those that watched would wonder. It hadn’t seemed that the girl ‘enjoyed’ the beating, although she was quite revived when she was finally ordered to stand.

  “Now out, all of you!” Drago suddenly ordered Celia and his three male servants. “Out!” He shooed them on, hand waving, then waited with some impatience for the four to scramble out of the room and close the massive oaken door behind them.

  With the youthful energy of that quartet moving elsewhere within Drago’s fortress, the quiet that descended on the room made it feel very much like a lonely tomb. For several minutes, the master of Dragon-Horn occupied himself with other matters as he peered from the window, apparently lost in thought. He ignored Lady Roslyn twice when the woman called for his attention—although she actually said nothing, but in frustration jerked about, rattling the chains that suspended the heavy yoke from the bar above. The quality of noise she made from the clanging metal clearly spoke of her disquiet. But after her second voiceless plea was disregarded—not even given a raised eyebrow or a fleeting glance—the frustrated Roslyn gave up. She finally closed her eyes and tried to settle herself, perhaps disperse the incessant anger that served no positive purpose in these circumstances; Drago was not a man to be persuaded by the theatrics of an hysterical female.

  When at last, she heard the sound of his boots hitting the floor, she opened her eyes to see his solemn face approach.

  “So, it is just you and me now, milady.”

  “It would seem so,” she answered, a bit of the haughtiness in her voice was gone now.

  “The yoke fits you,” he said.

  “Oh? Then you would keep me like this?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps I should keep you as a trophy in my trophy room. One of many, as you can see.” His arm moved in a sweeping gesture as he turned around admiring the trophies of past battles with fearsome prey.

  “I am, then, no more than another conquered animal.”

  “Oh, but I think you’re more than that,” he said. He was closer now, in that space where their auras mingled and their breaths pooled to make a shared fragrance they would both breathe in and find pleasing.

  “How would you know if you keep me in this yoke?”

  “Ah! There are ways.” His arm went around to her back, his hand placed squarely on her arse. He grabbed the firm, small cheek and held it tightly, while he watched the Lady Roslyn’s eyes exhibit her unfolding emotions, from shock to surprise to a quivering, tear-filled erotic wonder. She could barely stop herself from moving against that clutching hand. The fingers so powerful! The grasp like a fiery torch upon her skin! Wild. Almost savage. Her feelings soared, almost beyond her power to contain. An enormous sigh threatened to disclose her delight, but still she managed to hold firm.

  Staring into Drago’s eyes, her lips parted and she breathed in through her mouth, her chest expanding unconsciously.

  He moved enough to the side to give his hand full access to her undulating rear, which he massaged with some vigor, moving back and forth from cheek to cheek. The treatment caused Roslyn’s body to quiver involuntarily and make the tight grip on her emotions and her physical response fall away. Torn by a fitful, mounting arousal, she forgot her rage for a time, giving back to him a consent that he did not need to proceed, but accepted, for it showed him her true will—not the lies she could easily rattle off in anger.

  At her unwitting urging, he began to inch the material of her nightdress up, until at last his hand could dive beneath and fondle her bare flesh. He mauled her now, letting his insistent fingers slip between her thighs, just as they had slipped between her maid’s as foreplay.

  “Please, have some mercy on me!” she begged him when she finally found her voice.

  “Oh…don’t resurrect your indignation now, milady. You’ve already shown yourself.”

  And so she had.

  In a place where she’d never known a man, she felt Drago’s fingers forcefully intrude. She gasped when two fingers pushed against her intact hymen, their further penetration stopped.

  “A virgin,” he exclaimed, a little surprised.

  “You shame me to think otherwise.”

  “You shame yourself with this behavior.”

  “I beg you, please end this now!” she said, but her words carried no weight.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I swear, sir.”

  Still, he fondled her privates, raising a storm of surging fire that begged release. Feeling herself on that fine precipice of physical joy, she consented to let him conquer her this way. After all, what other choice did she have?

  But that was not to be… for just as she let go her last inhibitions, Drago’s methods changed. He flung her nightdress up, and held it bunched up beneath her breasts, while his other hand began to spank her bared ass.

  Her body bristled with that first strike, though it was not one intended to cause her pain. Again, his hand penetrated her aroused valley, then again he spanked her bottom only to ease the sting with his rough massage. A new level of crude and hungering want was reached. She could hear herself exclaiming with some ardor, “My lord in heaven, please…” like a prayer asking for more than what had already been given her.

  Drago was not inclined to stop; he could feel his organ pressing against his thigh, filling with blood, tumescent and bold, driven, but no—not yet ready; it was not quite time. While still spanking her reddening behind, he dropped her nightshift over his hand and felt for those exquisite breasts that had so tempted him to rape her. But rape could not be as fine as this ungodly moment!

  He backed off to make her wait, to make himself wait and the pleasure build, again giving her ass some deliberately painful smacks, only to return again to the intimate fondling. He kissed her ear, whispered kindnesses—silently. Then it was back to the hard punishment again—even though it was clear by now that the Lady Roslyn was more aroused than punished by the furious spanking. He worked her hard, while further plans for her formed quickly in his mind and he became so consumed by the thought of them, that he hardly heard the noisy clamor outside the hall.

  A hard banging on the oaken door and bellowing voices finally brought him around. Once he paused, he sensed some great distress, and in a moment’s time, the fire in his loins dwindled. He moved away from the object of his last hour’s depraved joy and strode quickly to the door, where he pulled back the bar and the door swung wide.

  Geoffrey engaged him in an animated conversation; the invasion they feared was imminent. Soldiers would ride, blades be drawn and the delectable pleasures of ripe and wanting females cast aside. All in a split second!

  By the time Drago appeared to her again, Lady Roslyn’s arousal had abated and was now tucked neatly back inside her once yearning body. She knew about fear in a man’s brow, of the trouble that weighed on broad shoulders and the glint of an impending battle in the eye of a warrior. With one glance, she saw all this in the master of Dragon-Horn.

  �
��It would seem our hour together has been cut short,” he said. He fumbled with the locks on the weighty yoke until he’d opened them all, and he set the lady free of it. Though he was anxious to be on his way, he lifted the noble beauty’s chin and gazed down at her face. “We will finish this soon.”

  Perhaps he meant the battle that called him now, but she believed that he meant to finish the sexual act his lust had just inspired.

  He turned away. “Geoffrey!” he called. “Return her to her quarters and make certain she stays. Although she may be careless with herself, she should know that to flee this fortress now could mean her life. Be sure she has no means of leaving.”

  He strode out, leaving the young man to return Lady Roslyn to her chambers.

  Chapter Six

  Unleashed Passion

  The door smacked against its frame, closing Roslyn into the small space. She shuddered miserably at the defining sound, though she did not know whether to be disappointed or grateful that Drago was unable to consummate the scene. She was lost in thought, trying to sort out her mixed feelings, when a noise outside the door caught her attention—the clanging of keys and the click of a lock. She moved back to the door, trying the latch, only to find that it wouldn’t give.

  Her rage ignited. “No, Geoffrey, you cannot lock me in,” she roared as she banged on the wood.

  “The general’s orders, milady!”

  “No, please, I cannot bear this!” She leaned against the door, her hand above her pounding uselessly.

  “The general’s orders,” Geoffrey repeated.

  She heard his footsteps in retreat, and a flood of tears was soon streaming down her cheeks. In time, Roslyn slumped to the floor, cursing her naïveté and that foolish leap toward freedom that had been sure to fail. With that foolish act, she’d condemned herself to this latest torture. She had only her tears now for comfort.

  Once the tears had dried, a profound sadness enveloped her being. She had no idea why she felt that way—perhaps it was Drago’s leaving, she winced at the thought. Did she worry for his safety—there was little but luck and destiny in battle. Was there even a battle looming, or was she worrying uselessly about the affairs that rob men’s minds and few women understand? And why should she care about a villain of such ruthless character? He was all he was reputed to be—grand in stature, darkly treacherous, and very much more; much of which she did not yet understand.

  The sadness crept in close and surrounded her shivering body, weighting her down so heavily that she crawled, not walked the short distance to her bed. There she climbed on and fell into a fitful slumber. Her dreams were no help; they were as rough as the truth she faced on waking.

  The slow march of hours finally brought the sun to set on another day. By then, Roslyn was recovered enough to rise from the bed and look out that small window to see the evidence of the dying light. Her belly hungered for food, and her loins ached for what had not been allowed her. She could not keep her thoughts from Drago and the horrible swift ending that deprived her of her pleasure.

  When she heard the latch rattle and the door open, she turned toward the sound, hopeful. But it was only the old woman with a bowl of food and fresh water.

  “It’s the best we can do,” she said, as she placed the dish on her stand and turned to leave. “Least the bread’s fresh.” She was gone again, locking the door as before.

  Roslyn had not the presence of mind to realize that she could have easily overpowered the woman and at the very least taken the key away. But what good would that have done her with vigilant guards and a threatening world outside the fortress?

  Her day was done then. Her energy taken, time to let this present worry slip away and wake in the morning with the hope of something better.

  ***

  Before Roslyn heard a thing, her senses were stirred. Something in her belly brewed, a concoction of troubling fear, a great needy hunger combined to push her from bed. She moved toward the window as if there were answers she could see in the black of night, and from her high perch she saw flames from bonfires, tents like white mushrooms scattered across the landscape, men waiting to march, she supposed, but she had no idea if her summations were true.

  Yes, something stirred in Drago’s world, but it was not enough to cause the bizarre distress she felt inside her body. Like a fingernail drawn down her spine, a tingling, perhaps a supernatural sensation set her body afire. The lust built in her loins again; she could feel the yoke about her neck, closing around her wrists and Drago’s hand grasping her arse, his fingers dabbling with her thirsting flesh. As if he was in her room that very moment, her breathing picked up speed while her skin crawled in anxious waiting. She ran back to her bed and tried to settle, but nothing settled her. Her hand moved between her parted thighs where she’d released such intense feelings before, but she drew it back, afraid to touch herself, afraid and oddly enough, feeling the same imperative rule on her that punished Celia, when the girl allowed her body to climax without the master granting his permission.

  She waited restless in bed, perhaps falling back asleep for a time, then hearing something, like the sound of the lock, her mind was alert again. Her inner senses had not lied, for minutes later, the door swung open and Drago strode in.

  At the sight of him, she climbed from the bed and ran like a quaking mouse to the corner and hovered there, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “You’re still afraid of me?” he said.

  “No, I am not afraid of you.”

  “But you tremble so.”

  His movements were slow and easy, his voice gentle, but backed by a forceful resolve. He moved in closer, taking her into his arms. She wrestled with him for only a moment, then relented to his persuasive power. The feel of his surrounding arms was more comfort than she’d ever known. With it came a certain danger; she understood that, but still she relented, because by then, she knew she had no choice but to obey him, honor him, allow the collar she wore to quell her resistance.

  His rough hand caressed her face, then moved down her throat. She stared up at him anxiously with little defiance now. He remained passive and expressionless, though his eyes shone with his intent. Then suddenly annoyed by the nightgown that covered her body, he grabbed it in his palm and ripped down, tearing the fabric with a mighty tug and laying free her bosom with the heaving breasts he’d touched but not yet seen. He gave them both a firm squeeze, then took a moment to relish the softness of her skin and the tender feel of her sensitive nipples. He could see her react, how her eyes seemed to glass over and to glow with an unearthly light in the dimly lit room—just his one candle illuminated the bristling air. His hand traveled lower, across her belly, making her lust billow forth and her arousal from earlier in the day return. When his hand slipped between her legs, she contained the desire to climax, and although the urgent need rose up anxiously, she knew that she wanted to wait, that she must wait.

  When he bent down, perhaps his mouth would have locked on hers, but she dodged his lips. There was no aversion in that moment, but rather something shy and girlish. Perhaps, Drago didn’t see it that way. After the small rejection, he didn’t try again. Instead, he yanked her around and pushed her body into the stone wall, then pressed his groin against her arse. The spanked flesh had stopped throbbing hours ago, though now it seemed to pulse again, bringing back that sensuous warmth. She could feel his organ, the rising member a clamoring rod of steely strength. Her belly spasmed on this alone and her legs parted, her breathing quickened and her throbbing cheeks pushed back on him in want.

  “So, she gives herself away after all,” Drago seethed in her ear.

  He said no more, but swiped away the remains of her nightgown and felt deep for the opening where he would at last strike. His fingers worked there freely until he had her panting, mewling with the sweetest sighs.

  “Or maybe we should do this properly?” he queried, although she had no idea what he meant. His hand moved out and smacked her bottom again. Any second, any momen
t… she could not take this much arousal without exploding. But then he backed off …

  “To the bed, girl!”

  She scrambled there, laying down, clutching her torn nightdress so it covered her breasts, but exposed her sex. Drago undressed just enough to expose his organ, though Roslyn caught just a fleeting glimpse of the proud tumescent prick. He covered her body with his, the erection spearing her at the ripe and swollen center, where with a sharp thrust he breached the virgin barrier. His arms were beside her head, his body hungry and overpowering. His authority, the majesty, the importance of the act, and the pain—Ah! yes, the pain—it seemed her explosive arousal was swept away by the powerful forces inherent in the act of tearing away the impediment to his pleasure, his release. Her pleasure would wait this time.

  When he lifted his body from hers, she lay motionless, too dazed and astounded to say a word, as she then watched Drago tuck his spent cock inside his pants. He looked down at her smiling and his eyes caught sight of the blood she’d spilled for him. Then he grabbed her by the collar, fixing his lips on hers.

  “I suppose you’ll call this a forcible rape. Oh, but virgins are the finest flesh.” She detected a slight smirk of triumph in his expression. “But it would seem the lady is pleased herself.”

  Something made her recoil. “No…I’m not pleased.”

  He was not dissuaded. “Then in time,” he said, releasing his hold.

  He left the room before she could speak again.

  Left locked inside the lonely prison, it was all she could do to drive the man from her thoughts. He could not take hold of her! she swore. No! Never! Never would she let Drago have her.

  Roslyn would have plenty of time to steel her resolve, for General Drago and his army marched before daybreak.

  Chapter Seven

  A Nightmare in the Meadow

  Some days later, Lady Roslyn’s stringent imprisonment eased. First, her maid was allowed to visit her in the locked room…

  “You shouldn’t have tried to flee,” Celia sounded scolding and reproachful.