Damsel

by Lizbeth Dusseau

Roslyn shuddered and turned her head away, afraid to look. When she heard the sound of the lash connecting with the maid’s pale ass, she peeked, wincing when the struggling Celia collapsed against the dirt.

  “Get yer body up!” The four goaded her with their swords until she rose to her hands and knees again and took more punishment.

  At last, the haughty fellow rose from his rock, where he’d watched silently for the last half hour. He parted the company of brutes, who then stood back and eyed the deft-moving Theron as he threw a chain around Celia’s neck and lifted her to her feet. But for Drago’s collar and shackles, she was naked now, the last of her torn dress falling uselessly at her feet.

  “So, you’re the whore.” Theron clutched the chain tightly at the girl’s throat and spoke, his mouth just inches from hers. “Whore’s do what whore’s do,” he coldly spat. “I’ll bet you have one fine cunny.” He reached between her legs, fiddled there a moment, then withdrew his hand, showing off the wetness on his fingers. While the men around him chuckled with hungry delight, he pushed his fingers into Celia’s mouth. “Suck! Suck em like you’ll suck my cock.”

  Apparently, she pleased the man with her eager mouth, for he pushed her to her knees and pulled out an organ that billowed in size as it hit the cool air. With his hand threading through Celia’s flaxen locks, Theron thrust his organ deep, all the way to her throat, and then fucked her mouth, giving it a hard and furious beating. Celia’s sexual instincts took charge; what she’d learned in the fortress served her well. She spit on the pulsating head when he pulled from her mouth, then dove back in again, letting her hands work the organ and his balls beneath, until Theron shot his seed in great spurts. Some ran down her throat, then, as he withdrew from her mouth, the rest of the viscous substance splattered over her face and dribbled down her neck.

  Theron turned to the others when he finished. “You can have her, use her as you like, but leave her unharmed. She has important business to attend to elsewhere.”

  The men hardly heard his cautions, for so aroused, they lit on the girl as if to tear her apart. Some restraint, though, seemed to rule enough that they took turns rather than rape her all at once. The act was still an awesome sight, for right in front of her mistress’ eyes, the maid was laid wide open on the hard ground. Her legs were held wide apart and her wrist cuffs were tied together, a stake driven through the bindings deep into the earth. One by one they fell on her writhing body, spearing her wet cunt with blades of steely flesh and fucking the delicate hole that Roslyn breached once, and Geoffrey knew with some degree of love. But this was no loving act. The men hooted and howled, reveling in the use of the lithe, young girl. Her breasts were mauled, her nipples twisted until she screamed in agony, and her lips were devoured with wet sucking kisses, until at last each man got down to the task, pummeling the readied cunny until they spilled their seed inside.

  The lusty maid had learned in the company of Drago’s men that sex and pleasure took many forms, although this rape challenged her idea of pleasure. And yet, by the second penetration, Celia could feel the flames of lust rise inside her bound and taken body. Instinctively, her juices flowed and she kissed back, even when repulsed by the mouth of a vulgar brute. Her breasts were crudely taunting, undulating before their eyes. On her lips was a devilish smirk, while her eyes expressed a feral truth, that the maid, not her captors, held sway on that cold ground. Each time Celia’s channel was entered, her muscles grabbed for the erection and bore down, milking from the stalk in almost painful grasps the juices that were intended to demean her. But Celia would not be demeaned when she was like this; she would match them with her sexual prowess and would demand pleasure for herself.

  The last man to top her seemed to catch on to the girl’s scheme. She was no longer a fainting, begging beauty, but a witch who seemed to suck him in as if she might destroy him. Suddenly fearing her, the man spent his seed quickly and withdrew, jumping to his feet.

  “I think the bitch is possessed!” he exclaimed, pointing down at her.

  A ragged, worn out Celia had nearly fainted from exhaustion. But she was hardly possessed; she merely let her mind reflect on the lovely spasms that made her groin twitch and rock gently back and forth. While the men gathered around her, she thought only of Geoffrey, imagining him with her now, his hand resting on her brow and the sound of his tender voice whispering in her ear.

  “I say we string her up and beat the devil from her!”

  “That’s enough!” Theron’s shout cut short the brewing rampage. “I said no harm can come to her. No master will pay for tattered goods, least of all the one we serve. Release her. Bind her if you will, then leave her be.” He stood back, allowing the men to follow his order.

  “I say we take the other, huh?” The man had already started to cut Roslyn down and his hand burrowed into her clothes with plans to squeeze her naked flesh. What lust he’d spent on the vanquished Celia was not enough to appease him.

  “No!” Theron pushed the man away in a strange display of anger. “The captain has plans for her.”

  The comment was enough to settle all four restless men and they returned to their drinking after tying Celia against the tree. This time, she was allowed to sit, and as she struggled to get comfortable in the awkward position, she watched Lady Roslyn being led deeper into the woods. She was too tired to allow her fears to gather again to any great degree, but she knew that her mistress would not pass the night without feeling at least some of the humiliation she suffered herself.

  Theron pushed his bound captive through nasty briars along a rocky path that finally opened into a small clearing where two men, dressed in soldier’s vestments were conferring beside a fire. Embers glowed red; they’d been there for some time; the smell of their evening meal still lingering in the air, along with smoke from their pipes.

  “She’s the one?” a small, wiry but sturdy fellow spoke. He gave Roslyn an incisive look, no judgment, just a studied stare.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then leave her here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Theron let go his tight-fisted grip and she stood before the two men with her hands tied in front of her.

  “That Drago’s collar?” the man asked.

  “It is.”

  “So you’re bound to the man?” He puffed on the pipe and blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth.

  “I’m bound to no man,” Roslyn said.

  The other fellow, obviously the captain’s aide, laughed slyly. “I think she’s a feisty one. The Duke will like her.”

  “The Duke won’t care if she’s feisty or not,” the Captain said.

  “True.”

  “Leave us now, my friend. I have business with this beauty.”

  The younger man rose from where he sat and moved through the woods in the direction of Theron’s camp.

  “Sit,” the Captain ordered.

  Roslyn sat where the younger soldier had been, finding the ground still warm from his body. She stared at the wiry captain while he puffed on his smoke, and he picked at the bowl of food beside him.

  “Hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  “Scared?”

  She nodded.

  He laughed. “You answer my questions, you hear?”

  “Yes, I’m scared,” Roslyn said.

  “So that’s good. A woman has a right to be scared. As for me, I think it makes their loins all the more ready to open. So my men fucked your maid?”

  “They did.”

  “Randy lot, they are.”

  “A brutal lot.”

  “Bet she got her pleasure from it. We hear she’s freshly trained. But you, you’re still dangling from Drago’s hand.”

  Roslyn looked at him with surprise.

  “So’s, how would I know that, yer asking?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Traitors abound these days. Can’t trust your shadow to stick with you.”

  “I trust no one.”

  “You’re a wise girl. The Duke is goi
ng to love you, just watch yer step with his wife. She’s got a dagger where her heart should be.” His eyes inspected her more closely… “Stand up, girl, and turn for me.”

  Roslyn looked back at him puzzled as she moved to her feet.

  “C’mon now, turn around.” The man made a circle with his finger and she started to move. His eyes seemed to penetrate right to her skin as she turned in place, all the while feeling the force of his mounting lust. He wasn’t a bad man, she told herself, just a mercenary, an opportunist. He would take his opportunity.

  What would she care now? her mind reeled on. Drago had already fouled her flesh with his seed. The list of ravagers might be long before she’d own the rights to her body again—if she ever did. Her strange and sudden resignation surprised her. Or maybe she was just too tired to care. The day that had been so promising had grown tedious; even her terror had little influence when she was so weary. If he was going to use her, let him use her.

  Finally, he stood. Yes, he was small, about her height, and silent now, as he moved on her, cupping her head in his hand and pressing her mouth on his. The smell of his smoke was enough to make her choke, but then as she breathed it in, that cloud of fumes had a strangely settling effect. She opened her mouth to his kiss without his insisting, and she felt the pulse of his loins and his cock, as the organ began to throb against her thigh. He captured a breast inside his hand and squeezed just enough for her to feel a sudden thrill pass through her body.

  Just a man, just another man…

  She refused to recoil in anger or judgment; she was much too tired, and yet, her body revived enough to respond to the man’s lovemaking. She expected something brutal, like what she witnessed with Celia, but he wanted nothing but to be satisfied by the warm body of a consenting female. As much as she could under these circumstances, she yielded to his want. When he released her wrists, her hands lightly grazed his clothes. She felt for his organ when he pulled it from his clothes: smooth, hungry, swollen to its erect state, tumescent and pulsing. She dropped to her knees without his demanding it and began to suckle the flesh, her mouth lapping the rod, which curved oddly upward toward the captain’s belly. How would that feel inside her body?

  Some surprising tickle of desire began to breed inside her the more she let her mouth work the organ. She tongued the head, circling it again and again, paying attention to the sounds that came back at her in reply. She wanted to feel him erupt inside her mouth, and so worked zealously to that end, soon so embroiled in the act that she thought of nothing but giving this man pleasure. Though he held her head in his hand, she needed no guidance, no encouragement but what she provided on her own. Reasons escaped her. The mystery behind her slavish service, she’d never comprehend, and she did not care. This was what she wanted for this beastly moment, and at least for now, the captain wanted no more than what she gave him. She was as good as any tavern whore. Untried. Untrained. But she knew what a man needed and that was all he cared about.

  Roslyn began to pump the captain’s organ with her hand as she felt the crisis in him rise. From her sucking mouth to her firm hand, back and forth from one to the next, she gave until she felt a sudden shift, an brief moment when time stopped. When that intangible timepiece began to tick again, the captain’s cock erupted on her face. She opened her mouth to receive her first taste of male spunk, and found herself crying and jubilant at the same time. What a smell came from the strange substance! What an odd taste! Sweet and earthy on her tongue, though it stuck to her mouth and lips and her blushing cheeks. She wanted to wipe it off—and would when she had the chance. But for the moment, she let the man take pleasure in the look of her face as it glistened in the warm firelight.

  The captain looked down on her, his face not smiling, although his expression contained no mockery or malice, his eyes no ruthless zeal. He took his finger and swiped it though the drying spunk and fed it to her lips. She licked it, the act unconscious, as perhaps the entire incident had been. When it was over, the incident seemed very much like a dream; if she could only lie down now and sleep, perhaps the morning would bring something better to dwell on.

  Chapter Nine

  An Example To My People

  For three nights, the party traveled on their way to an unknown destination. The roads were rough, the food foul, and the brutish company on the journey quick to humiliate the two beauties. Roslyn was to learn that the marauders were indeed mercenaries, in league only to earn coin from some unknown employer. She had been the prize, plucked with great deliberation, while Celia was taken to appease the men’s need for a woman’s cunt.

  For many days, the band of men had lain in wait for Roslyn to show herself outside Drago’s fortress, for it would have been impossible to make the capture by breaching the fortified barrier. With the object of their search innocently picnicking in a meadow, the task of throwing off the two young bodyguards had been almost too easy. The Lady’s capture became a simple task. Once they brought her to the man who hired them—the captain—they followed the party of soldiers for their reward. Their lust was sated by the pretty maid, but what they wanted most was the barter, the coin, their reward in gold. The brutes would stick with the party until they reached the man who would pay the handsome bounty.

  For three nights they traveled. Celia was taken again, although not as one might have expected of sex-hungry men. One man was still convinced that she was possessed and another who took those fears to heart was cautious fucking the strange girl. Celia was strange to them only because she refused to cower like a chaste maid, because she had a sexual fervor they’d seen only in tavern tarts much older than this young thing.

  “Is it so very easy for you?” Roslyn inquired of her when they were alone together.

  “I have let principle slide,” Celia answered. “My purity has been taken from me, why not welcome what comes to me, what pleasure it provides, rather than tremble and tear myself apart over my slackened morals?”

  Perhaps Celia had a good head about her, thinking this rationally. Roslyn had only to remember how the girl once cried so mournfully of her fate and it was she, her mistress, counseling her to accept the conditions under which they now lived. Celia had taken this advice to heart and expanded its premise far beyond Roslyn’s understanding.

  “I can only hope that you’ll see your Geoffrey again,” Roslyn, sighed.

  “Yes,” Celia said quietly, blanketing herself in thoughts of her young man.

  ***

  The company of travelers arrived at night when it appeared that no one in the castle was awake and the thick walls of grey stone felt like a soulless tomb. Roslyn and her maid could hardly hold their heads aright; their eyes were heavy; their limbs weak from the long day of travel. Theron had pushed them relentlessly on behalf of an anxious captain, who’d made promises to the powerful Duke Wilhem. Moods were fitful and dreary and the imposing castle’s brooding nighttime facade did little to lift the spirits of the spiritless party.

  While the bandits groused among themselves, the two women were hustled into the castle, taken immediately to a cell-like room where they were shoved inside and the door slammed shut and locked. A small slit of light high above was the only illumination, letting the night peek in with just a faint glimmer of intermittent moonlight. When the two huddled on the floor, there was no light at all, and that blackness closed in around them like a coffin. Mercifully, sleep came to them quickly.

  Hours later, jerked from sleep, Roslyn and Celia were hustled from their tiny cell and led down a long corridor that opened onto an opulent great hall. What had seemed like another hell on earth by night, became a slice of heaven in day’s light. Even Roslyn’s father’s house could not compare to this grand one, where the finery around them looked more lavish than any Roslyn had seen. Tapestries, intricately carved furniture, gilded statues of powerful warriors and nude females lent an air of abundance and warmth to granite walls that would otherwise have been forbiddingly cold. A glaring light from the clerestory windows st
reamed into the fancy hall, blinding the pair for a moment, until their wondering eyes finally lighted on a richly dressed nobleman who welcomed them with a pleased bow. So disheveled and dirty from the grueling trip, the two young women felt like peasants in their road-weary clothes—Celia dressed in nothing but a shift the men took from one of the females that accompanied the troupe.

  “Ah, at last! The daughter of Ledo, niece of Lord Draydon, property of the great general Drago.” The fine man held out his hand for Roslyn, who bowed as she’d been taught when in the presence of a nobleman like this one certainly was.

  She then looked up, staring in wonder at a man of average build, his face as simple as a commoner’s. At first glance, he seemed like little more than a dressed-up peasant, but he had an air of confidence that revealed his nobility. And that ‘simple’ face seemed capable of transforming on a whim with every nuanced word. Though he seemed to greet her with kindness, he did little to disguise the triumph in his voice.

  “It would seem the victory goes to me at last,” he said, proudly revealing himself.

  “So it would seem,” Roslyn returned cautiously. She stepped forward while Celia remained behind her. Oddly, the girl could take on a pack of sex-hungry brutes but not this lone gentleman.

  “Watch out for him, milady,” the girl had whispered in Roslyn’s ear.

  The man appraised her critically, his eyes moving from her dirt-smudged dress to her tattered slippers. Embarrassed by her filthy attire, Roslyn blushed.

  “I should say, we need to find the Lady Roslyn some new clothes to wear,” he said, but to no one in particular.

  Although Roslyn was aware that there were others in the room looking on at the scene, she kept her attention focused on the man before her, whom she surmised to be Duke Wilhem. “Sir,” she spoke boldly, “I require an explanation before anything else trespasses.”

  “Explanation?” He looked amused. “I should think the facts are clear. I’ve absconded with Lord Draydon’s prize jewel. He should have guarded you with greater care. But you need not worry now, you’re safe from that despicable man.”