Damsel

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Oh, how the icy freeze melted now! Her blood ran hot in remembrance of his arrogance, his conceit, the self-satisfied smirk that plagued her in the past. Even her loins burst with new life that this terror of a man could so easily evoke. How did he have such power over her when she hated him with a hardened heart! She drilled the man with a fuming stare.

  “You should be grateful that I have come to your rescue, I and your friend Cyrus.”

  She let her guard down briefly at the mention of the black man’s name, then came back brusquely:

  “Cyrus betrayed me; how can you call that rescue when his duplicity started this wretched business?”

  “So, you’d rather be in the hands of a sworn enemy and his crazy wife, than suffer with me?”

  “Does it matter whose hands I’m in if I’m not free to be the noble woman I was born to be?”

  “Freedom comes in many forms.”

  “Well, I cannot be free when I’m under the authority of the man who killed my father?”

  The accusation took Drago by surprise. “And who says that?”

  “Duke Wilhem.”

  “As if the Duke would know?” He laughed sourly.

  “I thought my Uncle was an honorable man, but I discovered that to be a lie. I have no reason to think better of you, General Drago.”

  The warmth in Drago’s expression disappeared, as if carried away on the gust of cold air that ripped through the camp. “You believe this true? That I would kill a man I honored, a man I served and loved?”

  Surprised, even shaken by his unexpected sincerity, she had no response.

  “You believe that true?” he pressed.

  She steeled herself against the onslaught of feelings that threatened her resolve. “I have no proof otherwise,” she came back, voice quivering but firm.

  “You will persist in this?” Drago tried again.

  “Til the day I die!” she vowed. Her heart was beating so hard and hotly, her head throbbing in pain, that she felt her legs about to collapse beneath her—Oh! She could not let that happen!

  “You are a fool,” Drago said.

  “Perhaps so. But I know what’s in my heart.”

  “Do you?” he wondered critically. “If you’re lucky, Lady Roslyn, when you learn the truth, I might forgive you this wrong-headed stubbornness. You can only hope.” He turned to his aide. “Put them back in their cages. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

  She stood stunned

  “No! Please don’t put me back in that prison!” she begged.

  But he turned on her coldly, letting the guard drag her from the scene and force her back into the cage.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Unleashed Again

  Roslyn did not see General Drago again until many days later when they were back in his fortress, and she had been returned to the chamber she previously occupied. Again, however, the door was locked and her freedom to come and go restricted, dictated by the whims of those who held the key.

  On the second day inside the stronghold, a wooden tub was brought to her room and filled with steaming water. Roslyn was allowed to wash the stench and dirt from her body. When she finished and was thoroughly dried, the woman attending to her bathing inspected the nose ring, and finding that it had not been welded closed was able to twist the thing enough to finally thread it through her nostrils.

  Ah! Such relief!

  Amazing how this simple act lifted a burden that lay heavily on her spirit; for the first time in many months, she had something to rejoice.

  “About the nether ring?” she asked, in hope.

  “No, milady. I believe the master likes this one as it is.” The woman then fished through the pockets of her skirt and found a collar, much like the one she previously wore at Dragon-Horn. This one fit like that previous collar, although it seemed to rest more comfortably there than the one before, and it was certainly far less odious than the awful nose ring. The servant brought her clothes to wear, a dress for day, a shift and robe for nighttime. While it felt human to have clean clothes that fit her, it mattered little to Roslyn how she dressed; she remained captive in her high perch like a gilded bird, still caged and unable to fly.

  Several days passed with Roslyn’s heart somewhat lightened at the prospect of a more pleasant life at Dragon-Horn. Certainly this would be better than the fate she suffered at the hands of the Duke and his wife. Her mind was sometimes filled with curious imaginings, and her dreams with strange erotic musings about her master. Still, after long hours alone—her only company being the servant who brought her food—she finally succumbed to the same heaviness that had taken over her spirit in those last days in the Duke’s house. Did Drago want her just to keep her imprisoned in this inhospitable chamber? What kind of life was that?

  Late in the evening about the fourth day, Roslyn heard a key twist in the lock that kept her captive in the room, and moments later one of the servants appeared. Secretly, she hoped that Drago would stalk into her small world and bring it back to life, but the visitor was only a scullery maid.

  “Come with me, dearie,” the hunched old woman said.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Not advised to tell,” the woman murmured, then her bony old hand reached for Roslyn’s, and as if she had the strength to do so, she lifted her to her feet. Moving slowly through the fortress, through corridors unfamiliar to Roslyn, they finally stopped at a thick oak door, an important door by the looks of it.

  The old woman knocked, and after hearing a voice from inside reply, she opened the latch and without stepping inside, let door swing on its hinge.

  “Here for you, General,” she said in her murmuring tones, then without a proper dismissal, she shuffled away.

  Roslyn waited, her heart thundering with excitement and fear… she loathed this man, she must; it was her duty to defy a man who would so callously murder her parents and use her for his own ends.

  “Come in!” The man was bold and welcoming this time, turning directly toward the reluctant lady. As she finally approached, his visage lightened. “Ah! Much better,” he commented on her appearance. “How lovely you are when you are once again the noble Lady.”

  She bowed simply, keeping a grim face. Drago moved to her, his hand reaching out to caress her cheek. Then, with little warning, his lips descended to hers, which despite her opinion of the man, naturally lifted in response. While the kiss was quick, his lips did linger on hers feeling the sweet moisture there, then he backed off enough for her to breathe more easily. Every second in this man’s presence proved perilous; his was a power that stripped away her resolve. He made her weak, disloyal, even ashamed of her lack of self-restraint.

  “You have little idea how I prized you, how much I suffered at your loss,” he said.

  “I don’t understand how that could be when you knew so little about who I am.”

  “I know much more than you think, milady. There were nights when you were much younger, when I sat with your father around a fire and he spoke of his only child.”

  “You did that?”

  “Yes, on several occasions.”

  “How then could you betray him?” Tears were forming in her eyes.

  He shook his head, despaired. “How long will you believe that lie?”

  “I experienced my Uncle’s treachery first hand. I know he was not the man I believed him to be. I have little doubt that he was responsible for my father’s death. And you? Why else would he give me to you?”

  “You have no proof of this, but your sorry mind’s fitful assumptions.”

  “I need no further proof. Can you prove that you were not part of my father’s murder?”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “Then I cannot give myself to you. Take what you will, that is all you will get.”

  The man cocked his head, surveying the proud young woman as if to know her thoughts more clearly. But then he gave up and backed away, with the softness in his expression turning to stone.

  “We
ll then, milady, we will get on with our business. Remove your clothes and climb up on the bed.”

  Roslyn shivered at that command, with her body warming and her hard heart feeling a dazzling lust leap at her. Though she dare not give away her feelings, she was wiser now. No matter how she felt about the man, no matter what the conflict within her, women in her position cannot afford to disobey such an order; and so shaking visibly, she moved toward the large oak bed. The massive piece had a canopy high above and was shrouded in a cloud of curtains. Although she stood where Drago could see her, he had turned his back on her and was removing his own clothes.

  Shucking the dress from her shoulders, it fell to the ground, then she doffed her under things, all the while feeling her anxiety soar. Poking at the curtains, she found entrance to the bed and slid beneath the bedcovers, where she waited in silence, while feeling the pulse of Drago’s erection already impaling her body with its merciless intentions.

  Minutes past before he appeared inside the curtains. After ripping back the bedclothes to unveil Roslyn’s quaking form, he wasted little time with further pleasantries. Climbing in with her, he grabbed her flesh in his hands, his organ hardening almost instantly. Drago’s air of authority was too much for her, his kisses too passionate, his need too alarming. His mouth drove on her so forcefully that she could do nothing but kiss him back, and part her legs and let her arms go round his muscled chest. Within seconds, her rapacious lust stripped away her righteous loathing and took charge with all previous vows forgotten. With no fair warning, she’d been delivered up to his demands by her own crude needs, and the man she deigned to shun had won her unbridled consent.

  When his tumescent organ impaled her, she let her face fall into his chest where she drank in the essence of him, and that earthiness she remembered so fondly. He filled her full, so that as he pumped his cock in her quim, her inner being grabbed for him and her muscles held on, milking the vibrant flesh. On holding her nipple between his fingers and bearing down, he brought out a luxurious gasp of pain; she was hardly hurt, but rendered helpless in the face of that beautiful sensation. Likewise, he punished her bottom, his hand smacking down hard on one cheek until it was bristling hot and she wrestled with him fitfully, only to be contained by his magnificent body. Again and again, his methods, his determination, his use of pain and pleasure made her sexual body crackle with fire.

  Drago’s large organ continued moving in and out, with his rhythm gaining on her and taking over, while the action of their bodies—her breasts rubbing against his chest, her lips on his, mouths wide open, loins fused tight—became so fervently heated that she felt the climax start to tickle her within and out. Deep, deep in that wet valley the sensations rose like the approaching thunder of an enormous storm.

  Surrender came to her so easily; she understood this. But why with this man! Why! Her heart cried out.

  “Ohmilord!” she gasped unconsciously, when her mouth was free enough of his to speak.

  He used her hard, thrusting into her quim with merciless zeal, holding on to her ass with a forceful grip. And yet, given her amazing compliance and the boisterous lust she unleashed on him, the copulation became more than simply another hard screw. This was not the taking Drago envisioned, nor the hard use Roslyn expected. Something bigger surfaced as she threw her head back and climaxed with a strength that set off his powerful finish. For just a moment they were lifted beyond themselves where they could see some greater picture of their life—the way it might be. They held that image for one glorious moment, but then it vanished and the raunchy, self-absorbed spasms moved through them both, until they finally fell away, their bodies withdrawing in exhaustion.

  “You ravish me, girl,” Drago was the first to speak after a long interval of silence where all they heard was the sound of their own breath.

  “This is mine to do,” she replied, with a heavy degree of resignation.

  He turned over and pulled her to him, though she instantly recoiled. His brows narrowed with worry. “Did your heart not just testify to the truth in you?” he asked.

  She gazed at him confused, but just for a moment. “No. That was not it. If I am passionate with a man, that is because I have been trained to be. It has been months since I was with you. Much has happened. Surely, you know that. I give you nothing that I wouldn’t offer any man who uses this vessel.”

  Drago knew this was a lie, but he would not fight her.

  “Ah, then, I stand corrected.”

  He pulled from her and lay back, saying:

  “Remove yourself and return to your chambers. I’m done with you for the night. You’ll find Renny outside waiting. Have her send me the girl Diana—the new kitchen maid—so I’ll have a bedmate to sleep with.”

  The suddenness of this turn of events left Roslyn speechless for a moment. A betraying part of her wanted to take back that ugly vow she’s just confirmed, but she resisted, finally doing as he asked, replying, “Yes, milord,” as she moved off the bed and gathered her clothes.

  Roslyn remembered Diana only as a lovely young lass, much like her Celia. But suddenly, the innocent maid had become an adversary, and try as Roslyn would to stop her jealous feelings, they plagued her mind and grabbed viciously at her heart.

  ***

  In the days that followed, Drago took Roslyn again, several times; the same savage results always followed. Each time, when her spent body should have softened her mind, Drago expected that she would finally relent and forget the foolish idea that he’d killed her parents. But she clung tightly to that belief, almost afraid to think otherwise.

  Between the nights of sexual activity, Drago occasionally allowed himself the pleasure of harassing the Lady Roslyn. She sometimes ate with him while he played the gracious host and she the respectful guest. Twice they endured a meal with nothing but clipped formal conversations. But Drago so despised the artifice Roslyn insisted on that for their third dinner together, he stopped her as she was about to take her seat at the table.

  “No,” he said.

  “No?”

  “No, you’ll eat on the floor.”

  He noted her response, seeing her eyes widen in disbelief.

  “But y-you can’t…”

  He interrupted before she could finish. “Oh, I can do whatever I please with you. You play the whore, I’ll play my game as master. Now on your knees.” He watched her stunned expression turn flustered. “I said now!” he demanded. “Celia, bring me a switch!”

  Celia was now one of the kitchen maids and Roslyn rarely saw her. She was quite compliant, even given the current situation. She must herself be suffering some punishment for the girl’s skirt had been tucked into the waist of her dress at the rear, and when she arrived at the master’s side with the switch in hand, he turned her ass toward him to inspect the fresh wounds. Roslyn could see that she’d been punished recently and the lady watched as Drago ran his hand along the maid’s arse, then as his fingers slipped down the cleft, lightly teasing her.

  “I see these still look raw.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “And I shall punish you again this way, if you fail me again?” he asked.

  “Yes, milord. I am sorry that I balked.” She hung her head.

  “You’ll make your backdoor ready for me, won’t you girl?” he went on.

  “Of course, milord. I am always ready to do your bidding.”

  Accepting the switch, he then gave Celia’s arse a stinging smack and sent her off.

  “The girl enjoys sex. I suppose you know that. Although I’ve let Geoffrey enjoy her return, she has given me several nights of pleasure. I think tonight will be another night.”

  “She’s yours to use,” Roslyn conceded, not knowing what else to say, though her face was flushed and her heart burned bitterly.

  “Just as you are mine to punish,” Drago said. “I thought I ordered you to the floor.”

  Hearing that, Roslyn dropped to her knees immediately, crushing her kneecaps on the stone.


  “Head down!” he demanded.

  Her head went down, her forehead touching the floor.

  “Raise that arse! And spread your knees.”

  So she did, while her body felt like jelly, shaking almost uncontrollably.

  Arse high, cheeks parted, Drago laid into her with the thin switch. The strikes cut her deeply, drove into her cleft and about the plump flesh of her bottom, until she squirmed and her wails were no meager whimpers. When he finished, he placed the switch beside him and ordered up his dinner. Meanwhile, Roslyn remained so poised, forehead on the floor, her red ass high, the draft air in the dining room tickling her privates. Drago finished his meal, leaving a few healthy scraps that he scraped on to the floor.

  “Eat!”

  He watched from above to see what Roslyn would do, and when she hesitated, he spoke again: “You have some problem with the food I have offered you, fair lady?”

  “Milord, I cannot eat like this!”

  “Oh, surely you can.”

  “But I can’t!”

  “Then I’ll wait until you can.” He sat back, legs stretched out before him, his ankles crossed. He looked as though he would wait all night.

  Roslyn turned her head to the side, peering up with her despondent face.

  “Lick it clean,” he said. “You can do it. Slaves do these things; they obey their masters. Or don’t you remember that?”

  “I do, sir, but anything but this.”

  “Oh, you’re foolish to make that vow, girl. Besides, I want you to eat what I have given you, Lady Roslyn. Or would you rather I switch your ass again to inspire your obedience?”

  “May I take the switching instead?” she asked.

  “I make no bargains. You will eat my food if we both have to stay a fortnight.”

  “You are an evil man!”

  To that, he shook his head, giving her a self-satisfied grin.

  Roslyn could see no way out of this, for as determined as she was not to eat the filthy food, Drago seemed twice as determined that she would.

  Thus, with a fuming sigh, she turned her attention to the task, carefully picking up bits of meat and bread and cheese with her teeth, trying desperately not to gag. She chewed, but only briefly, and swallowed some pieces whole. Finally, when she finished, she looked up hoping that the man was finally satisfied.