Crimson's Captivation (4 page)

Viktor grabbed the reins of his horse and
approached the elder woman. “When? My lady, when did you see her
last?” he demanded as he locked eyes with the elder woman.

The elder woman examined Viktor before she
spoke. “She was to travel to the outskirts of Karlberg palace to
watch the soldiers head to Denmark. This was four afternoons ago I
think. She rode that steed you have tethered. My husband noticed
the stable empty the last three nights.”

Viktor grabbed the elder woman’s shoulders.
The woman was old but strong and easily held her ground. “Did she
say which port?” he demanded.

The elder woman pulled away, obviously
annoyed at his manhandling and walked back toward her home. Viktor
closed the distance and walked beside her. “My apologies, my lady,
my desire gets the best of me at times. Please, did she say which
port?”

“No, my lord. Only that she was heading in
the direction of the palace. Odd, though, she left on the south
path. I suspect she was leaving to meet a lover. You perhaps?”

“That is where I found her horse, near the
willows on the banks of the lake. I shall start my search
there.”

The elder woman entered her home, moments
later she returned with a loaf of bread and two Akero apples. “Here
my lord, go and find your love. It’s the romantics who die for the
poets and the poets light a fire in us all with their words.” She
refused his payment of krona, appeared to grow tired of the
conversation and closed the door in Viktor’s face.

Viktor stored the food in his pouch, mounted
his steed and galloped off toward the willows, toward their secret
hiding place.

The elder woman watched the young noble leave
from the small window of her house. She secretly wished him well;
she knew his love, having been missing for days, would prove
difficult to find. She also knew that questions unanswered, quests
incomplete, left a breach in ones soul. The breach would slowly
leak until the man had been drained and left as an empty shell of
himself.

Viktor rode his steed hard for two hours and
reached the willows just before dusk. He examined the area and
screamed out Crimson’s name until he was hoarse. There was no
response; only a stem of a Twinflower near their special tree
seemed worth noting. He picked up the stem and twirled it in his
fingers while he followed a trail of wilted pedals that led to the
shores of the lake.

The sky above expanded into darkness and
became the color of sweet molasses but there was nothing sweet
about this night. The campfire flickered and cast shadows, all
manner of evil seemed to suddenly appear then disappear among the
draping branches of the willows. With weapons at the ready, he
matted the grass under the willow, placed a layer of animal hides,
and snuggled in. He lay there, staring at the twinkling curtain
above in the night sky. He tried to fall asleep in the saccharine
reminisce of his love, Crimson. Sleep came slowly, finding it
difficult to unravel the knots of an anxious lover.

Chapter III

~ Awakening ~

Heavy doors closed behind Crimson, and she
could feel the intense humidity in the bathing room soak her body.
Her stockings and garters were removed, and then her blindfold was
untied, and allowed to fall to the floor.

She studied the room and immediately noted
the bathing pool in the middle. The room was large, the fireplace
on the near wall was fronted with cauldrons of steaming hot water,
and the room was full of chambermaids and caretakers. The red-hot
embers of the wood filled the room with a soft glow of light; the
smell of burning oak and poplar mixed with jasmine and rose oil.
Wisps of steam sat on the surface of the large bathing pool, where
three other captives were cuffed and secured to metal fasteners in
the ceiling.

The two guards released Crimson’s elbows and
the chambermaids took over their charge. They led her into the knee
high water. The water’s warmth felt good on Crimson’s soft skin.
Her mind was still recalling the pulsation and fluttering of her
body, the thunderbolts that struck every nerve and the sweet
seduction of her own passions. Her legs were heavy, awkward, and
weak under the burden of the recollection. Every touch by foreign
hands seemed purposeful, sensual, and they intensified the
lingering afterglow.

The chambermaids lifted her right arm and her
wrist was placed into a leather cuff that hung from the ceiling.
Her left arm was tethered to her waist with the inside of her wrist
turned out. The other chambermaids tended to their captives.

The rectangle pool was anchored on the
corners by marble statues of naked women and men, all the statues
had open mouths as if they were in a silent chorus and their marble
bodies glistened from the moisture in the air.

To her left, Crimson saw a beautiful woman,
her right arm stretched to the ceiling. A chambermaid was bathing
her. The chambermaid sponged the hot water over the captive's black
hair. Streams of water snaked its way down her bronze colored face,
over her collarbone and dripped from her erect nipples into the
pool below. The cast of light from the fireplace made the vision
almost dreamlike, made the dark skinned woman even more beautiful
as light danced off the organic softness of her skin and reflected
in prism.

Crimson surmised they were about the same
age. “My name is Crimson,” she said as she surveyed the other
captives in the room.

The stranger turned, her caramel eyes met
Crimson’s. “I’m Sena. We can talk but softly. We do not want to
draw attention.”

Across from the two women were two men, each
clasped in a leather cuff that hung from the ceiling. Both were
young, and the one opposite Crimson was handsome. She liked his
blonde hair and full pink lips. His young body was lean and
muscular. Even in the dimness, she could see ripples of muscle
across his torso. He was excited. His cock was rigid and pulsing
with every heartbeat. How could he not be? Crimson and Sena were
completely naked, and the chambermaids were dressed in a long
cotton blouse, the water wicked its way into the fabric and it
clung to the women’s bodies, highlighting the roundness of their
breasts and butts. They were in a sense moving statuettes.
Everything in the room was soft and sensual except for the nipples
of the women and the members of the men. Those body parts stood
proud and communicated the body’s quiet desire. Linked what they
saw in each other.

All of the captives in the room were divine.
They were the reason chisels were taken to marble, why artisans
felt compelled to toil for days, weeks or years to create something
that would last forever.

Crimson derived a great amount of pleasure in
watching the young man in front of her being bathed. She found
devilish delight as she watched him struggle with the attention—the
warmth of the water and the nomadic hands of his chambermaid. The
chambermaid pressed her body against the captive as she washed his
neck and shoulders, she then moved to his chest. She knelt to his
side, dragged the sponge over his washboard stomach, and cleansed
his erect member and scrota.

The young man struggled against the cuff. He
couldn’t take the attention. His pelvis began thrusting into an
invisible partner. The chambermaid didn’t stop, she ran her wet
hands along his erect cock, and he thrust himself through her
fingers. Then his body shuddered and he ejaculated. His knees gave
way and his body fell limp and heavy from the cuff above. His
ejaculation, his inability to control himself, displeased the
chambermaid and she shook her head back and forth in
disappointment. She stood and motioned for the male caretaker. The
caretaker removed the captive’s wrist from its cuff and forcefully
escorted the young man from the room.

“What will happen to him?” Crimson asked in
the direction of Sena.

Sena parsed her lips, forcing a
shhhh
sound as she exhaled, making it obvious that discussions were not
allowed, that they should whisper. Sena whispered back to Crimson,
“The men are only allowed to orgasm at the direction of their
countess, or their keeper. He will most likely be muted and placed
in serfdom to her court.”

Sena motioned with a nod of her head to the
man in front of her. “This one has done well. He’s been here for at
least an hour and has a remarkable level of self-control. He will
be a prized possession by the countess that acquired him.”

Sena leaned her naked body toward Crimson.
The cuff pulled taut on her wrist and creaked under her weight.
“Notice the power of his thighs, the length of his member? He will
do well. His passion knows no limit, and will weaken the knees of
many women. He will leave them tingling with an exploding warmth
that dissolves away the real world. The other one, the young boy,
is cute and if he’s lucky, he will become the play thing of a
countess’s daughter.”

Crimson eyed the young man in front of Sena;
he was dark and tall, lean at the waist, his broad shoulders
completed the shape of an imagined “v”. Everything about his body
paled in comparison to his thick thighs and his long, rigid member.
He didn’t say a word. He just looked straight ahead. Her thoughts
went back to the young boy. “What if he’s, the young boy I
mean—what if he is not lucky?”

Sena turned her attention back to the man in
front of her and responded under her breath. “He will become a
eunuch. Sad though, he’s young and it will change him forever. It’s
not our concern. His path was set the moment he lost control.”

Crimson felt sorry for the young man and
wondered.
Does desire have the power to mislead its very owner?
He only did what came natural, how could he be faulted for
that?
Should I fault myself for what I just did? What I just
felt?

Crimson’s eyes traveled back to the young man
in front of Sena. His chambermaid was now stroking him, the water
from the sponge formed rivulets that streamed down his thighs. She
rinsed him, and then dipped her hands into the nearby bowl of rose
oil. She guided her silky-smooth hands along his butt and thighs
and his body shined in the firelight. She massaged the length of
his shaft to the tip, rotated the grip of her fingers and slid back
down its base. The captive closed his eyes.

Crimson wanted to peak under his eyelids to
see to where he was escaping. Wondered if it was the same silken
lushness of the world she visited when the stud was behind her.
Just the thought made her knees weak.

Crimson’s chambermaid began washing her. The
warm scented water saturated her hair, cascaded down her back and
swept over her buttocks. Her body tingled, melted and grew even
heavier in the cuff above her. The room was quiet. The only sounds
were the cleansing drops of water landing on the pool's surface and
the sloshing of the chambermaids as they moved around their
charges. Each water drop casted ghostly echoes in the room. The
sounds were soothing.

Crimson wasn’t sure if she should ask, but
wanted to know. “Sena, who is Kieran?”

Sena knew why she asked the question but
played coy. “Why do you ask?”

Crimson found her own bashfulness odd; she
had just been pleased in front of a crowd and admitted to herself
that she enjoyed it immensely, yet a single question in the
confines of this room leashed and dragged an innocent emotion to
the surface. She was sure the others saw her blush. “I’m not sure,
there is just something about him, his presence subdues me and my
world just drifts away.”

Sena smiled. “Then this will only add to his
allure. He’s a tracker.”

“A tracker?”

“Yes, he tracks royalty to introduce as
captives to the trade. He tracked you, and the young boy who was
escorted out. Kieran has lived for hundreds of years. He knows the
history of our nations, the lineage of our bloodlines not from
history books or family tales, but from experience. You know this
though. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors in the tea rooms and the
parlors of your court.”

Crimson repeated under her voice, “A hundred
years.” She then whispered, “Am I wrong? Is there a power about
him?”

“Power? Yes, Kieran is a dagger to the heart.
An illusion that consumes.”

“I thought they, the rumors and tales among
the sips of tea, were just women’s tales, risqué stories to liven
the tea party. Sena, how do you know this? How do you know of
Kieran?”

“I’ve been on this journey before, before the
markings.”

“Markings? What do you mean …?”

The door to the room burst open and a boorish
older man surrounded by an entourage of servants stepped over the
threshold. His eyes were the color of coal, his protuberant belly
jutted out from his bronze breastplate and he stunk of
self-importance. The chambermaids reacted by cowing to the man.
Sena looked away to the far wall.

Crimson, on the other hand, stood proud and
she found the man detestable. She instantly knew he was
extortionate and would reach for her body with grabby hands when
the time came. This man was no lover. He was arrogant,
presumptuous, and apathetic to the needs of a woman. He was a
self-glorifier. The only thing she liked of the man was the blue
sash hanging over his right shoulder and the red cuffs of his coat.
“At least he has a sense of style,” she quietly admitted to
herself.

The man was all smiles at first, and then he
frowned. “Where is the young prince?” the man commanded to everyone
in the room.

Kieran stepped into room and clasped the
man’s elbow. He leaned toward the man and whispered something that
brought a nod of understanding from the man.

The man cast his arms wide from his body, as
if he were directing dominion over the souls in the room, “Very
well, Kieran, brand the young prince and prepare him for the
journey, he may be trainable yet. Ah, there she is,” he said as he
focused on Crimson, ran his eyes over her body.