The Collector (11 page)

Heather heard a creak of wood. The door slowly opened, and the room was invaded with a wide beam of light, which stung her gloom adjusted eyes.

Paul came in, his cloak wrapped around his naked form, his hood up. Without acknowledging his prisoner, he used the candle he held to ignite the others. Light swept through the cellar and the aroma of warming beeswax pervaded the atmosphere. Only then did he turn to Heather. Paul approached in two swift strides. Grasping hold of her stubby ginger pony tail, he dragged her towards the table, causing her bare feet to stumble against the rough stone floor.

‘Kneel.’ He wasn’t Paul in here, her friend, her confident and occasional lover. He was her Lord and Master, and Heather was quick to obey as her knees hit the ground.

He grabbed her chin and jerked her head up. ‘You were caught pleasuring yourself girl. That’s a sin. Punishment, severe punishment is required. Yes?’

‘Yes my Lord.’ Heather lowered her eyes respectfully, but her nipples hardened further and her pussy pulsated as her fantasy stretched out before her.

He undid her wrists and yanked the tunic over her head. Already cold, Heather’s teeth began to chatter as her naked flesh lost its only layer of protection. Paul picked a long rough rope from the box beneath the table. ‘Bend.’

Standing briefly before placing her hands onto her knees, the inevitable lash forced a scream from her lips. Paul aimed and struck again and again, until her small pale arse was hot and red, and tears streaked down her small face.

Heather’s legs felt unsteady as she rose. The blood that had rushed to her head, eased back through her body. She tensed as he began to tease the end of the rope against her teats. Despite the beating she’d just endured, Heather couldn’t prevent the moan of lust that escaped her lips as he toyed with her tits.

She regretted her lapse in concentration straight away as he pulled a dirty cloth from his pocket and stuffed it firmly between her teeth. As Heather acclimatised herself to the lack of movement in her jaw, Paul carefully began to loop the long rope around her.

Circling one globe, then crossing the ropes and encircling the other, Paul harnessed her chest swiftly and effectively. Pulling the two loose ends around her back, he ran them down and then up between her legs, using them to ease apart her nether lips, before tucking the long ends up through her breast’s undersides. Heather shifted uncomfortably, thankful that the ropes weren’t as tight in reality as her imagination had made them.

As if sensing her relief, Paul jerked the two ends of rope, making the harness immediately body-hugging. Heather gasped into her gag as the prickly hemp dug into her skin. ‘Any infraction and I will pull them even tighter. Yes?’

Unable to reply vocally, Heather inclined her head, aware that the tears which had dried onto her face were threatening again.
Paul dropped the rope and stood back to admire his work. Dejected, humiliated, delicious. Heather cowered before him. He felt power course through his body. Pushing his captive back against the far wall to where, hundreds of years before, metal hooks had been placed high on the walls to hang cured wild fowl before it was prepared for the Lord’s table, Paul tied thick cord around each of Heather’s wrists. Elongating her arms high above her head, he attached her wrists to conveniently spaced hooks, forcing her to stand on her tip-toes, stretching every muscle in her legs, back and arms.
So far Paul had followed Heather’s instructions to the letter, and was making her submissive fantasy a living and wonderfully painful reality. Now though, things were more uncertain. Her instructions had been simple; punishment, humiliation, bondage and beating. A total contrast to the normal behaviour of a person who was usually so sure of herself, so much in control. Now, having already received all those things, Heather’s brain teamed with a multitude of possibilities as she pondered what her Lord would do next.
Paul knew precisely what he wanted to do to this fascinating creature. He wanted to see just how much this woman could take. He picked up a candle from the table and, holding it briefly in front of her wide blinking eyes, began to tease the orange flame inches away from her chest.
Mindful of the possibility of, not just her rope harness, but her skin burning, Heather wriggled, attempting to back into the solid wall behind her. Paul laughed and moved the heat closer still so that the shadows of flickering warmth danced across her imprisoned flesh.
As he watched, her right nipple began to pucker in the intense heat, and sweat broke out on her neck and chest. Paul moved the candle to the other breast, causing Heather to bite down hard into her gag, her frightened eyes never daring to stray from the spluttering wick.
Paul lowered himself to his knees and angled Heather’s legs as wide apart as her stretched limbs could go. Then, using the candle light as a guide, he began to examine the folds of her shaved pussy with his thick fingers.
Heather’s moans, caused by both his touch and her discomfort, were stifled by her material restraint. Every stretched muscle across her body stiffened, as her Lord focused the heat onto her triangle.
Paul, keeping the flame as close as possible to her cunt, began to blow softly against her vulnerable flesh. Heather leapt within her bonds as, for a fraction of a second his soft breath brushed the flame onto her skin. Paul smiled beneath the shadow of his cloak as he did it again, and then again, each time making the flame glance her skin for a little longer, until her sweet mound showed the first signs of being singed and Heathers jerking body made his task impossible.
‘I never said you could move!’ Paul’s voice boomed out, echoing around the room. He yanked her rope harness hard, causing Heather to dribble around her cloth muzzle as it bit against her supple flesh.
Struggling to keep still, the throbbing in her arms increased, as she dangled before him. It was then, as he moved, that Paul’s hard cock peeked invitingly out of the dark folds of material. Heather looked at it hungrily, and felt her juice leak down her still outstretched legs, soaking the ropes and her thighs. Paul had gone far beyond the realms of her fantasy already, and her body, although shocked, sore, and aching in pain, felt hopelessly, wonderfully, turned on by its total submission and his unquestioning control.
Paul saw the thin liquid seep from her. ‘You utter whore. How dare you allow this to excite you! I should leave you here to rot.’ He turned and headed towards the solid wooden door, and with a final glance at Heather’s petite tortured body, left the cellar, slamming the door behind him.
Heather stared after him. This wasn’t part of the plan. All he was supposed to do now was kiss her, let her down and make love to her. Okay, the candle thing had been unexpected, but then he’d said he was going to add something extra to her plans. Surely he hadn’t just left? He was just playing with her some more, he’d be back. As the seconds passed though and the door didn’t open, Heather closed her legs in a hopeless attempt to become more comfortable and tried to control the panic that had begun to build in her gullet.
Now she could truly begin to comprehend the horror and all consuming fear the medieval prisoner must have experienced as they were trussed up and left alone, and this wasn’t even a real dungeon. Her arms felt as though they were about to separate from their sockets and numbness began to infuse her legs.
The guttering of the candles made sinister shadows dance around the walls, but they were too far away to provide her any warmth, and her body, that had been singed only minutes before, felt damp and cold. An unstoppable shivering engulfed her. Yet, to her shame, Heather still felt herself craving Paul’s firm touch as the harness continued to pinch her tender breasts and tease her pussy. She shut her eyes, and tried to focus her mind on her Lord’s return.
Clare had been sat on the other side of the cellar door. She longed to see what Paul had done to Heather, if he really had carried out their agreement as planned, but mindful of Paul’s warning of consequences, Clare refrained from spying. Her imagination however, had filled in the blanks as she listened in excited horror to the cries that had escaped beneath the cellar’s door and her own body, naked beneath her cloak, was experiencing its own desperate requirements.
At last Paul came from the room. Clare gasped at the sight of his protruding dick as he, pulling her up roughly, pushed against her, crushing her mouth with his own in a frustrated rush of lust.
When he finally pulled away and she’d caught her breath Clare asked, ‘Is all well my Lord?’ She curtsied as she spoke, unsure if his role as Lord was continuing outside of Heather’s prison.
‘Excellently,’ Paul looked at her with hungry wolf like eyes, and thrust a hand between her legs. He rubbed his whole palm against her clit, producing the fastest orgasm of Clare’s life.
‘We will continue as planned, and you will assist.’ It wasn’t a question.
Paul opened Clare’s cloak wider, and began to suck on her left teat. ‘Yes Master, with pleasure.’
Paul turned his attention to her other breast, but all the time his mind was on the small girl hanging like a cur in the next room. His head was littered with pictures of Heather’s harnessed tits, which eagerly invited a tongue to cool them. First though, he needed to warm them up.
It had only been ten minutes, but to Heather, Paul’s absence felt hours long. When she heard the door reopening, it was an effort to raise her head, but when she did she blinked in horror. He’d promised her! He’d promised that this was their secret, that no one else would know. No one! Yet there was a woman, not just a woman but Clare! Clare, who simpered and smiled her way through the day. Clare, who really did seem to believe that medieval life was all holy days, hearts and flowers. Clare, who spoke to the tourists with a frighteningly confident lack of knowledge. Beautiful, tall, dark, and oddly captivating, Clare.
Paul tilted Heather’s chin up and pulled out her gag. ‘As you can see, I have a helper. What do you think of my little extra something?’
Heather’s eyes glared at him angrily, but she said nothing as she slowly digested the fact that the candle hadn’t been his additional surprise after all.
Paul’s brow creased. ‘I believe the correct response is “Yes my Lord, Thank you my Lord.”
To emphasise his point, Paul pulled her harness hard, until Heather’s eyes watered and she had no choice but to blurt out, ‘Yes Sir. Thank you my Lord.’
Paul let go of the ropes, replaced the soaking gag, and took a step backwards. ‘That’s better. Now, I see you are cold. Let’s warm you up a bit shall we.’
Heather barely had time to compose herself as Paul picked up a short twig from beneath the table. She tensed as the first blow landed on her secured and forcibly pert breasts. The cloth muffled her squeals, as hot waves of agony shot through her delicate teats. After spending some time concentrating on one side, Paul continued to ignore her pain, and adjusted his position so he could work his way over Heather’s other tit.
All the time Clare watched in amazement. This was way beyond the image she’d concocted in her mind. She couldn’t drag her eyes from Heather. Her alabaster skin was streaked with grime, bruised from Paul’s attentions, shivering with cold, and yet flushed with heat from the latest assault. Clare’s body was suddenly inflamed with an unfamiliar desire to touch Heather, to kiss her better, to take her from Paul’s torture and caresses her, sooth her, and tend to her. She was surprised; this was not the reaction she’d expected, but a nagging voice at the back of her mind told her that it was exactly the reaction Paul had expected.
Paul dropped the twig. ‘You’d like me to kiss you better now wouldn’t you?’
Heather nodded fervently.
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s not going to happen.’ He beckoned to Clare to approach him.
She moved quickly to his side, letting her cloak fall to the floor, revealing her tall slim darkly tanned body. With no hesitation, Paul leant forward and began to suckle and lick Clare’s right nipple.
Heather’s mouth, dry and sticky, clenched around the cloth, her eyes were bright with tears of desperation. That was her attention, that was what she needed, it was hers by right.
Paul looked up at Heather, ‘You look a mess!’ Then he turned to Clare’s left breast, licking and nibbling at her nipple until she began to sway and rock against him.
Heather could only watch as her Master stared back at her. ‘Everything you crave I shall give to Clare.’ Paul kept his eyes on Heather for a split second longer, and then turned back to Clare, kissing her deeply, running his tongue around her mouth, and wrapping her inside his cloak to provide her chilled flesh some warmth. Then he turned Clare round and, pushing her to the floor, climbed on top of her so he could jam his stiff cock into her wet opening in full view of his prisoner.
Hot jealousy whipped through Heather. She no longer cared if he punished her further. After all, what else could he do? She closed her eyes, but that alone was not enough to block out what was happening before her as Clare began to mewl gently and Paul’s grunts of satisfaction filled the room.
She’d wanted humiliation, well she’d got it. Heather opened her eyes again, facing the fact that her fantasy had gotten away from her. Yet, in that moment of realisation, she felt an erotic thrill shoot through her like no other. This was something even darker than her dreams, something vicious, something… better.
As he pumped his load into Clare, Paul held her closely, lovingly almost, but continued to watch Heather all the time. He had seen the betraying glimmer of renewed longing, of bizarre black satisfaction in her green eyes and understood it. Moving away, Paul wrapped himself back into his cloak, helped Clare to stand and pointed to the table. She nodded, concentrating hard on walking in a straight line, her legs weak from his fucking. Picking up the slimmest candle, Clare took it to her Master.
The flame streamed out as Paul carried it towards Heather. Lifting it up to her hands, he held the candle next to her right wrist and began to burn through the cord. Heather’s heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself. Her scream shot through her gag as the flame burnt into her skin before snapping the cord, allowing her right arm to drop like lead with an agonising crack of her shoulder blade.
Clare winced as Paul began to free the other arm. It was hard not to retch as the cellar filled with the odour of burning rope and flesh.
Once she was loose, Heather’s knees sagged and she fell to the ground, rubbing her wrists fiercely.
‘Sit up!’ Making no concession for her fragile state, Paul barked at her.
Heather, slowly, very slowly, dragged herself up into as much of a sitting position as she could manage. Clare had to physically restrain herself from helping, from running to Heather’s crumpled form. It was a pitiful sight, but Paul looked so strong, so determined, that she daren’t move.
After leaving Heather sprawled for a few minutes, Paul gestured to Clare, who moved eagerly forward and knelt between Heather’s legs. Slowly, and with the greatest care, Clare eased the ropes around Heather’s pussy a little and with a combination of urgent longing and apprehension of the unknown, began to kiss the hard slick nub.
Heather’s body, assaulted, bound and abused, shook in an instant ecstasy which was both sudden and violent in its intensity.
Paul looked down at the girls, both enjoying a new and unexpected intimacy, as Clare, with a nod of approval from her Lord, began to caress the encased breasts, wrap Heather’s flesh in her own, and ease the sodden cloth from her mouth.
Paul’s eyes gleamed with renewed longing and admiration as Heather, despite all that had gone before, found the strength to reciprocate, and attack Clare’s mouth with greedy pleasure. His cock, hard again, vibrated before him as he watched the rivals of the past writhe together on the filthy gravel floor. Taking his penis between his hands, he stood over them and, increasing his grip, pulled at himself until he showered his sticky load over the medieval waifs now totally oblivious to his existence.
He left them then. Together in the dirt, one having fulfilled the fantasy of a life time, the other experiencing a fantasy she hadn’t even realised she’d had.