The Surrender of Lady Charlotte (17 page)

“And you don’t really care if I do,” she answered with a smiling sigh.

“Humph. Too bad I tired of you. You might have been a good one to grow old with,” he retorted.

“Should I think that a compliment?”

“Perhaps.” They strolled on, appearing more civil than they had been to each other in some time. “I’ll be on with wooing my new bride,” he told her.

“And perhaps seeing to your divorce.”

“That happens as soon as I decree it,” he laughed, and then pressed on to other places while Charlotte proceeded toward the market.

It appeared that despite the vileness Rosaura witnessed from the Lord Mountbane, she was enamored by his every word and gesture.

The man was not skilled in wooing from the gentler side of his nature, but that didn’t matter. Even when he was brusque, the poor virgin quaked with desire for him. His flowers, his kindness, a late night supper, and a stroll under a moonlit sky were awkward; and yet beside his whimsical torture of her body, they fanned her increasing desires.

“I don’t know how long I can last,” she poured out passionately to Lady Charlotte. “And yet, I feel so strange being attended by this married man.”

“We are not married, Rosaura. Perhaps there is still some document that binds us, but as soon as the scrap is found, Mountbane will rip it up and throw it in the fire.”

“And what will happen to you?”

“Hopefully, I’ll be gone from here… somewhere where my body can breathe again and I’ll feel safe.”

“I feel so safe I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

“We’re very different women,” Charlotte assured her.

d

It was much too late at night to be torn from bed for any simple reason. When Charlotte felt her body shaken by the maid, it took some several minutes before her conscious mind finally took charge. Her eyes were heavy, her body languishing in a restful sleep. Why would anyone need her at this hour?

“Mistress, you need to rise.”

“I need to sleep,” she said.

“No, please, you must come.”

“Is there a fire?”

“No, ma’am, Mountbane wants you.”

“Then it might as well be a fire,” she said scornfully. She tried to pull herself from bed and seemed hardly able to lift herself by her own power. The maid gave her a tug and she was on her feet.

“Your traveling clothes,” the young woman added.

“My traveling clothes?” The shock of that order awakened her more.

“He said to tell you there is an important mission that requires your obedient service.”

“A mission?” She was suspicious but unthinkingly compliant as she’d been trained to be. If she’d been thinking clearly, she might have questioned this “mission” more. Regardless, she would have donned her traveling clothes and presented herself to Mountbane at this ungodly hour.

“Sir, what could possibly…” she started to speak as she entered his chambers but was abruptly halted by the sight of several men—also in traveling clothes—present with her husband. Each one stared at her with narrowed eyes and scowling faces.

“They are Sir Guy of Baudaire’s fellows. You’ll be attended by them on your way to your new home.”

“What!”

“When you’re there, your chastity will be revoked, if that pleases your new owner. Just as we agreed, you’ll have your sexual life restored.”

“No! This is not what we agreed!”

“Oh?”

“No, milord,” she was on her knees at his feet, kissing them frantically—when in recent months just the thought of kissing any man’s feet, especially this one’s, left a sour taste in her mouth. She pulled up on her knees, imploring him with her tear-filled eyes. “Please, I cannot serve another master. Just give me my freedom and I’ll slip away on my own. Oh, please….”

“I want you out of Ilusia.”

“Then escort me to the border; send me back to my homeland. On my honor, I will promise never to return. I have no desire to.”

Mountbane looked at her, scornfully saying, “I’ve made other plans for you. Our divorce is done, but I still own you. You are a slave—and for your heritage, training and adept skill in making love you bring too much a price to let you disappear.”

“For your increasing kindness… as a practice for your new nature … in order that you enjoy the love you feel… because Rosaura would delight in such tenderness… because you once had some affection for me, please sir? ”

“I’m not that sentimental, not yet,” he answered swiftly. “You’ll have your sex just as I agreed, that’s all I’ll give. He may be older and a little grey, but Sir Guy is a horny man who will give you plenty of satisfaction. And, the kind you like best.”

“You know this man?”

“Never seen him. But I hear tales that he is quite a sadistic brute with bondage and lash.” He smiled, turned away, and finished quickly. “Take her gentlemen. And give this purse to your master when she is presented. Guard it well, it contains the key to her belt. You may return the purse with the remainder of my tribute.”

The fellows nodded, two of them lifting Charlotte to her feet and dragging her from the room.

It was to be Rosaura’s wedding day. Charlotte knew her time in Ilusia was at its end, but had not expected this brusque move. She’d hoped to witness the nuptials from some hidden corner of the castle. She would relish seeing the young maid taken by Mountbane’s rude erection, hearing her cries, and enjoying the physical feast that would follow. She imagined that this wedding would not be quite the free-for-all that hers had been. Mountbane, despite this latest villainy with her, had kept his bride-to-be guarded from the scorn and mockery that so often accompanied his scenes of sexual pleasure. It had been suggested that his bride would not be shared except by a few nobles—and just so the rites would be legitimate—and the fair virgin would understand her humble place in her husband’s world. Charlotte had envied her, her sweetness. She counseled and schooled both bride and groom—they both required her ear on ways to secure their relationship. This seemed strange since Charlotte had never known the kind of love they sought to have—except for her brief affair with Tristan.

Charlotte’s melancholy had been strong some days as she gave her wise advice, wishing she could practice these sensible things herself with the man she loved.

She pined for him to no avail, often forgetting the vow she’d made to stall her sexual feelings. Some nights she’d spent awake, her body burning for what it could not have. Her mind joined that torment, seeking the picture of Tristan’s face. Sometimes she failed to remember how he looked. Her memory was a blur.

Now, ripped away from her life and on her way out of Ilusia, she was more despondent than ever.

It took several days before the party of six, five men and one silent, sullen woman, stopped in their safe harbor. Charlotte was initially surprised by Sir Guy’s odd home. They’d been winding their way through a dank forest for two days, each day Charlotte thinking that the sun and sky had escaped them. Finally, they reached a small clearing where the woods gave way to a gentle meadow with a brook running through grasses. They’d reached their destination—a well built, but small mountain stronghold made entirely of stone.

“This is the man’s home?” she spat aloud to her companions. She’d hardly spoken a word since they began the trek, only what was necessary. She wasn’t sure she’d ever speak again, since there was nothing left for her heart to dwell on, nothing in her mind. Charlotte dwelled on emptiness, letting her spirit leave her. Why bother with passion, love, or even hope?

“This is your master’s mountain fortress,” one man said.

“And not his home?”

“This is where you will stay until he receives you,” was all the answer she got.

Fine, she thought to herself. The land was pleasant enough; the meadow quite lovely in fact. She could peer out from a window, if that were allowed, and feel the sun.

This secluded retreat was plainly furnished with simple rooms: a kitchen, greeting room, bedchambers and a dining hall. The dank interior gave her chills: the few tapestries seemed gruesome with clearly depicted hunting scenes she would find a horror to gaze on. Immediately taken to a bedchamber, she was locked inside. Another prison—what more could she expect? She liked the sparseness, she decided. With her best desires dead, she had no passion, or desire for ornamentation.

d

On the third day in the forest castle, Charlotte was taken from her room just as the sky outside was beginning to darken. The smell, even feel of the sultry evening hour was in her bones. The chastity belt had still not been taken from her, but that mattered little since her body seemed to follow her mind’s dreary and listless path.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked the men who held her arms with a firm grip she was not unaccustomed to as a slave.

“To your new master,” he replied.

“Ah, at last.” There was just a trickle of desire surging in her belly though it was far from the great bodily roar she’d once known.

On entering the most homey of the castle’s barren rooms, she was warmed by the sight and feel of a roaring fire, which quickly took away the drafty chill that was settling in her bones. She noted a master’s upholstered, gilded chair, a finely carved table laid with a full meal, and a second table with several implements of sexual ravishment ready to be used.

One of the men beside her reached for a blindfold from that table, and turning her around, placed it over her eyes and tied it tightly in place.

“Have you been blindfolded before?” he asked.

“Only a few times, sir.”

“Your master finds that it stimulates sexual desire,” he informed her.

Charlotte wished she could disagree, but she found her body instantly replying to this simple contrivance, her cunt quickly seeking the sensation that had been denied her for some time. And yet, she was afraid to let the feelings build—afraid that, as with Mountbane in recent months, she’d be taken to the pinnacle of her lust only to have her finish ripped away.

Those attending her began to remove her clothes… an act that seemed much easier to endure with her eyes closed. Perhaps this restraint was a fortuitous sign. Perhaps if this master was a loathsome creature with misshapen features and a grotesque figure she could still enjoy the fire of her body without the repulsion of her mind. After her recent travail she held little hope that Sir Guy would be a handsome man—gossip implied he was a gnarled old gent with a fascination for using women and throwing them away. What kind of fate could that be for a romantic woman? Or even a well-schooled slave?

She heard some commotion across the room and waited anxiously as her attendants stepped away leaving her without the advantage of sight or their solid bodies to lean on.

Across the room, the master of this tiny fortress slipped silently into the room and took his seat with the Lady Charlotte before him. He wished to appraise what he had purchased with so much effort. He smiled. She was a glorious woman. Her long golden hair floated about her face, while a pair of full and pink-blushed lips parted sensuously, as though they were ready now to kiss his swelling organ. Did she realize how much vitality flowed through her comely shape?

And still, there were many more attributes for him to see. Wishing to proceed, he waved for his men to complete her disrobing. He would inspect her as he would any slave to see if she was as fit in body as was her flawless countenance.

His two fellows finished pulling Charlotte’s dress away; then brusquely tore at her underclothes, loosening ties and discarding the garments like so much rubbish.

The revelation was most astounding to the eye of any man who would gaze on the beauty. Did he deserve this much? he wondered. Her body was a lustrous hue of naked brilliance—fair, with just a trace of pink beneath her skin. Even with the blindfold on, her face looked flushed as though she was embarrassed, as if she understood how carefully he inspected her—even at six paces off.

He knew her recent past, knew she would be raw with need. What a miserable fate for any woman so full of fire and spirit to be denied what she did best. Ah! He would relish breaking her body in to its natural function once again.

The polished chastity belt still fixed about her groin held his fascination—he imagined vividly the treasure underneath. Perhaps he was just an addled fool, but he believed he could see her inner fires exuding from those private places locked between her thighs.

“The key?” he asked his man.

Mountbane’s packet with the key inside was delivered into the master’s hands.

“Take care to see that the device is thrown away,” he ordered with a whisper to his man.

From behind the confining belt, the slave’s groin appeared even more fired with pent-up sexual need. As she breathed, her body writhed in near imperceptible increments, just slightly with a most pleasant sway.

“Are you unsteady,” the master asked her in a deliberately gruff voice.

“No, sir,” she trembled at this first exchange of words.

Rising from his chair, he came to greet her, laying a kiss on her lips.

From the inside of her mind, Charlotte endured the close inspection of her body. Thankfully, Sir Guy’s hands were gentle. Rather than prod and poke, the feel was more of an ardent caress. He ran his palms over her breasts and tenderly tweaked her nipples.

Ah! How his fingertips did glide over the perspiring surface of her skin! Her mouth parted more wantingly as though there were hunger and thirst issuing from her wet lips. Her head fell back slightly, hair dangling like feathers around her as he slipped his one finger inside her mouth and without thinking, she ran her tongue around the small penetration.

His other hand was at her crotch, another finger pressing its advantage deep into the unpenetrated folds where her yearning pussy moistened quickly, now ready for some righteous cock to screw her.

“Ah, milord,” she sighed from her deep anguish.

“Your fires have not died,” he whispered softly. Even his breath upon her ear had spasming results as the intent of his passion seem to leap from his tender words and fly down to her aching pussy. He massaged her still, about her crotch and breasts, bringing her need to that potent crest where nothing would deny the result.

“Cum…” he whispered with a hum in his voice. Her swaying body fell against his chest and the hand that so expertly fondled her spewing snatch. Charlotte’s body bloomed with orgasmic swells, another and another still, as her lips emitted gasping mews. As though she wouldn’t stop for hours, she expelled the first climax in tentative jolts—these much calmer than the ones that would shortly follow.

Pulling her with him, the master and his new prize property collapsed to a lounging bed at the side of the room and began to have sex in earnest. On his instructions, his aide tied Charlotte’s hands above her head. Then, as the nobleman’s cock was turgidly engorged and ready, he raised the slave’s legs over his shoulders and plunged his organ into her throbbing home.

“Ah! milord, yessssssss……………” She answered gratefully.

It was such a wounded and delicate cry, as though she were afraid of this powerful passion; as though it might suddenly disappear and she would be left with an empty portal and no hope. She clutched at him with her inner muscles exploiting every thrust as each one massaged her deprived channel. The master raised himself above her so he could look at the expression on her lips and see the way her breasts bounced with glee, and her whole torso shook with the reverberating thunder of being free inside this desperate captivity.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh………….” She cried with her continued pleasure while the surges came from deep within, drawing on a thousand places in her body where the energy of sexual joining had been arrested and imprisoned. She came again, and then with such waves and violent thrashing movements it could not be told how many times her body climaxed. The master’s once fresh erection could not hold out forever, and finally being so battered that it was becoming painful, he gave up his energies and exploded, delivering his seed into Charlotte’s womb where it swam inside her gentle tremors. Her body flamed very softly now as the second wave of orgasmic release finally came to an end.

As the master withdrew, he sat beside her bound body and gently caressed her face. He ran his fingers over the blindfold wondering how she’d feel when she finally gazed in his eyes. He wanted to show himself, but as he’d planned, he put off the desire to divulge the truth. Not yet. They both needed to wait until her body was free of the place where she’d been prisoner last. He wanted her to look on him with fresh, unwounded eyes.

Each time he touched her, her body jolted again. She needed more, but not now. Now, she needed sleep.

d

The Lord of Baudaire kept Lady Charlotte blindfolded for several days. There was much sex between them; and several times, he enlisted the services of his aides to do their duty in her cunt or ass while he took the opposite position. On a few occasions she was penetrated by three at once with a third erection in her eagerly responding mouth.

For Charlotte these days of fornication were spent in mindless physical release. She had no idea that her body could go on with such fervor. She’d thought that much of her passion had been lost. But it seemed, instead, she had not lost one spasm of ecstasy to Mountbane’s evil punishment. They were simply waiting for this wondrous interlude of release. After each experience of her reborn lust, she was too exhausted to think of anything but sex and sleep.

On her fourth day at the fortress, Charlotte’s zeal for the erotic began to wane, and her empty mind filled itself with thought—real thought—like the face of this master, and the look of his body, and the temperament, and voice that resided in him. Although the regular binding of her hands prevented her from touching him to explore his shape, she knew that he was not some grotesque monster. She could tell by the way his hands worked, and the feel of his flesh a good deal about his size.

On the fifth day, Charlotte entered the chamber they’d been using for sex—at least she assumed it was that room. Still blindfolded, she might well be anywhere in the fortress, but the space around her had a comforting feel as though she’d left her imprint in the air.

“Pose for surrender, slave, on your knees.” The voice of Sir Guy’s attendant suddenly splintered the calm, and Charlotte’s instincts worked to save her. She dropped abruptly to the floor.

Though she wasn’t apprised of the requirements of this master, she assumed that the standard slave posture she learned in Caius’ dungeon should please the man. She pressed her cheek to the cool floor as firmly as she could, while she splayed her privates with the lewd pose. Instants later, she felt the vileness of a thin cane poking at her body. As the tip pressed into her anus, she jerked, emitting a small shriek of pain.

“Surrender……..” she heard the whispered voice of her master come to her like a haunting breeze. “Surrender……….”

The feeling poured through her, bringing on waves of desire—these coming from a darker vision from a darker sexual world. Pictures of Caius, Mountbane and Tristan—yes, her dear Tristan—and even Gwnyth appeared in a montage of images in her brain. Hands, fists, whips, chains and bondage appeared thereafter. The pulse came deep, resonating throughout her body until the master circling above her could see for himself how aroused she’d become from just this meek suggestion.