The Captive (2 page)

It was early afternoon and most of the court was resting. There were a few guards on duty, but none stopped the two young people as they returned to the castle and entered the empty echoing training room. The stocks stood ready, sombre dark wood stained with old blood in places, the carefully placed holes for neck and wrists beckoning Zacora. She shuddered at the sight of them. The equipment seemed to be much more threatening when the other girls weren’t there.

“Strip!” ordered Ogham. His voice was very commanding for so young a squire. “Strip for me! Is it not what you are taught to do?”

It was. But…

“Now!” he said again, even more sternly this time.

Obediently, as she had been taught, Zacora gathered the fine silk in her hands and lifted the hem, feeling very vulnerable without the film of gossamer swirling around her body. She bowed her head and folded her hands at the silver fronded crotch. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, standing there naked didn’t humiliate her, for she had been born to please her masters, the nobles of the kingdom.

Green eyes glittering, Ogham watched every move, every sway of her young limbs, the sheen of moisture on the neatly trimmed bush of silvery blonde hair at the top of her thighs.

“Let me see you in the stocks!”

Now she hardly hesitated. With long easy steps she made her way to the sombre punishment implement. “This is just a game? It must be a game we are playing. You won’t lock me in, will you?”

Ogham said nothing, but helped the young maiden to place her slender neck on the curved block and place her wrists in the slots. The solid sound of wood on wood as he brought down the top half of the fiercesome contraption, made his penis swell yet more. He hesitated, wondering whether to slip the hasps of the padlocks, but the hesitation was only momentary. In a second it was done. The girl was caught fast.

At each end of the room there were windows, long and dusty. The grime made them act as mirrors and Zacora could see her naked backside lifted in the air. Ogham was shackling her ankles in the floor manacles so her legs were splayed, revealing her sex slit to the full. Unlike Peeka there was no need to stand on tip-toe, for Zacora’s legs were long, she simply hollowed her back, posing her sex upwards.

“What shall I beat you with?”

“You must not beat me. I said it must be a game!”

He was standing behind her, his hands resting lightly on her buttock cheeks, his thumbs pressing the puffy lower edges of her sex lips.

She had no idea whether he was clothed or naked for he was bending low, examining her minutely. In that position she could not see him reflected in the grimy windows, but she knew that he could see every detail of her sex folds. What he was doing was no lover’s caress and, for the first time, she felt shamed and humiliated.

He felt her tension and released his tight grip. “Are you going to scream?”

She shook her head, swaying the silky tresses from side to side. It would do no good to scream. There was no one within sound of them. And if there were, she would just be found with a man to whom she was not betrothed. She would be disgraced. Better not to be rescued. She had fallen into a trap and must make the best of it.

A laugh, cold and without mirth, rasped in her ears. “I think, just in case, we’ll use the tongue bar.” She heard him move across the room and then the chink of metal as he sorted through the Master’s equipment. Returning to her, he held the device for her to see. She swallowed hard. It was a painful contraption.

A bar of iron with balls at each end was placed in the victim’s mouth, depressing the tongue and held in place by a leather strap around the head. As he tightened the buckle, pulling it unmercifully, so that her head was shaken from one side to the other, he was breathing hard.

He moved to stand in front of her. A hot bulge was close to her helpless face. She could feel his penis throbbing like a caged wild animal.

“Yes!” he said. “Excellent!”

Zacora would have protested if it was possible, but her soft lips were fixed by the iron gag. There was no escape, she realised. She was trapped, completely trapped, but this sense of total helplessness gave that wonderful feeling of lethargy. Her eyes felt heavy. There was a liquid whirling in her belly; a melting heat. Her sap, as she was warned would happen when the time was right, was drooling down her pale thighs, hot and sticky.

Before that day in the beauty of the Lokara springtime, she never realised that being vulnerable could make her aware of her powerful sexuality.

Ogham held the polished wooden phallus before her eyes. Her sapphire orbs widened with fear. He wouldn’t use that, surely! She was a virgin and must remain so until her betrothal.

Straining her neck she looked up into his deep green eyes. They glittered with cruelty in a face lightly tanned by days spent practising on the tournament field. His leather tunic lay discarded on the wooden floor and his lithe young chest was bare, heaving as he stood over her. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his breeches, he slid them down over his hips and thighs. Zacora could not gasp for the device clamped in her mouth would not allow any sound to issue from her mouth.

After giving her a glimpse of the monstrous swaying penis he disappeared from view. An image of it remained in her mind. Darker than his body skin, but still a pale flesh colour, it shone as if the skin was stretched to the limit. At the end was the globe, a perfect rounded cone, glistening with a sheen of its own dew. Below it hung the sac, full and taut, the two hard balls neatly drawn high between his muscular thighs.

She felt his hand smoothing over the firm curves of her bottom. He investigated their texture by pressing the two perfect hemispheres together and then parting them so that he could see every crease of the tight rose hole.

“Such perfect globes,” he murmured, “should be warmed by the birch or the paddle. Which do you prefer? But, of course, you cannot speak.” He gave a light laugh and showed her the two implements he had chosen; one in the left hand and one in the right. In his right hand was the birch and in his left was a broad bladed paddle.

It was difficult to believe that only that morning Zacora had watched plump Peeka’s buttocks quiver and redden under the swish of the birch. She had watched two narrow welts appear from one broad buttock, across the plump and tender sex lips, to the other buttock cheek. It was almost possible to feel the pain for the girl, but Zacora longed for the excitement which Peeka obviously felt. The memory of the trailing silvery sex sap running from the newly broken gateway was a clear picture in her mind.

“Choose!” he insisted.

Zacora nodded to the left, to the paddle.

Ogham grinned broadly, slicing the chosen implement through the air and then slapping it across his own palm. He gave a grimace at the stinging pain and she hung her head, wishing that the game had never started.

He walked behind her, his paces slow and measured. She felt him smooth the paddle over her poised buttock mounds, measuring the stroke. As her excitement increased, her breasts became tauter, serving to heighten her excitement. She felt her open sex folds swell, making them more vulnerable and more clearly revealed. The humiliation began in earnest.

“You have no right to be at court, you dirty little bitch!”

Surely he had not said that! Then the paddle fell, swiping across the full bottom mounds. The sound of the thinly sliced wood hitting flesh was loud and echoed through the empty school room.

“You are not nobility!” The paddle slapped again, giving a burning stinging pain, overlapping the last.

I was invited to court, she wanted to say, but the iron gag prevented any sound. And I am nobility. You have no right to say that I am not.

Again the paddle slapped. Her firm, well-lifted bottom was on fire, but below that, her sex pouch was heating and melting. The juices were flowing from virginal folds.

“I’m going to fuck you.” The words were rasped cruelly and smacked her ears like a blow from the paddle, but at the same time they were as stimulating.

The paddle slapped lightly at the soft, pouting sex folds. The blow wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it was more shaming than any given previously. It caused a squelching sound as the thin piece of wood pressed the liquids gathered between the inflamed leaves.

The paddle slapped down viciously on the uplifted buttocks, so beautifully rounded, sliding down at the end of the stroke to the open folds which dripped with her fluids. The continued discipline coloured them, Zacora knew that. It gave them a rosy glow where once they had been creamily pale. The punishment made her hot inside as well; the beautiful melting heaviness opened her up yet further.

The strokes of the paddle seemed unending. Her bottom flesh was a rounded fire, but the moist crease between them was hotter. Swollen folds created to take a man’s sex sword. She wriggled, hollowing her back to present her moist silky entrance with the puffy silvery fronds at the best angle for him.

His breathing was harsh and quick. She knew that he was standing behind her, gazing at the scarlet welts which merged into two burning, swollen mounds. There was pain as he grasped the punished flesh to open it yet further. His thumbs spread the puffy lips, smearing the dew on the silver curls as he opened them fully. A flush suffused her face as she realised that he could see everything; every fold, every crease, every drop of sap and, in the centre, her swollen bud, pert and jerking.

Zacora wanted him to touch that, but he ignored it and she felt tears of frustration well in her moist eyes. But she knew that she must please him first. Her own pleasure was in what he gave her by bonding her in the stocks, making her feel vulnerable and by making her bottom glow.

There was a pressure at the silky entrance, a growing pressure, Zacora felt her eyes widen as she looked up at the vague reflection in the grimy window. Ogham was standing behind her, bracing himself on the heated mounds of her bottom and pressing himself against her.

At first the pressure was pleasant. It was a meeting of moist flesh, her own and his. She was helpless. She had no control over what he did to her. The pressure increased, pushing into her pitilessly. She could feel her vagina gateway being pushed open.

With a final thrust he was inside her. She heard him sigh pleasurably. The pain was a mere pinprick compared with the fire he had created in her helpless bottom.

For a brief moment he was still, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. The young squires were taught to fence and joust, but the sexual pleasing was left to the ladies of the court.

Knowing her duty, she gyrated her heated and punished flesh against the coolness of his groin. Her well-trained vaginal muscles caressed the thick length of his cock. She heard Ogham groan and he began to quicken his movements. Her flesh drew on his, pulling his penetrating shaft into her wet cushiony pillow.

A squire so young and inexperienced could not take a long caress. It had been hard for him to contain his seed in all the long moments of stimulating punishment.

Zacora felt her painfully confined breasts swell as she recognised his growing need to let go. His pumping was frantic; his vigorous young balls bounced rhythmically on her lifted and open sex lips. His organ seemed to be pulsating against every part of her nether regions. His seed emptied into her helpless body in a great rush of fluid heat. She offered him her opening, taking the torrent as it filled her. The young squire gave several more jerks into her, making sure that every drop drenched her newly opened pouch.

At last he pulled out of her, leaving her frustrated. Her own pleasure did not quite reach the peak, although her bud had throbbed close to it.

“You will be disgraced,” he rasped.

She knew it was true but, muted, by the iron gag, she was unable to reply. Why, her mind cried. Why had he abused her so?

“My father will send you from the court.” He laughed, the sound shrill with contempt. He wiped the end of his drooling globe across the burning mounds of her buttocks. “Perhaps I shall suggest that you should be strung on the gallows, naked with your legs splayed for all to see how you have been despoiled.”

Ogham moved to allow her to see him. His penis, although so recently emptied, was partially erect and slick from the mixture of their juices. Slowly, he released the leather strap which held the iron gag between her lips.

Relieved, she glossed her lips with her tongue. “Peeka wasn’t treated so cruelly,” she whispered. Her mouth felt dry and her voice was hoarse through the long confinement with the gag.

“Peeka is a nobleman’s daughter.” he sneered.

“So am I.”

“Not legitimately.” He posed his sperm soaked globe at her mouth, pressing it between the soft lips. She could taste the salt, and such was her training, her tongue wrapped around it automatically in a moist caress.

“You’ll be auctioned,” he told her, pressing his length into her mouth. She took it as she had been taught, using the smooth, unresilient phalli. This was warm, pulsing and growing thicker as she sucked upon the living, throbbing length.

As she sucked obediently upon the young master’s flesh, she thought how unfair it was that she should be humiliated in such a way. She saw herself on the gallows, her arms outstretched and tied at the wrists. Her breasts would be taut, but the nipples erect on the flattened flesh. The occupants of the castle, including the guards, would be at liberty to look up at her splayed legs and would see each moist fold.

“My father will delight in leaving you on the gallows until the auction,” he sneered.

Miserably, she sucked his hard length. Her duty was to pleasure the man, no matter what imagined wrong he may have done.

In the land of Lokara a man could do no wrong. Zacora had been taught that from childhood.

It was auction day in the neighbouring land of Vakir and there was a churning sensation in Harold Meleagan’s belly. Something wonderful was going to happen. He felt it in his organs, especially his male organs.

From the very moment he woke he knew that this would be a special day and when he saw the imported girl on the podium he knew that his gut feeling was right.