The Surrender of Lady Charlotte (13 page)

“Cum, you filthy whore, cum now!” she ordered.

Could it be that Charlotte was inside the woman’s head? Inside her domain and lost to her own? Could it be that she’d heard the command, and knew to obey? That to disobey would cause her grievous consequences? Did she know all that and give up her cum? Or was she simply ready on her own; and taking herself into ecstasy was simply the natural thing to do? Charlotte might ponder these questions some days later when she thought back on the amazing moment. But she had no answers now, save one.

“Cum whore!” Gwnyth spat out a second time.

A second later, in answer to the demand, Charlotte bore down and climaxed… heart racing, body twisting, groin aflame. She came, and came again on Gwnyth’s fists until every bit of pleasured pain had passed, and her harridan mistress finally let her fists snake from the widened cavities.

“I want her on her back face up,” the woman snarled. Her demand was answered as though she were at the helm of this small fiefdom. Two male attendants worked quickly, having the wasted slave as ordered lying on the dais. Charlotte was, in fact, glad for the reprieve from the exhausting physical tortures. Though her torso, breasts and groin were still bound with ropes, the tension of those ropes had loosened during the ordeal. She could now relax her shoulders and ease some of the devastation in her groin.

Still, Charlotte was not yet finished for the night with one task left to perform.

The commotion had died away and her wild orgasm ended, and a hush fell over the room. No one seemed to move. All eyes were focused on the mistress of the night. Gwnyth made them stare at her; something in her haughty manner bid them seek her out. Her cruel strut about the dais, the toss of her head, and the way her red mouth formed its seductive grimace suggested that her devious schemes had not seen their end. In truth, the woman was crawling with her own desire, revealing such anxiety about her physical body that the air was rife with curiosity.

She stalked Charlotte, while the slave stared up at her, eyes transfixed. “You suck cunt, too?” she wondered. Unconsciously, the slave licked her lips, not knowing even then what she was revealing about herself. Pleased, Gwnyth stood over her, a foot on either side of her face, and stared down. “You’ll suck mine now, slave,” she told her. And, in a surprising turn of events, the slave-turned dominating bitch untied several tiny ties that held the two sides of her leather pants together. With these undone, front and back, she bent down crouching over Charlotte’s face, her pants pulled wide apart. With her naked body cleft in full view—pussy and ass rent wide, she gave her final order, “Finish me, whore, and do it well.”

The sour sweet fragrance of femininity wafted into Charlotte’s face as Gwnyth’s pussy descended to the slave’s mouth. As commanded, Charlotte opened her lips and latching on to the swollen clitoris, she began to suck.

Gwnyth moved out of the crouch, to her knees some seconds later, sitting squarely on the slave’s face, so her entire cleft could be vigorously worked.

“Oooo, yess, yes, yes….” the mistress hissed, while her nails clawed at Charlotte’s hair. “Go to it, whore! Make me cum.”

Awed, the silent crowd stood riveted on the scene as one leather-clad beauty with snow-white skin and a raven’s black hair wiggled her sex over her bound blonde slave. They watched the slave’s long tongue work its way inside the hole; and then witnessed how her cheeks sucked in as her mouth slurped Gwnyth’s rich cream. Finally, as the tension inside the mistress/bitch began to expand, the gathered numbers beheld the astonishing vision of these two locked body parts working to a frantic end. The mistress thrashed against her harlot, and then came with a body roar that would shake sleeping giants from their slumber.

Gwnyth sat back on Charlotte’s chest when she was done.

“Does that please you, sire?” she turned to ask Mountbane, as her voice ran with mockery.

“Indeed,” he looked quite pleased. “I never realized you were such an inventive woman. I should have you do this to my wife daily.”

“I’d be only too glad to accommodate you,” she replied.

“I’m sure you would,” he agreed. “Now, come down. I may admire your vitality, kind woman, but I will allow no woman such command in my world.”

Gwnyth pushed to her feet and moved off, still haughtily bearing her beautiful body with a poise no one would see from a woman in Ilusia again—or at least for some time.

“That is too bad, kind sir,” she responded to his comment. “I assure you, you’ll miss a world of pleasure.”

“So be it, then.”

Not one spectator, not even Mountbane moved a muscle until the imperious leather-clad woman had left the room.

“How do you feel now, my bride?” Mountbane addressed his wife as he gazed down at her blank face.

“I am fine, sir,” she replied evenly. And this was the truth. At this moment, she didn’t give a fair farthing what the man said, or did with her. Despite this great degradation, she had her victory, her bliss. He couldn’t take that from her. No man, or mistress, or abuse could devastate her fully. It was in her character to love such surrender.

These were Charlotte’s thoughts at the completion of her trial with Gwnyth. She knew she’d survived the moment well. Even bested by the mistress, she would not be broken. But then, she had not suffered her entire punishment.

She should have been wary. Tuned as she was to her husband’s clever schemes, she should have known that this one evening would not be enough to assuage his rage and dispense with his revenge. But as she recovered from the whip, the fists, and the intense humiliation, she was much too weary to predict the further outcome. And even when it came, its cruelty was not immediately apparent.

Charlotte lay on her pallet in the tower room, letting thoughts of the evening before swim through her mind. Those that were pleasant she allowed to ripen inside her body where they raised her physical heat and brought on crashing climaxes. One orgasm after another, her body seemed insatiable. When she tired of her recollections, she remembered Tristan, finding her pleasure expanding again in a melancholy way as she thought of the lover now lost to her.

Had Mountbane killed him? That would have been his method, but there was no way to determine his fate. Her best resource was to think of the absent Tristan and let his presence within her bring her pleasure—even though she’d never know the physical joy of him again. As much as she relished her thoughts of him, however, dwelling on Tristan could be a dangerous pastime. One minute her body would leap with joy, and then next, it would come crashing down in frightened tears.

There was so little to live for in her tower room: no flowers and fragrance, no companionship, no Tristan, not hardly a bite of food. There was just the sex, her masturbations and her incessant sexual thoughts.

Two days after the fisting contest, the tower door was opened by one of Mountbane’s many aides. Brusquely pulling her from bed, the boorish fellow led Charlotte from the room and deposited her in Mountbane’s chambers. Her husband was hosting a party of ten nobles—many of them guests from neighboring provinces.

“Ah! There is my fair wife. How nice you look today!” Mountbane exclaimed.

What kind of farce was this? she wondered silently. She must look ghastly, not having bathed in days. Charlotte listened to his mockery with a blank expression.

“You know, my dear, I was just talking to my man, Grusio, here; and the topic of your last exhibition came up. I’d totally forgotten that you were still chained in the tower room. I do apologize.”

She didn’t speak, knowing that anything she said would only be twisted into another taunting jest.

“I wouldn’t think that living in that dank atmosphere would be the best for your health,” the man went on, “especially if we keep forgetting to feed you. But then, what to do with a wife who is so scandalously adulterous?” He waltzed about her nakedness, giving only scant notice to the voluptuous beauty that had so captured his attention in the past. “After corrupting my second in command, making him now worthless to me, how could I trust that you wouldn’t be fornicating with every nobleman’s dick that pleases you?”

Charlotte looked at him smugly. “I thought you were sending me to Sir Guy?”

“That I was. And I might yet. But, when I thought of what schemes I could devise to make you suffer… well, how could I not witness your anguish myself?”

Charlotte’s heart began to cry before he even spelled out his latest punishment.

He moved close, his face in hers, his breath mingling with her breath, his eyes forcing hers to acknowledge his. “Caius bring out the belt,” he said as he stared determinedly. He didn’t blink. Nor did she. “Give my wife back her chastity,” he ordered. “We’ll make a virgin of her again.” He sneered, delighted by his own wit, but then his face became utterly serious and his tone deadly. “You’ll be sexless, madam, for the remainder of your life. The only time you’ll be without this is to bathe once a month. And should you try any measures to alter this state, I will have your feminine body parts altered in such a way that there will be no life left in them. Sexless, madam. Sexless.”

Charlotte shook her head, aghast.

“I sense that your suffering will be endless,” her husband added.

She waited silently, letting the gist of his message absorb in her brain, then finally blurted out passionately, “What have I done that deserves such misery?”

He snarled again. “You pissed me off, lady. Simple as that. You should know by now that it doesn’t take much to turn my mind against anyone. It would be good, if your example will remind my flock that I am not the charming man I often appear to be. I am a sadist in the purest sense of the word. I cajole, I tease, I have a lovely wit. But in some things, I am unyielding. You had enough dick to keep your body satisfied, and still you fucked my aide behind my back.” While Mountbane spoke, Caius had been installing a chastity belt about Charlotte’s groin. “This, now,” Mountbane grabbed at the crotch piece of the device and shook it hard, “this bondage is my victory!”

Charlotte could not stop her tears; though her tears would not give way to self-pity or shame. “Oh, my husband, I feel so sorry for you,” she said.

“Sorry for me?”

“Yes, you.”

He’d been clearly in his prime, filled with puffed-up power and pride. But at his wife’s odd remark, his mockery and sneers fell flat. “How dare you!” he finally spit out when he could think of nothing else to say.”

“I dare so easily,” she answered him. “You may take away my sexual response, you may strip me of my freedom, but you cannot take my feelings from me. Those are mine. You may control my body, but you cannot steal my thoughts.”

“Good enough then. Have your feelings and enjoy your thoughts. I wonder how they’ll comfort you when your body roars, and in its tempest, you cannot reach the mark that brings you pleasure. Humph.”

“I will abide, sir,” she replied.

“Good.” He shook her off, shaken himself, but showing it little. No one in the room would understand his mood except Charlotte, and she was quickly returned to the tower.

Charlotte spent the next month high inside the castle turret as though that might be her permanent home. However, the drafty and cavernous room was not suitable for the harshest months of winter. If she were to survive, she needed a room in the castle below.

Mountbane, realizing that he could no longer keep her so imprisoned, had a room provided for her in the servant’s quarters. There, her life began to take on a routine that she hoped would grant her some peace. Other than the strict penalty she paid with her crotch so firmly harnessed, she was granted a good deal of freedom to move about the castle. As long as she stayed clear of her husband—which she took great pains to do—he seemed to forget her, and she could lead a life without his mocking presence. She dressed normally in simple clothes, spent some hours in the kitchens—not laboring as a slave, but happily preparing food along with the cooks. She embroidered linens, recalling the painstaking crafts that she’d dispensed with once coming to Ilusia. She gave herself to any activity that would keep her mind, heart and body away from the dangerous thoughts of love and lust and physical pleasure. She forbade herself to think of Tristan as he was the most dangerous of her mind’s musings. Having resolved not to let Mountbane’s punishment break her, Charlotte was determined to live her life without her passions—and perhaps, too, find some ease in it. After nearly four years of turmoil, she needed this enforced rest.

Charlotte’s days were long to prevent even longer nights when her body roar might rise up and swiftly unsettle her fragile equilibrium. She worked herself until she tired each day, hoping to fall asleep as soon as her head fell to her pillow and her eyes closed.

The only wrinkle in Charlotte’s resolve came during her first weeks. She was in the kitchens, seemingly lost in her labor of kneading loaves of bread when one young maid whispered in her ear, “You must have heard the rumor, Lady Charlotte.”

“And what is that?” she asked. Gossip was common in scullery.

“That Sir Tristan escaped.”

Her entire body quickened at the very idea. “No, I had not. How so?” she asked.

“It was said that his escape came early, in the first hours of his capture. While you were wrestled back to this castle, he was to be taken to a northern fortress and put to death. But Sir Tristan is too much a warrior to allow that.”

“Indeed he is,” Charlotte agreed.

“No one has seen him since, and there has been no word. Disappeared, utterly vanished off the face of the earth.”

“And how did you come upon this information?” Charlotte wondered.

The maid smiled shyly. “I have a friend,” she whispered sweetly.

“Oh? And who is this fellow?”

“Did I say he was a fellow?”

“Your blush does, my dear.”

“Yes, ma’am. He sometimes attends Lord Mountbane. Two weeks ago he overheard this conversation with one of the aides who’d captured your lover.”

“Shush. I would advise you to watch what you hear and what you turn into gossip,” Charlotte warned her. “This castle isn’t safe for a wagging tongue.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

That night, Charlotte suffered as her thoughts rained with pictures of Sir Tristan. She shook them off only to have them return, and her body raged in anxious fits. In the morning, she determined her future path—resolved that she would not suffer like this again. She refused to live with thoughts of sex and must put an end to her fantasies. Should Tristan return to the province, he would be killed and there was no thought of her own escape. It could be no other way. What luck, that fate took hold their lives to split them apart, she brooded unhappily. For surely, fate would win.

Five months into her celibate life, Charlotte found herself working industriously in the gardens one sunny afternoon. The season being so fair, she relished the fresh air and the labor both, for they seemed to have a more settling effect on her than anything she did inside the castle. As long as the weather held, she’d do as much as she could where she could breathe the free air and have it fill her lungs with the smells of earth.

When she heard the sounds of someone’s voice calling her, she turned, but found no one. Hearing her named called again, she turned again, and then a third time with the same empty results. Was she going daft? A fourth time, Charlotte stared in the direction of the sound, peering into a thick hedge to see a form arise inside the briar.

“Tristan!” she almost spoke aloud, but bit her tongue.

“Shush,” he spoke as softly, covering his lips with a finger. A second later he seemed to make himself invisible, slipping deeper inside the hedge. Charlotte followed him with a circumspect glance around her, wondering if anyone had seen her suspicious move. But she was alone. Dropping to her knees, she began working the ground near the hedge with a small shovel while waiting to hear more from the man inside the thicket. “How have you fared, my darling,” she heard his voice again.

“Not well, sir,” she whispered. Her heart was pounding so furiously she thought it would fly right from her chest. “And especially poorly now that you’re here,” she went on anxiously, trying not to stare his way.

“And why would that be?” he wondered.

“You have always been a scoundrel but never a foolish one. You are foolish now.”

“Because I’m visiting you?”

“Because you’re risking your life.” She stared at the ground as she spoke.

“I could not allow you to think me dead or assume my love had died.”

“It would be better if I did,” she said.

“No, Charlotte. There are ways to bring us together.”

He spoke with such certainty, but she didn’t feel it in herself. “Impossible.”

“You’re here now, unwatched.”

She shook her head, and taking a deep breath sought to make some sense of this event. “That is not true. Everyone watches. Everyone is Mountbane’s spy. We’ll be lucky if you’re not suddenly discovered in your hideaway and I’m not sent back to the tower.”

“Can you leave the castle in the night?” he asked.

“I would not attempt it. Especially because it would lead to you. I
will not
put you in danger, Tristan. I shouldn’t even say your name.”

“I appreciate your faithfulness, woman, but I will take care of myself. I intend to have you. If not now, then soon. The scheme is in the works.”

“No, no schemes, love. I don’t want you dead.” She spoke as adamantly as she could and still keep her voice hushed.

“Tonight.”

“Not tonight, never!”

“Take a moonlit walk and meet with me on the dark side of the castle.”

“Anywhere is dangerous.”

“But less so there.”

“I cannot have you sexually,” she added with tears starting to burn in her eyes, as she finally looked his way. “He’s bound me in a chastity belt—forever.”

“Forever has no meaning now, milady.”

“In this world it does.”

“You are too dour. Meet with me tonight. It will be safe or we’ll die together. And then, what does it matter?”

d

There were passionate embraces and a thousand kisses, but no sex. There were promises from Tristan and a strangeness about him that Charlotte had never seen before. Gaining entry into his former world was a challenge the man relished, as though nurturing his power to execute this grand deception gave the nobleman a special satisfaction.

He came to warn his Charlotte—to love her and remind her that life was not as hopeless as she feared. He wouldn’t rescue her, not yet. It would be far too dangerous for Tristan to travel through this climate with a woman, but he would effect her rescue—soon. He had come to give her hope.

Much to Charlotte’s dismay, however, Sir Tristan’s visit only made her more melancholy. Worse yet, his appearance ignited her sexual passions at a moment when she believed they’d finally disappeared forever.

Once he was gone, there was no way to pacify her body. Every night was misery, every day an endless memory of his touch, and the aroma of his body, and the look of darkness in his bold, black eyes. Her body ached with such passion that reckless thoughts and senseless schemes began to ferment in her now demented mind. They seemed to drive her mad until, impulsively, several weeks after the auspicious meeting she was driven to Lord Mountbane.

“I give up, milord,” Charlotte came to her husband in the morning, after the last of a dozen restless nights. “I plead with you, my husband. Give me back my life.”

Mountbane found her presence in his chambers bothersome. “I made my decree six months ago. I will never change my mind. Now get out of here.”

The night whores in his bed were waking from their long night disgruntled by this woman’s talk.