The Surrender of Lady Charlotte (7 page)

“You are the prettiest bride,” Loria giggled as she fixed the curls of Charlotte’s golden hair with flowers and ribbons.

“I do wish it were longer!” she moaned. Her new hair barely reached her shoulders, though it shone with a luster that seemed sparked by the sun.

“Ah, but it is so beautiful,” the brown-haired slave retorted enviously. “Imagine how it will flow down your back once it’s grown again.”

“But today is my wedding!”

“And still you look like heaven, milady.”

“Ah! But when we say
wedding
in my world we mean something quite different than an Ilusian one.”

“I can’t comment on that,” Loria said. “The rites are secret—especially from slaves.”

“And you’ve never married Caius?”

“Men like Caius don’t need to marry. It seems a ritual most suited for nobles.”

“But you were noble born,” Charlotte pointed out.

“And I’ve made my choices.”

“You chose Caius’ dungeon—freely?”

“It’s as free a choice as any woman can make in Ilusia.”

Charlotte looked troubled. “Seems I have little choice in anything.”

“Perhaps not.”

“So, what rumors do you hear of weddings if you don’t know facts?”

Loria scoured her thoughts. “That they are three day rituals, the wine flows, the dancing is lewd, and the sex takes the extremes to their limit.”

“And the bride?”

“Well used.”

“As I thought.” Charlotte sighed deeply. “I cannot tell you how my loins burn for this. I confess, a hundred men could copulate with me and I would not be satisfied. My desire breeds the basest thoughts. I fear I’ll go wild.”

“Then why so morose?”

“I’ve come to this—become this savage beast of a woman—not even a woman at all but an orifice to be used!”

“You still resist yourself and that could hurt you, milady,” Loria cautioned.

Charlotte thought on how her life had changed in the last several days since Mountbane had brought her from the dungeon. She lived in luxury now, was attended by slaves who’d been her equal the week before—by Loria herself who’d been the mistress of her training. She was called
milady
and
Lady Charlotte
, as though respect had been restored to her after long months of disgrace. All this because she’d sacrificed herself, remade her life, her thoughts, her feelings and her sense of self to become Mountbane’s slave. Resist? Only by the merest thread. Her sexual hunger was paramount in her now.

“Resist? I think not. I just wonder at myself.”

Loria fooled with her hair, adjusting the flowers while she hummed some pleasant tune Charlotte had once heard played on flutes in Mountbane’s dining hall. “Perhaps you wonder too much, milady. What
is
can always be changed, but why? Why bother when what you are pleases you—or at least soon will?”

The maid was right again.

d

Transparent robes of green, gold and purple were attached to her white collar with rings, and descended down across her shoulders, skimming the floor at her bare feet. She’d been bathed, perfumed and primped until she might have felt as special as any new bride—but a look in the glass revealed a truth far more stark than Charlotte’s pleasant musings.

She was utterly naked now beneath her diaphanous attire—though these silks were inclined to enhance her natural loveliness, they did nothing to disguise her sexual body. Her breasts shaped the garments as they flowed downward, the buds of her nipples making tiny tents of the material; and from her bodice the remainder clung to her form below, highlighting the slender waist and the blooming flower of her nether regions, where from behind, her twin melons of flesh invited the touch of hands, or the kiss of a whip. In front, her trimmed bush of pubic hair hid little now. Looking delightfully pubescent, the lips of her outer labia were plumped with blood. Desire raced through her with such a dedicated rush, and yet, these engorged slips of flesh could not hide the prominent clitoris that appeared from in-between.

No chastity belt now, Charlotte in these sheer robes felt more naked than she ever had.

There was music playing in the background on the warm afternoon—drums and flutes, in an earthy sort of melancholy that shook the sex more than it stirred the heart. A late summer breeze was rife with the scent of a ripening harvest, the aftermath of the earth’s copulating spring frenzy. The wine was full-bodied, brought from the cellars, flowing in goblets and fine chalices.

The wedding would begin in a columned portico near the gardens where lounges and chairs were arrayed for guests who now draped them languidly. The heat of the day had already affected the mood, turning the eyelids heavy. Mountbane’s court of men were in attendance along with a few well turned out mistresses and slaves who clung closely to their masters’ sides. Seeing his bride appear in the castle doorway, Mountbane stood, and offering his hand to her graciously, led her through the throng, to the portico steps, into a bower of trees where the wedding alter had been prepared. The Lord was dressed as usual—as though this was hardly the special occasion it was—in leather britches with a white shirt tucked inside his pants.

The crowd of guests moved with the couple, lining the sides of the aisle as Mountbane led his bride forward. In front of the alter, she instantly sunk to the cool ground, bowed her head, and bent forward to touch her forehead to the grassy turf beneath. Her hands were grasped behind her at the small of her back, while her hips were slightly raised. In the last few days, she’d practiced the pose more than the others knowing that the Ceremony of Union would be conducted in this manner. This was the only fact about the rite that was offered her; the rest would be as new to her as everything else in her adopted world.

Stepping forward, a priest in flowing garb addressed the gathered with a solemn expression on his face. “Mountbane, this is marriage,” he began. “The oath you take today binds you and your chattel for life—it is my duty to spell out the tradition,” he nodded deferentially to the Lord’s faint smile. All this was formality; the ingredients of marriage were well known in Ilusia, but the pageantry of the moment set the act apart—and somehow that gave legitimacy to the revelry that followed. “The bargain is thus,” the priest continued as he read from his tattered book of rites and prayers, “You, Lord Mountbane, agree to master your property in a way that binds you hereafter. You are enjoined to protect, train and discipline this slave as you see fit—and for this, let it be known that she, being your sovereign property, your charge, your chattel and your wife, is solely yours to keep and give at your whim and leisure. Let no man take this woman from you unless she has been freely given. Do you thus acknowledge this bargain?”

“I do so,” Mountbane answered.

“In turn,” the priest went on, “as is the custom, this noble-born woman from an alien land, by virtue of her father’s wise decision, gives up all claim to rights afforded her as a citizen in her homeland. She is now, irrevocably, a slave of Ilusia, and her Lord and Master, Mountbane. She is enjoined to serve you, give you honor, worship you, and be humble in your presence. She will obey you in all matters, follow the discipline you require, and willingly submit to the punishment you mete out should she disobey your commands or falter in her duties. She is obliged to give her body to your keeping, and use it in any manner she is ordered—willingly so—and take no man but those granted her by you. You are her sovereign Lord. In the deepest sense you own even her soul—she is soulless without you, mindless to thought lest you advise her, and bereft of feeling but what you supply the feeling for her to feel.” He stopped speaking and took a breath before continuing. “Slave, have you heard your part in this marriage? Rise and say so.”

Charlotte pulled out of her low crouch, gladly resting her ass against her feet, and while keeping her eyes dutifully lowered, said, “I have, sir.”

“Proof of her virginity can be made this day?” the priest spoke again to Mountbane.

“It can. We have protected it these long months.”

Only then did the holy man smile. “Reveal this now, then.”

Reaching for her hand, Mountbane pulled Charlotte to her feet and led her to a hefty stone altar some three feet off the ground. “In the arch,” he commanded, whereupon his wife laid back against the cool stone, bent her knees, tucked her parted feet to her ass while raising her hips. Her arms rested above her head.

Mountbane pushed back the flowing robes and bared her vulva for inspection while the tension in the steamy grotto began to heighten as the final act of marriage was about to unfold before the anxious eyes of the crowd. The Lord’s hands were dear to her in that teeming moment, skirting the skin of her thighs and moving downward as though they were caressing the flesh in a prelude to sex. Not only did this delicate touch quicken the loins of the humble slave, the act quickly stirred Mountbane’s cock, his member rising to press against the leather of his pants. His anticipation increased as it headed toward a finish he believed he’d paid for a thousand times over in careful restraint.

With his hand finally arriving at the center of Charlotte’s sexual home, two fingers parted her thick labia and opened the cleft for the inspection of the priest. A tiny gasp crossed Charlotte’s lips as her belly spasmed with pre-cum tremors. Then she held her breath as the two men examined her and finally divulged their findings to the audience.

“The slave is indeed a virgin,” the priest declared. A wave of hushed whispers swept through the crowd then instantly died down. “Take her now.”

This might have been a triumphant moment with a jubilant Mountbane cheerily taking his bride with the swift thrust of his manhood spilling her blood. Instead, however, and befitting of the occasion, this was a steadied and focused act—not without a degree of affection new to this troubled relationship. Pulling Charlotte’s splayed cunt forward, the master stared his bride in the eye while opening his britches; then with one hand to steer his cock, and the other grasping her hip, he made the first thrust.

As her hymen was torn asunder, a pained grimace appeared on the slave’s fair face. Then a sigh of release fell softly across her brow as her husband boldly pummeled the once well-hidden treasure. The slave’s eyes stayed focused on her husband’s face, until the pulse of his speedy exploit began to loosen the anxious knot of fear inside her belly. Then, her sexual juices poured forth, bathing him with her warm nectar and her channel began to clench. Her arousal seemed to crash through the valleys and tributaries of her body even as she thrashed back and forth on her bed of stone. She clutched at him, drew him into her with the muscles of her cunt begging for more with each rude stroke of his mighty organ.

The couple kept their witnesses in awe, none stirred, none said a word, not a whisper, cough or shuffle of feet; not, at least, until they suddenly heard Charlotte’s faint cry, and then Mountbane’s as his seed was spilled, joining with the fragrant liquid inside this fertile virgin cunt.

Charlotte collapsed as her Lord withdrew, cum still dripping from the tip of his cock. As Mountbane restored himself, he sat down beside her on the altar and kissed her lips, while with tender ministrations he began to discard her robes.

“What tribute does this woman give today?” the priest inquired of Lord Mountbane.

“She gives all she has, her body for the pleasure of my guests,” he said as he returned to his feet. “Come friends, partake of her. She is mine to give. Use her well now, for I’m likely to abscond with her for some time before I allow any man knowledge of her again.”

Moving away from the altar and down the aisle, he returned to the portico, where he laid down on a lounge of pillows and watched the ravishment unfold.

For a few brief moments, the wedding guests studied the naked beauty as her voluptuous body lay in contrast to the cold stone where she rested. Her well-rounded lines and curves of femininity shone starkly against the hard edge of her marriage bed. Inside her was newfound wisdom, though not something she had time to dwell on. She’d leave her musings for another day. Now, she was content to feel the beautiful rhythms in her crotch. They made her ache for more—a circumstance she was certain would not go unheeded. Indeed, as soon as her husband’s guests could collect themselves, two came forward, and snapped a leash to her collar. Drawn to the grass, she crawled for them while a circle of men inspected the fine attributes she had to offer. A few rounds before these leering eyes, and she was lifted to a post and chained there so her body could be easily abused. Then she was lashed, whipped, paddled and pinched until her raw cunt screamed for another dick to screw her.

Once the waiting cocks were at that most randy edge of stimulation, Charlotte felt the company begin to part ways. Those content to wait for later took on the women in attendance. Breasts were bared, and cunts splayed out happily on the lawns and lounges surrounding the portico gardens as the happy orgy began. But Charlotte, remaining in the center of it all, was taken to a lounge of her own, where surrounded by four men; she began to feel the lecherous abuse of her ripe cunt.

The first randy erection at the portal was that of Sir Tristan. And why not? His wife, the mistress Gwnyth, was fucking two men at that very moment, and he, Mountbane’s loyal lieutenant, should rightly be the first to have her in this bawdy gang rape of a bride. He came between her parted thighs as she lay on her back, and descended with the force of a full-grown erection guiding him.

The first jolt was less bearable than the first thrust of her husband—perhaps Tristan was more endowed than the Ilusian Lord. But once the breach was made, his rhythm remained steady, in a pulse and beat she could feel throughout every vein and muscle. She opened for him as she’d opened for her husband, relaxing into the sensation of being filled and pummeled, relishing the dark mysteries of this gentleman brute. Their eyes locked as the abandon of their bodies set the course for this raucous ride. How strange this was to copulate a husband and then fuck his friend! And how fine a fuck it was—perhaps more memorable than the first very nervous one. Beginning to end they remained fixed in each other’s aura as though closing our everything beyond them. She found a wholeness with him. In the end, there was sweetness on his face and a gentle kiss of his lips, though Charlotte had little time to contemplate the meaning of such subtleties. Her next in line was waiting impatiently for a turn at her.