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“How about her mouth. Bring her down, Mountbane, I’ll stuff my cock…”
“Too much pleasure,” someone shouted above the others; though he was shouted down by another voice proclaiming, “Have her in steel claws!”
She needed none of that. Her attending masters put her at the edge of climax twice, and backing off, then proceeded a third time making her wrench orgasmically, until nary but a single touch would propel her into ecstasy.
A moment too soon, the bound young slave felt Mountbane withdraw. Then she watched in horror as Tristan backed away as well, saying with the polite deference one gives to the lofty, “It is not my right to allow you this, milady.” He bowed and took his seat at the table again.
“Lena, Jontile,” Mountbane called his whores to him. “Take her to a finish with your mouths so we can all see the expression of wonder on her face as she makes a liar of herself.”
The twin lovelies dropped to the floor on either side of the rack-bound slave. The brown beauty, Jontile, opened a proud pair of labial lips in front to find the tumescent pistil of Charlotte’s sex. Covering the sliver of engorged flesh, she drew it into her mouth, running circles around it with her tongue until Charlotte panted anxiously. Her chest heaved so greatly that her tits bounced in frantic circles. From behind, the gentle, fair-skinned Lena parted her tail end to find her rectum’s imperious door. She slithered her tongue into the ready channel making the new slave groan with desire. These measures brought back the fire that had, for just seconds, eased for lack of stimulation; and brought back with thunder echoing through her groin, she succumbed. Every nerve in her clenched, her fists squeezed tight into themselves, and without wanting any of this, her hips moved on the conquering mouths while her own mouth gasped.
Charlotte’s final passionate cry fell about the gathered almost as a balm of contentment—as though it were good enough to supplant their own need to spew (though spew they would, later).
As the tension in the hall eased, Mountbane strode before them again. There was other business to conduct. One forthrightly commenced as soon as the disgraced slave’s cum had withered away and the two tarts slipped off to attend to their Lord again.
“So,” he said, “what would my noble gentlemen suggest to punish this contrary slave? I’m so weary of the battle that I leave it up to you.” He was mocking them—which they all guessed. Mountbane would never weary of a battle as choice as this. But then, this was a fair game they could not help but enjoy. “Sir Ellemore, what would you say?”
“To punish, sir? I prefer the strength of a whip, long and hard against the flanks.”
Mountbane nodded his appreciation. “And Jerrod?”
“Torture by suspension,” he said as though he had it all figured out in his head and was ready with his ropes. “A complete bondage.”
Mountbane acknowledged the picture he brought to mind. “A worthy thought,” he agreed. “And Harrow? You know the subject as well as anyone?”
The wrinkled elder scowled as though that was his only mode of expression, as though disdain was all he could feel. “Save exhibiting her on a rack through the streets, I can’t think of any means to impair her unwholesome pride. Caius finds her insolence remains mean-spirited.” He would go on, but Mountbane stopped him, turning to Tristan, whose steady eye seemed willing to read from the woman’s heart.
“I would recommend the claws to punish her,” he said as Charlotte worried over this unknown. “If she doesn’t learn her lessons well, she’ll never survive Ilusia.”
Charlotte shuddered so that another wave of orgasm seemed to clutch at her crotch.
“That is so,” Mountbane conceded to the comment. “Affix the briared halter and girdle to her chest and loins, and let her pride thin
k on that.”
Charlotte waited meekly in the aftermath of sex, frightened by Sir Tristan’s words, wishing desperately for even one brief moment of respite before her next trial appeared.
Now, almost in a stupor, she watched as an act she’d soon find more painful than she could ever imagine began to unfold. Two attendants came to her with chain mail garments in their hands: the halter that her husband spoke of, and the girdle for her loins. Beginning with her torso, she felt the heaviness of the metal and how it clung solidly to her body. The halter fit tight—and then more snugly still when a fellow behind her back began to thread the ends together with a metal rod. Most notably, she felt the briars, piercing metal barbs, which pinched, poked and stung the delicate flesh about her full breasts. To move even the slightest degree caused the barbs to bite more severely, making Charlotte certain that soon she’d bleed from a dozen tiny cuts where these desperate claws gripped and would not let go.
Thinking this the worst of all suffering, she soon learned that her woes were just beginning. Having removed the bonds at her feet, her captors had her step into the chain-mail pants as they slowly dragged them up her legs until they reached her groin. Once there, Mountbane moved forward, gingerly placing his hand at the apex of her parted crotch underneath the chains, where reaching carefully inside, he clutched her labial lips and pulled them wide, so her sex was splayed the moment his attendant tugged the crotch of the garment into place. Again, thread with a metal rod from behind, the chains tightened down into her skin and another dozen barbs pricked their way into her tender sexual treasures. This chastity belt was devised to cup her pubic mound and vulva below, giving that place the worst of the torment. Trembling nervously, Charlotte dreaded any movement, and so, held her breath.
“So, my wife, you like my present?” Mountbane queried.
Seeing tears pour from her eyes, he asked no more; but proceeded to the real torture. Circling her body with a tender reed in hand, he snapped it briskly, but not hard—not hard enough to even cause a simple blemish on her skin; but enough to cause her pain—indirectly. Her body twisted on impact and the dreadful metal barbs did all the work. There was no peace in this. When one pricked bit of flesh would feel relief, another would scream in agony. Each jerk was new abuse, with one agony heaped on another.
“Please, please stop!” she wailed in her heartiest of voices coming straight from her gut.
“You don’t like my gift?” Mountbane mocked her at one point.
Her despondent face replied for her—half pleading with remorse, the other half tempted to scowl in anger.
“We’ll see how my dungeon fares with you now, gentle lover.” Then turning to one aide, he said, “Remove her to the dungeon and see that Caius keeps her so attired until morning. She’ll serve me in these chains until I tire of hearing her screams.”
The journey to the dungeon was more gruesome than any she’d undertaken in her short life. She crawled on hands and knees, each movement compounding her woe. And once in her cell, she found but one position free of distress; though by the time she discovered that one, there was so much discomfort in soul and body that she could hardly sleep. Not until the cock crowed in the castle courtyard, when Loria finally arrived to remove the chains, did she fall asleep.
The week that followed slipped into a bizarre ritual of abuse. When she was free of her chains, her body was given pleasure from the slaves that served with her. Mouths and soothing hands would mend the scratches and tears from the biting briar and kiss away her sad tears. Strangely, she was more sexually aroused than ever; it took little to bring her senses to a crashing fruition of lust. Could it be true that even the chains brought her more desire?
Worst of all were Mountbane’s visits. With her miserable clothes still securely fixed to her flesh, he’d toy with her in the gentlest manner. His fingers stroked the slips of skin between her labia until she couldn’t help but respond, jerking into more stinging agony. Her attempts to squelch her physical responses were useless. It seemed her body loved the pain as much as it loved the tenderness of man or woman. Her mind struggled with this mire of anguish, until that eventual moment when she’d suddenly let go and shriek with pain for the jarring orgasmic blasts that careened through her loins.
