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It was a daily venture, so fraught with anticipation that the hour before Mountbane descended to the dungeon; she felt his loins beating from afar. Her body would quicken so she could smell the aroma of her sex and wonder if it were reaching out to grab him in.
He came one day as her body ached so for the awaited release—and as expected, she found the physical mirth astounding as her pained cry reached high about her, reverberating through the dank air of the castle above. When Mountbane was finished bringing her to climax, he drew away. “Where is your heart now, slave?” he asked as he crouched over her.
“My heart has died,” she replied.
“Has it now?” he pondered, his voice almost kind. “What then, if I were to remove these chains and bring you to the comfort of my bed? What if I were to bathe your body and make it ready for its further duties as my wife? What then, Lady Charlotte?”
Charlotte’s eyes glittered as the torch above her flooded her in its eerie light. She struggled with heart and body both speaking passionately of her true feelings. But her mind was much more persuasive. Arguing the opposite, it broke free from the turmoil and spoke aloud with the same venomous tongue she’d known since her first day harbored in Ilusian misery, “I would still hate you, Mountbane,” she said, her voice calm as a gently rolling sea, as determined and willful. “I would not call you husband, and I would resent every service I was required to render you. Would I submit? I suppose I’d have no choice in this; but I would not beg you to breach my untried door. You’d have to take it, just as you’ve taken everything else from me.”
If she had a mind keen enough to think clearly at that instant—which she did not—she would have seen the flicker of disappointment in the man’s eyes. Instead, she focused on the mockery that swiftly followed, which seemed so common to this scoundrel.
He rose from where he’d crouched at her side and announced to her jailer, “Caius, have her chains removed and send her to the kitchens. She is of no use to me.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied.
Mountbane was gone, Charlotte was freed, and her terror in the dungeon was at its end.
Chapter Four
Life torn asunder, twisted by this cruel fate, it would seem the castle larders, scullery and storehouses would be some relief from this tangle of terror. In her new occupation, Charlotte served as a common kitchen slave—wearing the simple garments of a serf. Only the collar about her neck remained to indicate that she was not a free woman with the right to come and go as she pleased—that is, the collar and the chastity belt which was now well-hidden from view by her simple clothes. Her companions in this venture were like any she might face in life: some were compassionate to her situation; others mocked her, knowing of her noble birth and fall from grace; still others were the surly sort who cared not a wit about who she was and freely ordered her about. Charlotte was one of the lowest of the kitchen workers, given the least favorite tasks. For several weeks, she spent most of her hours cleaning—pots, utensils, floors, walls, and greasy tubs.
She rose before dawn to start days filled with one hard labor after another until finally exhausted she’d collapse in bed. Unaccustomed to this heavy toil, it took some weeks before she became used to the burden of her job. When she flagged in zeal before one of the kitchen matrons, she might be flogged for laziness, or simply scolded by the more compassionate women.
“You’ll get used to it in time,” she was advised.
“Best keep a cheerful countenance—makes your day go faster.”
She took these comments in the best of spirits, truly hoping that these kind souls were right.
At the beginning, it was enough that Mountbane was done with her and she was freed from the dungeon horrors. Though what she hadn’
t counted on were the advances of the boys who moved through the kitchens at their leisure just for the sport of fondling a breast, or playfully whacking a fat behind to the squeals and slaps of the embarrassed kitchen wench. Charlotte did wonder, though, if her so-called husband was entirely done with her, since her chastity belt remained. Had it simply been forgotten, or was this a sign that he still intended to have her as he’d always planned? As it turned out, the encumbrance, though still awkward, was a blessing in warding off the most serious advances of these knaves. She soon understood that in this back world of Ilusian society, a woman’s virginity was much ado about nothing. Such silly slips of skin were only important to nobles and proud men.
Days into this new life, she thought she might settle into it—except for the curious aching that began to plague her. Her groin would enliven the moment some dashing fellow walked by her toiling body—and more still if he took note of her. She was still fair enough, with a pleasant grin; and those not put off by the short fuzz of blonde covering her head found her a most attractive woman—even for a slave. They flirted with her as they would other slaves and servants; and Charlotte found their attentions invigorating her body.
Time advancing, she scrubbed floors and cleaned the scullery with feverish abandon, her passions building with an increasing fervor. Such desire brewing, surely it was far more than just the occasional playfulness from a randy rogue that had her so aroused. Her loins knew the answer to this perplexing state of stimulation. In his despicable and ruthless fashion, the scoundrel Lord Mountbane had enjoined her body to relish the physical release in the crude and often painful turns it took. Unable now to hold back her desire, her mind was driven to the cruelest fantasies—all without any promise of release. The damned chastity harness prevented her from playing with her roused crotch! And so, she was caught in a sexual bind from which she could not break free.
This new misery increased. Each day, the desire plagued her more relentlessly than it had the day before. She slept fitfully even in exhaustion. If her hands could only touch her hungering womanhood as Mountbane’s had and bring about the satisfaction her body craved! He was a beast, a monster, the rudest of villains to have arranged this misery!
Increasing her plight more, Charlotte found herself serving food in the castle’s main dining room—waiting on the very author of this great trial as though she were truly just a lowly kitchen slave. When the task was first assigned, she worried that she’d once again be fair game for his typically mocking tirades; but instead, and to her utter amazement, Mountbane made no note of her—not a glance, a comment, even the faint flicker of recognition in his brow or eye.
If that were not enough to unnerve her sense of peace, worse yet were the bawdy debaucheries in his dining halls and private rooms where she’d carry pitchers of wine to the assembled, and was forced to observe the fornicating bodies poised in all manner of sexual activity. Placed in this unfortunate position, her heart began to bleed with another pain as she noted how this man—her husband—made love. Tenderness and passion boiled in his blood. His hands would rove the female form with an artful flair that both aroused his sumptuous lovers and nurtured them as well. His kisses looked like sweet confections. His brooding waltz about a tethered beauty felt like bliss to the needy Charlotte. Strikes of leather struck her as well. And the orgasmic waves of ecstasy she witnessed seemed to ride right through her body as though they might take her along with them.
How kind he was! What sincerity he offered those he loved—or simply used! There was no falseness here. Could she be jealous of these harlots that he took to bed?
Charlotte remembered then the times he came to her, glorifying them in her heart and feeling a bittersweet longing brewing dangerously close to the surface of her emotions. Had he been so kind to her, too, and she’d refused to feel it?
Most painful of all were the penetrations. The thrusting, heaving, groaning, panting copulation of bodies—what she’d never known. A woman’s head thrown back in the throes of bliss nearly made her own body leap to a climax of its own. The kind of shuddering ends she observed in silence tore at her miserably.
While the castle thrived on such sexual expression—even cooks and chambermaids fucked with abandon—Charlotte’s world remained bereft of physical passion. Work was not enough to stem her hunger, or cure the grief; and so she became haunted by the desperate picture of her solution. Frustrated and fearful that her life would soon be sucked from her in this wasteland, she became obsessed by a vile desire. As often as she threw it from her mind, it returned, redoubling its efforts to plague her until she finally acted.
At the end of a long evening serving Mountbane and his guests in one of the smaller dining halls, Charlotte approached the main table as the festivities were dying down. Some were sleeping, others talking quietly, as was the Lord himself.
“Sir, may I speak?” she said in a clear voice.
There was no response.
“Sir, may I speak?” she repeated, to find Mountbane suddenly take note and turn around.
