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“And if she revolts, she’ll get her punishment ten-fold.” Tristan rejoined
“Perhaps, you should take them both to the hovel?” Ellemore proposed.
“And have them scratching out their eyes—even I, sir, am not interested in handling that row.”
“Ah! Have we lost our wits, my fellows?” Mountbane sighed as he looked at Tristan in wonder, and then the others. “Have those who are the slaves turned into our masters?”
“Not as long as we hold the whips and chains, and there are plenty of fresh and randy cunts to take their places,” Tristan declared. “No, Lord Mountbane, we are still in charge.”
Mountbane nodded respectfully as he watched the man jerk Charlotte to her feet and lead her toward the door. “Will you be in the woods to watch the ravishment?” Tristan asked on the way out.
“No, I won’t. I have other things to keep me occupied.”
Chapter Nine
“It is still raining, sir,” the young man declared as he peered out of the hovel window.
“And it will stop,” Sir Tristan replied calmly as he leaned back in his chair, gulping the rich brew from his silver goblet. “Come here, milady, I fear that too much of a reprieve will make you think we’re soft. Besides,” he snickered, “we want to teach these boys the rudiments of dominating their bitch/slaves. And you are the bitchiest around.”
Charlotte had been huddled in a corner, her naked body covered by a thin blanket. Earlier that day, by orders of Sir Tristan, and in front of his two trainees, she’d been ordered to strip and took the position for inspection while her body was thoroughly examined. The act had been fairly easy, but afterwards, she remained naked, given just the blanket to keep the damp chill of the day away. Now, ordered to the master’s side, she flung it off and made her way to the man’s side on hands and knees. Thankfully, he still had a remarkable power to raise her body heat with just his words of command. She’d have to let her physical passion keep her warm.
“See how she can be so docile?” Tristan noted. “Fine trait. She is one of the best. Only a grand lord would tire of this one. But then, when you can have the fairest, newest, comeliest virgins in the realm, why settle for such a used pussy as hers? Sweet though the flower might be, the petals are by now a bit bruised.”
Bruised! Charlotte fumed. She should take offense! She wondered, were his comments designed to hurt? But she kept her indignation to herself. She’d learned to watch and wait well—and patiently. In this case, she hoped there would be more to the adventure than the punishment outlined in her husband’s chambers the day before. She could only hope.
“You have to treat even the well-trained ones brusquely,” Sir Tristan instructed his young fellows. “And throw down surprises for them to struggle with.” He eyed Charlotte amusedly as she waited in the penitent “third” position—bent over, head to the floor. His eyes lit as a new thought dawned. “Into the bridge, slave,” he ordered.
Charlotte complied immediately turning to her back, bending her knees, tucking her feet to her ankles, while raising her groin high and her arms above her head.
“No,” Tristan inspected the pose critically, “hands down at your feet, so you can grab your ankles in your hands. Bring some rope,” he ordered the initiates.
The youths were as compliant as any good slave in the presence of an experienced master and quickly had his request in hand.
“Tie her hands to her feet,” their instructor ordered them. “We’ll make a stand for my goblet to rest on, and see just how well she manages to balance a full glass.”
She should be beyond such humiliation. Certainly, early on with Mountbane she’d been required to do similar things. But in the present company, Sir Tristan, most notably, there was an element of shame being dehumanized this way. Especially since she found this man one of the most humane nobles in Mountbane’s rule, hopefully, beyond such tactics. Perhaps this was simply for show? Then, too, maybe he was right, and the humiliation would do her good.
Once bound, Charlotte realized that the pose would be grueling, and even more difficult when the pompous Tristan placed his goblet at the apex of her proudly displayed vulva, saying, “Better watch your breath and keep it even, or you’ll spill my liquor. You won’t want to face those consequences.”
Charlotte battled hard to hold the arduous position. Minutes, maybe, would be the limit of her endurance. With practice, she could keep such poses for nearly a half-hour before tiring. Though in recent months these rituals were rarely required of her, unless her husband was being particularly vile; and now, with the added weight of the goblet precariously poised on this most energetic region of her body, she worried that her endurance would fall short of the requirement.
She maintained the pose for some time, closing her eyes and focusing on nothing but her surrender. For a moment, the bliss was sweet. Then the ache began. With the fire in her belly heating up, Sir Tristan intensified the contest, saying commandingly, “Open your eyes.” Her lids popped open wide so she stared into the scoundrel’s face. “You do well with this, slave. In fact, I think you’ll stay this way.” He took the goblet from its position nestled in her pubic curls only so he could take another gulp of liquor. Then he replaced the goblet letting it teeter on Charlotte’s unstable flesh. The fire in her body grew, causing her belly to billow with desire. It took more effort now to keep the table flat; and she was losing ground with each second that passed.
“Ah! Sir, I cannot!” she finally cried in a softly sensuous moan so not to disturb the gentle balance.
“You can’t?” he queried. Such mockery in his expression, reminding her of Mountbane, not the more benevolent master she believed him to be.
Her legs trembled.
“No, sir. Please allow me some reprieve or I might faint.”
“Hummm,” he studied her a minute. “I’m sure you can do better than this, my Lady Charlotte,” he said politely.
“But my thighs and calves are faltering.”
“Don’t argue.”
Her mouth snapped tightly shut and her determination wore on, tattered though it was. Then, just seconds before she might have lost the pose entirely, Sir Tristan swiped the goblet from his table and she collapsed.
