A little dark story I began but haven't had time to elaborate on...
This is nonconsensual dark erotica.
CHAPTER ONE
The sounds of protest coming from the alley had Captain Ranulf Moreaux curious. A woman’s voice? He loosened his sword in the leather sheath, then strode quietly into the alley. This close to the castle there would be few villagers. The uninhabited, unbuilt upon space left between Castle Scorpion and the village was only one street over.
Rain had been pattering down for an hour and had made the cobblestones moonlight-shiny and slick beneath his boots.
The sounds grew louder, accompanied by some sneering male laughter. Two of his mail-clad guards had a woman cornered. Though one of the guards held a torch aloft, with the woman's head concealed within the hood of a cloak, he could tell little of her, except that her hair was long and dark and a scent came to him of some exotic perfume.
He breathed deep and stepped forward.
“Ho. What is happening here?”
One guard, the burliest man with the torch in his hand, turned to speak, though his grip stayed on the woman’s wrist.
“Caught a suspicious girl, sir. She was skulking about, looking at a bit of parchment.”
“Oh? And pray tell, miss, what is on this parchment?”
She raised her head at that, though still he could only see her lower face and mouth, as the rest remained in shadow.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I was only looking for my aunt’s house.”
“Your aunt?” He frowned. Not many could read and she hadn’t answered his question. “The parchment, man?”
“Yes, sir. Here.” The second, thinner guard held out a pale scrap. Ranulf took it and held it up to the light.
“It’s a map, showing my aunt's house,” the woman added dryly.
Her confidence jarred with her earlier tone. His inner skeptic pushed forward.
“This is a map of the village.” Rain spotted the parchment.
Ranulf traced the black outlines and saw that the castle was central. None of the houses had X’s or other marks upon them. Wobbly numbers scribed in some oily ink that smudged under his finger were newly written next to the castle.
He stepped closer, making sure he was far nearer than any man should decently be to a woman he wasn’t intimately acquainted with, then he tugged on the hood of her cloak.
“Who are you?” The hood slipped from her hair, revealing an abundance of flowing locks, some entangled with the large button holding her cloak together below her pale but shapely neck. For a moment, he assessed that delectable hollow where the button kissed her skin. A droplet of rain slid into the dip then headed southward toward the hint of her cleavage and her ample breasts.
The woman’s eyes appeared dark and of no particular color. The curves and lines of her face were made stark by the flickering torch.
Pretty, with a very pretty mouth, he decided.
The up and down movement of her chest seemed exaggerated, but then, he guessed she was fearful. She was right to be.
“I don’t like spies, miss.”
“Sir, I’m not a spy. I swear I’m innocent of any crime. If you would let me go to my aunt, I will have her send word to you. She will –”
“Shhh.” His mouth quirked when she ceased to speak. Her obedience was lovely. He addressed the guards without taking his attention from her. “Thank you for catching this one. I will question her thoroughly. Be about your duties.”
“Sir!” they replied before heading back to their patrolling.
“Your vigilance will be rewarded!” he sang after them. With the enemy so close, his men needed to be ever watchful.
The torchlight dwindled. His eyes adapted quickly, as always.
“Truly, you can let me go,” she stuttered, edging away along the wall. But her gaze stayed remarkably steady, watching him, as if any lessening in his concentration might give her a reason to run.
“Hmmm.” Ranulf reached out and fastened his fingers about her upper arm, noting the firm muscle of woman used to hard work...or perhaps something more?
With his other hand, he turned over her right palm then her left, feeling for callouses among her slender fingers. Uneven. The right bore the heavy callouses of one used to repetitive work. It could be sword work, easily. A peasant tended to use both hands more often.
“I’ve never seen a female spy.” Was he imagining this?
“I’m not.”
“Turn around. Face the wall.”
“What?”
He spun her and forced her close to the stone with a hand on her back, using his unoccupied hand to search her. Her hissing breath warned of strengthening anger but he only smiled, and then...he found a length of something hard and metal-like at her thigh. “What’s this?”
“A...a dagger sir. I use it to defend myself.”
He only grunted before he swept the left and right edges of the cape about the front of her arms then pulled the cloth edges to her back, trapping her arms.
“What?” She wriggled then thrashed to escape. “Do not –”
He shoved his knee into her spine to keep her in place, jamming her body into the wall. As he tied the cloak roughly into a knot to keep her arms together at her back, her curses were muffled. His swift search found a stiletto blade beneath her dress, on her right thigh. The sheath the knife was in felt embossed. The blade when he drew it, and turned it before his eyes, showed beautiful smithcraft. Moonlight dripped over the fine etchings.
“Italian?” he mused. “This is no peasant blade. Who are you?”
In the quiet of night, the ceasing of the rasp of her breathing was pointed. Her swallow came soon after. He had her scared, good. That often made interrogation faster.
“Come now.” He took an ample fistful of her hair, the strands slipping sensuously across his skin before he tightened his grip. That made her hiss again, and curse. “Say it. If I have to beat your name out of you as well as your reasons for being here, this will be a very, long night. Though...” He took a slow measure of the softness of her buttocks where they pressed back against the front of his trousers. “I think I will enjoy this.”
“My name will never leave my lips! May Satan take your soul!”
“Unnecessary. I’m about to welcome you to my own brand of Hell.”
He tied her wrists with some cord then marched her before him across the bridge to the castle. No one said a word as he and his captive passed them and she stayed silent also, apart from that scream when he’d stopped her pitching herself over the bridge into the water. The stares from the men said they appreciated her fate though. Those who knew him could read it in the rigidness of his features and the concentration he focused on her.
She was a spy.
She was his to deal with.
The night oozed soon-to-come terror and an excruciating need.
He had no doubt about this espionage. That made her fair game for whatever method he wished to use on her to extract the truth. Torture was something he loved getting creative with but he’d never had a beautiful young woman to practice upon. His groin ached with anticipation. Their descent down the spiraling stairs to the lower levels seared the smell of damp into his mind, as well as the flutter of light, the scent of torch smoke, and the sounds of her feet tapping on the stone . He had no doubt her screams would be there also, soon.
He knew he meant to do bad things to her. She knew it also, by now. Her breathing was more erratic, her face, when he glimpsed it, was strained and white.
At the solid timber door to the lower interrogation chamber, he stopped her so he could unravel the cloak from her upper arms. It seemed a nondescript garment so he let it fall at their feet.
Some remnant of conscience made him give her one last chance.
“Tell me all now, here, and you will be spared the coming pain, the humiliation, and the destruction of your very self. Tell me. Now.”
Her head down, she heaved in several deep lungfuls of air, before spitting out, “Do your worst, sir. Know that if you kill me, I will come back to haunt you. This I swear.”
“You are mistaken.” He bent to speak directly to her ear. “I won’t be killing you. I have a feeling I will be keeping you alive for a very long time...even after you convey to me everything that you know. I will hear of your favorite color, relative, time of day, and flower. Of who used to command you and of why they sent you here. You will tell me when your breasts first grew and when you came into womanhood.” With his hand on her jaw, he turned her to face him.
Green eyes? His eyebrows lifted. Pretty. “In a few hours’ time, you will beg me to let you say whose cock you have taken into this sweet mouth as well as how many strokes they fucked it with. Everything. I want it all. You will say to me every dark, dirty, and unwholesome secret in your mind. ”
That was when she began to shiver.
She stumbled as he led her through the door into the large space of the room beyond. As she took in her surroundings, she gaped silently. The walls were hung with implements fashioned precisely to make a person scream and writhe. The various benches, metal hooks, and anchor points were for fastening people in place.
“I like to keep my subjects from wriggling while I ask them questions,” he explained, with his grip on her arm tightening then loosening as he pondered where to begin. “Come.” Ranulf dragged her deeper into the room.
“No. Wait. Please wait.”
Her gasps and struggles would be the first of many.
Rain had been pattering down for an hour and had made the cobblestones moonlight-shiny and slick beneath his boots.
The sounds grew louder, accompanied by some sneering male laughter. Two of his mail-clad guards had a woman cornered. Though one of the guards held a torch aloft, with the woman's head concealed within the hood of a cloak, he could tell little of her, except that her hair was long and dark and a scent came to him of some exotic perfume.
He breathed deep and stepped forward.
“Ho. What is happening here?”
One guard, the burliest man with the torch in his hand, turned to speak, though his grip stayed on the woman’s wrist.
“Caught a suspicious girl, sir. She was skulking about, looking at a bit of parchment.”
“Oh? And pray tell, miss, what is on this parchment?”
She raised her head at that, though still he could only see her lower face and mouth, as the rest remained in shadow.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I was only looking for my aunt’s house.”
“Your aunt?” He frowned. Not many could read and she hadn’t answered his question. “The parchment, man?”
“Yes, sir. Here.” The second, thinner guard held out a pale scrap. Ranulf took it and held it up to the light.
“It’s a map, showing my aunt's house,” the woman added dryly.
Her confidence jarred with her earlier tone. His inner skeptic pushed forward.
“This is a map of the village.” Rain spotted the parchment.
Ranulf traced the black outlines and saw that the castle was central. None of the houses had X’s or other marks upon them. Wobbly numbers scribed in some oily ink that smudged under his finger were newly written next to the castle.
He stepped closer, making sure he was far nearer than any man should decently be to a woman he wasn’t intimately acquainted with, then he tugged on the hood of her cloak.
“Who are you?” The hood slipped from her hair, revealing an abundance of flowing locks, some entangled with the large button holding her cloak together below her pale but shapely neck. For a moment, he assessed that delectable hollow where the button kissed her skin. A droplet of rain slid into the dip then headed southward toward the hint of her cleavage and her ample breasts.
The woman’s eyes appeared dark and of no particular color. The curves and lines of her face were made stark by the flickering torch.
Pretty, with a very pretty mouth, he decided.
The up and down movement of her chest seemed exaggerated, but then, he guessed she was fearful. She was right to be.
“I don’t like spies, miss.”
“Sir, I’m not a spy. I swear I’m innocent of any crime. If you would let me go to my aunt, I will have her send word to you. She will –”
“Shhh.” His mouth quirked when she ceased to speak. Her obedience was lovely. He addressed the guards without taking his attention from her. “Thank you for catching this one. I will question her thoroughly. Be about your duties.”
“Sir!” they replied before heading back to their patrolling.
“Your vigilance will be rewarded!” he sang after them. With the enemy so close, his men needed to be ever watchful.
The torchlight dwindled. His eyes adapted quickly, as always.
“Truly, you can let me go,” she stuttered, edging away along the wall. But her gaze stayed remarkably steady, watching him, as if any lessening in his concentration might give her a reason to run.
“Hmmm.” Ranulf reached out and fastened his fingers about her upper arm, noting the firm muscle of woman used to hard work...or perhaps something more?
With his other hand, he turned over her right palm then her left, feeling for callouses among her slender fingers. Uneven. The right bore the heavy callouses of one used to repetitive work. It could be sword work, easily. A peasant tended to use both hands more often.
“I’ve never seen a female spy.” Was he imagining this?
“I’m not.”
“Turn around. Face the wall.”
“What?”
He spun her and forced her close to the stone with a hand on her back, using his unoccupied hand to search her. Her hissing breath warned of strengthening anger but he only smiled, and then...he found a length of something hard and metal-like at her thigh. “What’s this?”
“A...a dagger sir. I use it to defend myself.”
He only grunted before he swept the left and right edges of the cape about the front of her arms then pulled the cloth edges to her back, trapping her arms.
“What?” She wriggled then thrashed to escape. “Do not –”
He shoved his knee into her spine to keep her in place, jamming her body into the wall. As he tied the cloak roughly into a knot to keep her arms together at her back, her curses were muffled. His swift search found a stiletto blade beneath her dress, on her right thigh. The sheath the knife was in felt embossed. The blade when he drew it, and turned it before his eyes, showed beautiful smithcraft. Moonlight dripped over the fine etchings.
“Italian?” he mused. “This is no peasant blade. Who are you?”
In the quiet of night, the ceasing of the rasp of her breathing was pointed. Her swallow came soon after. He had her scared, good. That often made interrogation faster.
“Come now.” He took an ample fistful of her hair, the strands slipping sensuously across his skin before he tightened his grip. That made her hiss again, and curse. “Say it. If I have to beat your name out of you as well as your reasons for being here, this will be a very, long night. Though...” He took a slow measure of the softness of her buttocks where they pressed back against the front of his trousers. “I think I will enjoy this.”
“My name will never leave my lips! May Satan take your soul!”
“Unnecessary. I’m about to welcome you to my own brand of Hell.”
He tied her wrists with some cord then marched her before him across the bridge to the castle. No one said a word as he and his captive passed them and she stayed silent also, apart from that scream when he’d stopped her pitching herself over the bridge into the water. The stares from the men said they appreciated her fate though. Those who knew him could read it in the rigidness of his features and the concentration he focused on her.
She was a spy.
She was his to deal with.
The night oozed soon-to-come terror and an excruciating need.
He had no doubt about this espionage. That made her fair game for whatever method he wished to use on her to extract the truth. Torture was something he loved getting creative with but he’d never had a beautiful young woman to practice upon. His groin ached with anticipation. Their descent down the spiraling stairs to the lower levels seared the smell of damp into his mind, as well as the flutter of light, the scent of torch smoke, and the sounds of her feet tapping on the stone . He had no doubt her screams would be there also, soon.
He knew he meant to do bad things to her. She knew it also, by now. Her breathing was more erratic, her face, when he glimpsed it, was strained and white.
At the solid timber door to the lower interrogation chamber, he stopped her so he could unravel the cloak from her upper arms. It seemed a nondescript garment so he let it fall at their feet.
Some remnant of conscience made him give her one last chance.
“Tell me all now, here, and you will be spared the coming pain, the humiliation, and the destruction of your very self. Tell me. Now.”
Her head down, she heaved in several deep lungfuls of air, before spitting out, “Do your worst, sir. Know that if you kill me, I will come back to haunt you. This I swear.”
“You are mistaken.” He bent to speak directly to her ear. “I won’t be killing you. I have a feeling I will be keeping you alive for a very long time...even after you convey to me everything that you know. I will hear of your favorite color, relative, time of day, and flower. Of who used to command you and of why they sent you here. You will tell me when your breasts first grew and when you came into womanhood.” With his hand on her jaw, he turned her to face him.
Green eyes? His eyebrows lifted. Pretty. “In a few hours’ time, you will beg me to let you say whose cock you have taken into this sweet mouth as well as how many strokes they fucked it with. Everything. I want it all. You will say to me every dark, dirty, and unwholesome secret in your mind. ”
That was when she began to shiver.
She stumbled as he led her through the door into the large space of the room beyond. As she took in her surroundings, she gaped silently. The walls were hung with implements fashioned precisely to make a person scream and writhe. The various benches, metal hooks, and anchor points were for fastening people in place.
“I like to keep my subjects from wriggling while I ask them questions,” he explained, with his grip on her arm tightening then loosening as he pondered where to begin. “Come.” Ranulf dragged her deeper into the room.
“No. Wait. Please wait.”
Her gasps and struggles would be the first of many.
CHAPTER TWO
Speaking at this stage would be of little use, whereas silence would amplify the strangeness and fear, and so Ranulf chose to remain silent. The female spy protested several times before she seemed to realize he was paying her no heed.
His physical strength overpowering her would be good place to begin. With a hand at her nape, he pushed her head toward the stocks while leaving her wrists tied. She had to kneel or else fall to the floor, facefirst.
“This,” he said, as he forced her head lower into the semicircle of stained timber. “Is where you will be for the rest of this night, unless I change my mind.”
From her writhing under his hand, she resisted with all her might.
“That will avail you naught. Your wrists are tied. We are alone. There is no one to aid you. Only I am the decider of your fate. Resist me if you wish. It will only make me enjoy this more.”
“You are an asshole, sir,” she spat, as her neck met the timber.
“Very likely.” But he smiled, swung down the top half of the stocks, and locked it in place.
Her panting told of how much she’d tried to stop him.
The silence deepened as he drew his knife from his belt and proceeded to cut away the skirt of her navy-colored dress, until only enough remained to cover her to an inch or two below the juncture of her legs. Then he cut away her undergarments revealing her intimate parts.
She broke her silence. “You shall not treat me so! I am a lady. I demand you treat me decently!”
At that he kneeled beside her, at the front of the stocks. Her raven-dark hair had partly escaped the closure of the stocks and fell on either side of her face. He used his knife to cut the hair short, until he could see her eyes past the ragged fringe.
“You do not demand anything. Can you see this knife?”
He revolved the point before her right eye, a bare half inch away. She blinked convulsively until, with finger and thumb, he forced her eyelids to stay open.
“I could plunge it into this eye and no one would criticize my decision. Tell me, why are you here?” He rested the point below her eye, denting her skin, then he scratched it slowly lower, over her cheek, drawing a modicum of blood as the trail deepened, then drawing a squeal from her. The knife point ended inside her nose, pressing upward. “I can slit your nose. I can cut your pussy. I can fuck you with this blade, if I so choose. Tell me who you are and why you are here.”
Though she whimpered as the point pushed up into her nose, she said nothing.
Curious, so stoic for a woman and yet, he was glad.
This challenge called to him so urgently that he heard ringing in his ears. Unless the priest was up early, that was something of a unique event.
“I’ve never had a woman to torture. Never.” He levered himself upright. The floor had been cold on his knees. “I see tonight is going to change that.”
“I cannot tell you,” she whispered, her eyes shut.
“No?”
He was going to enjoy this far too much for his own state of mind. This night would never leave him, no matter how soon she spoke the truth.
“Say your prayers. This night I will have your soul, your body, your mind. I have never failed to deliver on such promises.” He strolled about her then paused, struck by the sight of her naked bottom. It made him think the most depraved of thoughts.
No one would know what happened in here.
“I think you will inspire me to great heights.” Her whimpers pleased him enough that he stood savoring them, until they ceased.
Whipping her ass would make for a fine beginning.
From the collection on the wall, he took down a leather whip, with tiny knots at the ends of each fall of leather. Ten falls, ten knots.
“Prepare yourself.” He took a few steps, letting his boots click on the floor as he positioned himself behind her.
The moments now would tease at her mind. She had no idea as to his plans. He drew back the whip then swung his arm forward. The crack against the skin of her ass and her first scream shuddered into his mind. Etched fire. The very walls would remember that screech.
“I wondered,” he uttered quietly. “If you would scream on the first blow. Now I know. There will be many more.”
“I don’t care. You will not get the truth from me.” The quaver in her voice said the opposite.
Blebs of blood oozed to the surface of her bottom. He’d need to lessen the force. It wouldn’t do to exhaust her so quickly. The night demanded a full quota of pain.
He stepped closer and trailed the falls of the whip across her back then her ass, like gentle rain. Blood collected on the leather fronds and smeared and dribbled over her pale skin.
Ranulf swallowed as her sexual entrance clenched. When her little asshole did the same he stared. No matter that he’d taken a woman there before, this was different.
What better way to torture her...
He smiled. Even more delicious if he forced enjoyment from her.
Oh the dichotomy of being his victim and his lover, all at once. Her enemy, her torturer, and her lover.
Yes.
He would fuck her there, eventually, and make her like it. Whether she spoke the truth, or not.
His physical strength overpowering her would be good place to begin. With a hand at her nape, he pushed her head toward the stocks while leaving her wrists tied. She had to kneel or else fall to the floor, facefirst.
“This,” he said, as he forced her head lower into the semicircle of stained timber. “Is where you will be for the rest of this night, unless I change my mind.”
From her writhing under his hand, she resisted with all her might.
“That will avail you naught. Your wrists are tied. We are alone. There is no one to aid you. Only I am the decider of your fate. Resist me if you wish. It will only make me enjoy this more.”
“You are an asshole, sir,” she spat, as her neck met the timber.
“Very likely.” But he smiled, swung down the top half of the stocks, and locked it in place.
Her panting told of how much she’d tried to stop him.
The silence deepened as he drew his knife from his belt and proceeded to cut away the skirt of her navy-colored dress, until only enough remained to cover her to an inch or two below the juncture of her legs. Then he cut away her undergarments revealing her intimate parts.
She broke her silence. “You shall not treat me so! I am a lady. I demand you treat me decently!”
At that he kneeled beside her, at the front of the stocks. Her raven-dark hair had partly escaped the closure of the stocks and fell on either side of her face. He used his knife to cut the hair short, until he could see her eyes past the ragged fringe.
“You do not demand anything. Can you see this knife?”
He revolved the point before her right eye, a bare half inch away. She blinked convulsively until, with finger and thumb, he forced her eyelids to stay open.
“I could plunge it into this eye and no one would criticize my decision. Tell me, why are you here?” He rested the point below her eye, denting her skin, then he scratched it slowly lower, over her cheek, drawing a modicum of blood as the trail deepened, then drawing a squeal from her. The knife point ended inside her nose, pressing upward. “I can slit your nose. I can cut your pussy. I can fuck you with this blade, if I so choose. Tell me who you are and why you are here.”
Though she whimpered as the point pushed up into her nose, she said nothing.
Curious, so stoic for a woman and yet, he was glad.
This challenge called to him so urgently that he heard ringing in his ears. Unless the priest was up early, that was something of a unique event.
“I’ve never had a woman to torture. Never.” He levered himself upright. The floor had been cold on his knees. “I see tonight is going to change that.”
“I cannot tell you,” she whispered, her eyes shut.
“No?”
He was going to enjoy this far too much for his own state of mind. This night would never leave him, no matter how soon she spoke the truth.
“Say your prayers. This night I will have your soul, your body, your mind. I have never failed to deliver on such promises.” He strolled about her then paused, struck by the sight of her naked bottom. It made him think the most depraved of thoughts.
No one would know what happened in here.
“I think you will inspire me to great heights.” Her whimpers pleased him enough that he stood savoring them, until they ceased.
Whipping her ass would make for a fine beginning.
From the collection on the wall, he took down a leather whip, with tiny knots at the ends of each fall of leather. Ten falls, ten knots.
“Prepare yourself.” He took a few steps, letting his boots click on the floor as he positioned himself behind her.
The moments now would tease at her mind. She had no idea as to his plans. He drew back the whip then swung his arm forward. The crack against the skin of her ass and her first scream shuddered into his mind. Etched fire. The very walls would remember that screech.
“I wondered,” he uttered quietly. “If you would scream on the first blow. Now I know. There will be many more.”
“I don’t care. You will not get the truth from me.” The quaver in her voice said the opposite.
Blebs of blood oozed to the surface of her bottom. He’d need to lessen the force. It wouldn’t do to exhaust her so quickly. The night demanded a full quota of pain.
He stepped closer and trailed the falls of the whip across her back then her ass, like gentle rain. Blood collected on the leather fronds and smeared and dribbled over her pale skin.
Ranulf swallowed as her sexual entrance clenched. When her little asshole did the same he stared. No matter that he’d taken a woman there before, this was different.
What better way to torture her...
He smiled. Even more delicious if he forced enjoyment from her.
Oh the dichotomy of being his victim and his lover, all at once. Her enemy, her torturer, and her lover.
Yes.
He would fuck her there, eventually, and make her like it. Whether she spoke the truth, or not.
Copyright Cari Silverwood 2015. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.