The Bound Knight Ch. 6

Moldred sat at the foot of his bed, staring at the woman kneeling before him. She was perfect. She was perfect in everything: her long legs, her striking hair, her gem-like eyes. She had a defined musculature that was so rare on a woman, even those used for manual labor. Yet, with her thin waist and large breasts there was nothing masculine about her. He stared at her mounds, running over them with his eyes. Even weighed down by large, hoop piercings they were still perky – sagging only slightly under the weight.

But, it was not only her physical features that made her perfect. He had seen her move. Even with spikes under her heels, she had moved through the hall like a great cat stalking prey – a graceful balance, confident and poised, her muscles tensed and ready to strike. He saw her glances. Quick, furtive, but never shy or bashful. Her eyes were a drawn dagger, hidden behind the back.

As she knelt before him she squirmed, ever so slightly, with discomfort. The large dildos in her cunt and ass exciting and torturing her. He could see the juice dripping down her thighs. The light from the fireplace danced on the curls of her crimson hair, shadows hiding in the curves of her body. What in the hells was Mevenmein thinking? Why would he bestow him with a gift like this? No one gave their enemy their finest food and drink. Unless, of course, it was poisoned.

Moldred smiled, and looked at the tart in front of him – wondering what poison she held. Was it in her clit – engorged and red from the clip that squeezed it? Maybe in her pretty face, hidden somewhere in the hoop that hung from her nose? It didn’t matter. If she was a trap, he would gladly spring her.

They were, practically, alone in the room Mevenmein had prepared for him. Two slaves acted as nightstands. They knelt by the sides of the head of the bed, holding up tables with their bodies. Eight more from his personal collection lined the walls. Four to each side, they stood at attention silently, wearing only high heels, shackled to their wall by a short chain that ran to a collar around their necks. They were little more than tapestry. Gash knelt by the door, ready to serve him if he called for her. There was a stand covered with fruits, wines, and other snacks. Two slaves knelt on each side of it, silver trays in hand. They were all furniture though. His attention was solely on Eve.

Eve. That was what she had called herself. It was the only thing he disliked about her, but it was easily changed. What to though? The usual pet names seemed inadequate. This was no ‘bunny’ or ‘pony.’ Nor could he capture all the things he wanted to do to her with a name like ‘Cock Swallower’ or ‘Whipped Tits.’ For the first time in his life he regretted his lack of knowledge of poetry. He knew the classics, of course, but only the parts about killing monsters or fighting battles. He had always glazed over at the parts where they described particularly pretty slave girls.

She squirmed again, and he realized he had been staring at her for… how long had he been staring at her? Too long, he decided. The night was short and his mind was wide with things to do. But what first? Should he ravage her – strike directly at that predator spirit she hid so poorly? Or, savor her, and let the fire in her build and build?  He snapped his finger at the serving girls. “Wine,” he ordered. Immediately, the two slaves by the tray jumped up. Within moments, one of them knelt by him, using her back and arms as a stand for the tray. The second knelt by her, jug in hand, and ready to pour him more. He emptied the goblet in one long gulp, slamming it back down onto the tray. As the slave began refilling his cup. He could see Eve watching him entire time. Feel the heat coming off of her body. He made his decision.

“Eager Dog,” he ordered.

Eve moved without hesitation. She dropped to all fours, lowered her head to the ground so one cheek rested on it, and raised her ass as high as it could go with her knees still on the ground. He marveled at the curve of her back as he took another sip of his wine. Staring at the chords of tensed muscle that ran from her shoulder blades to her full butt. The cheeks parted slightly, framed by the glow of the fireplace behind her. The heads of the dildos in her cunt and ass cast into silhouette.

“Cunt facing.”

She turned, not dropping her posture.  As she did he saw her curve her feet to avoid the spikes under them. Calves tense. She turned 180 degrees, giving him a full view of her cunt, ass, and belly. Her abs, tight, but small compared to what a man would have, flexed as she held her position. He could see a slight bulge near her mons pubis where the dildo in her strained at her insides. He saw her pectorals flexing instinctively to push out the intruder, only for the clamp to mercilessly hold it in place. He couldn’t help but stare at the bare flesh above her clit, and wonder what his crest would like there. He imagined her body arched in pain, screaming as he pressed the brand to her, the hiss of scalding metal touching skin.

His pants grew tight. He opened them, letting his member hang free. The slave holding the jug looked up at him questioningly. He leaned over and slapped her. Not too hard though. He didn’t want her to spill any of the wine. He pushed the top of her head down, letting her know to stay put. He didn’t want anyone on him. Anyone, except her.

He leaned forward, and opened the clamp around her clit. She gasped in pain as blood flowed back, and her thighs quivered as she tried to hold her stance. Leaving the clamp off but the dildo in place, he leaned back, and his cock grew harder as he saw her face, pressed into the ground. She was biting her lower lip to keep from screaming out. He watched her struggling with the pain as he sipped his wine.

Once it seemed to have receded a bit, he ordered, “Humble Cat. Cunt away.”

Again, she turned around – long limbs crawling over the dark, wood floor. For a brief instant, he caught a glimpse of her emerald greens eyes staring at him. He couldn’t say if it was a look of wrath, or the most needful fuck-me-eyes he had ever seen, but either way they sent a shiver of lust down his spine. She put her face to the ground before he could lose control, moving her arms over her head, stretched out fully and crossed at the wrists. Her extended fingers crossed over each other, stopping just short of his feet. Again, she arched her back, holding her ass high.

“Ready Crab. Cunt Facing.”

She moved again. Her belly up, feet and hands holding her body off the ground, her cunt towards him. Her legs quivered as she tried to hold the position while still keeping her feet off the needles just under her heels. He could see her squeezing to keep the dildo inside her cunt, as slick as it was with pussy juice. She cheated a bit. Ready Crab was supposed to have her body horizontal to the ground, but she angled her cunt slightly up to help keep the dildo in.

She held her head up to look at him, as the position required, and her shoulder length hair hung over her face. Her lips had been painted a matching red, and he could see her panting slightly under the strain of the position – her bangs swaying under her warm breath.

Moldred sipped his wine, and smiled. “I’m surprised,” he said. “You didn’t hesitate with the positions. You didn’t cry out when I took the clamp off. You’re even still holding that dildo inside you. Other than slightly cheating on Ready Crab – ” he paused and watched her look away quickly as she corrected her posture. His smile grew wider. “You’ve been the model of a perfect slave. Clearly, Mevenmein has given you at least a basic training.”

“Thank you master,” she said, keeping her voice surprisingly level as she struggled to hold Ready Crab. “You honor this cunt.”

“I do,” he said, standing. He noticed her eyes, partially hidden under her bangs, following him, and his rigid cock. “But I am a Knight, not some bloated count clinging to my families past glories.” As he said this he walked over to her and put his boot over her stomach, just above her cunt. “Hold,” he ordered as he pushed down. He could feel her struggling as his boot ground down into the soft skin of her lower stomach. She fought to stay up, both to hold her position and to avoid the horrible spikes underfoot.

He continued, “So, basic training isn’t enough. Lord Alwynn’s bible has been the central authority on slave training for over a century.” He paused. When he said the king’s name she, reluctantly but obediently, lowered her heels low enough for the spikes to draw blood. She tried to push herself back off of them, but he didn’t make it easy for her. He didn’t push her down any further, but he also didn’t let up.

            “Tell me cunt, how many positions are in it?”

            “One hundred thirty-nine,” she answered, her voice strained.

            He glanced over his shoulder at Gash, who nodded her head, confirming the answer. Moldred had never actually read Alwynn’s bible. He had tried multiple times, but it was a miserable experience. The book was a looping, torturous tome, made to be read to slaves. Between actual rules and notes on slave rearing, the book would go into long monotonous sections on how worthless women were. How they were only three warms holes. Things he agreed with, but hard to care about when they were every other page. Gash had read it, though her being able to read was a heresy. One he ignored for the sake of convenience. Not that she needed to read it to know what it said. Priestesses were the only women who were supposed to be able to read, and every week, while the men gathered for mass, the slaves assembled in front of them. The priestesses droned the words to the slaves while the slaves knelt on pebbles. The priestesses would walk amongst the rows of slaves, holding large, lit candles – flinging hot wax onto them as they passed. The slaves would then repeat the words back, and any who failed were hung in front of the congregation to be whipped.

            Moldred imagined Eve there. A full head higher than every other slave, hot wax splashing onto her face. Her eyes burning as she repeated back how honored she should be when a man chose to beat her or piss on her. His cock ached at the thought of it, and at the feeling of her body squirming under his foot.

            “Let’s see how many of those positions you know, cunt.” He took his foot off her and stepped back. “Moaning Tree.”

            She jumped to her feet immediately, obviously glad to be out of Ready Crab. Keeping her legs straight, she bent over so her head was towards the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees. The hoops on her tits, nose, and ears hung down as the position forced her to squish her breasts into her legs.

            He walked around her, examining her posture. The dildo in her cunt had started to poke out, so he pushed it back in. A short, high-pitched “Ah,” came from her throat. He tapped the one in her ass, but it was still holding. He slapped her ass, enjoying the sight of her wobbling as she tried to stay on her tiptoes.

            Moldred took a step back again and wracked his brain for a harder stance. There were maybe ten most people even used, and he rarely bothered with them at all. He had only done this because it was something he had seen Gash do with newly purchased slaves, and it always made him horny. Of course, she actually knew all one hundred and thirty-whatever positions. In fact…

            “Gash,” he roared. “Run this horny slut through her paces. Give her something that will make her rack her pea-sized brain.” He slapped her other ass cheek as he said this. Gash stood in a single, almost-fluid motion. She wavered slightly, probably a result of her near starvation. He wondered, briefly, if she had eaten the food he placed on her nose earlier. Any other slave in her position would have, but he could easily imagine her near tears as she let it fall to the ground uneaten. She was pathetically obedient. As Gash walked closer he moved past her, towards a wall where whips, canes, and other torture instruments hung. He studied his options, before eventually picking up a flog with long, thin, braided, leather coils. He gave it a few practice swings and was pleased to discover from the heft of it that the ends of the coils were weighted.

            When he turned back Gash was waiting for him – head down, arms crossed behind her back, legs together, and up on her tiptoes. Eve was still in Moaning Tree. He gave Gash the order to go with a look.

            “Pious Bow,” Gash said, no hesitation.

            But Eve did hesitate. She unclasped her arms from around her knees and slowly began to stand. He saw her biting her lip in thought. Her upper half was maybe half-way raised when she paused and lowered it again slightly. She kept her legs straight, and bent her head down into a deep bow. She moved her arms up, then down, then slightly up again. Moldred moved towards her, flog raised. Finally, she settled on putting her arms behind her back, just above the ass, crossed at the wrists.

            Gash walked around her on her tiptoes, studying the girl’s form. Moldred found it an absurd sight. Gash was over two heads shorter and anemically thin. By all rights Eve should have treated Gash with the same contempt he did, but instead she glanced at the shorter woman fearfully. Finally, Gash turned to him and gave a short nod to indicate Eve had succeeded.

            “Tits out!” he roared, and both women jumped to attention – standing up straight and touching their elbows behind their backs to present their breasts. Gash had slightly larger breasts, but he found the perk of Eve’s more attractive. He grabbed one of the redhead’s, squeezing it and shaking it so the hoop through her tit jiggled.

            He looked at Gash. “I told you to give her a hard one.” He swung the flog at her tits hard enough to nearly knock her off balance. “What do you call this position, cunt?”

            “Show Horse.”

            He flogged them again. They shook and bounced and where the coils hit red lines appeared on her pale skin. “What do you think of that name, cunt?”

            “The name was given to it by His Grace, The King. It is – ”

            He flogged her again. “Not what I asked cunt.” He looked at Eve. “What do you think whore?”

            Keeping her head down, she moved her eyes up to look at him. They narrowed, trying to find the trap. Carefully, she said, “In this worthless whore’s opinion,” she paused, her piercing gaze staring directly into his. “It’s a stupid name.” After a beat she added, “Master.”

            He smiled, and slapped her on the face with his palm. It was a hard slap, and before she could recover he grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her into an embrace – kissing her as aggressively as he had done the first time. He felt her pushing herself into him, her tall body a perfect match for his. Her nude thighs rubbing against his erect cock as their tongues met in her mouth. He pulled her back. She fought, tried to stay by him, but he had her hair by the roots and she couldn’t stop him.

            He held her there, staring into her eyes. “You just insulted our king and god, cunt.”

            Not breaking eye contact, she answered, “You didn’t ask this cunt to lie, master.”

            He raised his hand like he was going to slap her, but stopped just before his palm hit her face. It didn’t matter. She didn’t even flinch. Gently, he brushed the hair away from her eyes. He pushed her back into place, and still looking at her, said, “Give her another one Gash. A hard one this time.”

            Gash didn’t even pause, “Ready Bow.”

            Eve glanced at her. Moldred blinked. He hadn’t even known there were positions named after weapons. He saw the muscles of Eve’s neck contract as she swallowed nervously. Moving slowly, both because of the obvious pain she was in and because she clearly had no idea what the position was, Eve bent her upper body backwards, keeping her legs straight. It wasn’t a bad guess, Moldred had to admit. It reminded him of a bow. He looked at Gash.

            Without a word, Gash raised one leg up. She kept raising it, balancing in a way better than he would have thought possible for her. She kept going until her legs were a straight line, up and down. It was no wonder he had never heard of the position. Gash could only hold it for maybe a second, but that second was enough for it to be clear that Eve’s attempt was nowhere close.

            “Good job slave. As a reward, you may eat a single grape from that platter over there.”

            She bowed. “This worthless cunt thanks you master.”

            He ignored her, turning back to Eve. She had returned to a neutral, standing position. Her head was down, and she no longer glanced up at him. “Well now,” he said with a wide grin. “Looks like you failed. Pillory.”

            She knew this one – one of the basic punishment positions. She spread her legs past shoulder-length apart and held her arms up and out so her body formed an X. He saw her lower stomach clench tight as she tried to hold the large dildo inside her cunt. The ground under where her feet had been was red with drips of her blood. He walked around her, clenching the flog tight.

            “Count,” he ordered.

            “One!” she said as he swung the brutal coils into her ass. “Two,” as another landed on her thigh. “Three,” was a clenched whisper as it landed across her stomach and she nearly dropped the dildo. She only managed an “Ei – ” before nine landed across her tits. By “Eleven!” she was teetering with every blow. He didn’t hold back, swinging the coils with all the strength he could muster – without using his Crest. He didn’t want to kill her. He was impressed when, by “Twenty-two,” there still wasn’t a hint of tears in her eyes, despite her entire body being red with marks.

            “Thirty!” she gasped, her body shaking. Moldred took a step back to examine his work. Eve was covered in marks from head to toe. Her breasts crisscrossed with red welts. Her ass striped up and down and side to side. She was panting heavily, her hair spilled over her face, beads of sweat running down her strained muscles.

            “Gash,” he said. She had gone back to kneel by the door. “Give her another.”

-

            It took three failed positions before she collapsed. The dildo had fallen out twice, and both times he slapped her until she fell and then made her lick it clean before putting it back in. Blood poured from the back of her heels, and her nipples, nose, and ears were red where the piercings had been swinging and weighing them down.

            She started to fall, and Moldred moved forward with Crest-assisted speed. He held her against him – pulling her exhausted body into another kiss. She leaned against him, tears finally falling down her face.

            “Do you know why I did that?” he asked her.

            “To punish… this cunt,” she panted.

            He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her gently on the forehead. “No.” He ran his hand over her chest, feeling the welts and bruises. “You’re a pretty cunt, but I want you to be beautiful.” He ran his hand over her cheek. “Suffering is beauty.” He grinned. “Even I, the great knight Moldred, pay attention at church sometimes. Women become prettier every time they’re slapped. No makeup can turn your cheeks that shade of red.” He grinned wider. “And I like the way your skin looks when it matches your hair,” he added, before kissing her again.

            He gently let her fall to the ground before turning to Gash. “Tie her to my bed. Put a block under her back. You know my preferences. You can take the shoes and piercings off her. We have potions, right?”

            “Yes master. Both our own, and the Count provided some as well.”

            “Give her some wake-up tea, and put healing balm on the worst of her injures.” He thought for a moment, “and rub some needle-cream on her cunt and ass. They’re probably loose from those dildos.” He stretched and tossed the flog over towards her. “And keep her excited. I’m going to go take a piss.”

            He closed the bathroom door behind him and let out a sigh. His cock was aching. It would take at least a few minutes for it to go down enough for him to piss out all the wine he had drunk. A slave knelt at one end of the room, a chamber pot on her thighs, her mouth open wide and tongue out towards him.  He walked over to her, and took aim at her face. He leaned back, and waited – still thinking of a new name for the redhead.

-

            Eve’s mind was swimming. She was tied to Moldred’s bed, each limb shackled to a different post. A triangular block had been placed under her lower back, forcing her cunt to arch up. She had been blindfolded, keeping her alone with her pain and her thoughts. Her pain, her thoughts, and the feeling of the emaciated, silver-haired slave’s tongue on her pussy.

            She was exhausted, but the wake-up tea the slave – Gash – had forced into her lips sent a spike of energy through her that didn’t go away. Part of her still wanted to collapse and sleep, but another part screamed to move and go. The healing balm had numbed the worst areas of pain and stopped her bleeding, but her entire body still burned. The soft silk of the bed sheets felt like sandpaper on her raw skin. At least Gash had taken the piercings and hellish shoes off her. The dildos were gone too, but the cold, stinging cream the slave had rubbed on her cunt and ass made the muscles there clench painfully – like a constant cramp.

            Worse than all of that though, was her mind. It was the second time that day she had been reduced to a quivering wreck. She hated tears – hated weakness. Slaves weren’t supposed to be weak. What did the priests say? ‘Suffering is strength?’ She didn’t feel strong. She felt pathetic. Moldred had told her she was pretty with marks on her, and she had felt so proud. Even now the burning on her skin had a new dimension, like she was glowing. He was a cruel, horrible man. One look at his slave Gash told her that. She was emaciated and starving, and horrible, purple bruises covered her body. But all Eve could think about was him kissing her, telling her she was pretty. It was stupid. She knew it was a basic training trick, but when she thought of him holding her in his strong arms, brushing her hair aside so gently, she melted like tallow. Every time she so much as glanced at him her entire body screamed at her to run, to hide, to fight. To fuck. She didn’t know which one she was supposed to do, but it was his face that filled her mind in the darkness. It was him she imagined as Gash licked her pussy so gently. Just enough to keep her one edge. And when she heard the door open, she nearly started crying again.

            His footsteps were heavy as he walked across the room. So different from a slave’s steps. He slapped the ground as he walked – steps growing louder as he grew nearer. There was a gasp as the licking stopped on her pussy. She imagined him: grabbing Gash’s silver hair and tossing her off the bed. A weight pressed the mattress down, and she felt him beside her – his warm body lying beside hers.

            He ran his hand up her body. Up her inner thigh, brushing past her vagina, over her chest. His calloused hands on her whip-marked skin hurt, but she still had to stifle the moan that formed on her lips.

            “Tell me what you want,” he said.

            “Please master,” she whispered. “Fuck this cunt.”

            He ran his finger over her pussy. She was already arched towards him due to the block, but she arched herself further anyways. Her pussy ached with need. “Beg me,” he said.

            “Please master. Please,” she panted. “Please fuck this worthless, stupid cunt. Please…” she sobbed.

            He crawled over her, and she felt the heat of his body. She felt the tip of his cock on her pussy – rubbing up and down. “Please,” she moaned.

            And he entered her. It was impossibly huge. It felt like he filled her. She had seen his cock. It was large, but not larger than the dildo she had kept inside her for the past few hours. She knew, logically, that it was the cream they had put on her. But, as he slammed into her pussy over and over again, logic was far from her mind.

            It hurt. By Alwynn’s name it hurt. The tightness of her pussy, the edge of the block under her lower back, his hands on her raw skin, the hard, powerful thrusts he used – like he was cutting down a tree. There should have been no room for pleasure. But her mind was blank with it. Her mouth hung open and her tongue lolled out as he pounded her again and again. He put his fingers into her mouth and she tasted his salty sweat and she sucked on them – eager for his taste. He panted and moaned and she thrust her hips in time with his. “Fuck this cunt,” she gasped. “Fuck this cunt.”

            He lifted her up and thrust into her and she screamed. “Can I cum master?” she begged. He slapped her. “Can I come master?” she screamed and he slapped her again. He lay down on her body, pushed himself into her one final time, and whispered, “You may.” She exploded as his warm seed filled her womb.

-

            Later, much later, she lay beside him in his bed. The blindfold was gone. The cuffs were off. The block had been thrown to the side and lay next to one of the slaves serving as a table. She oozed him from every hole. Every orifice and every piece of her skin ached. She lay beside him, arms and legs wrapped around his strong body, unable and unwilling to think about anything more than the way he smelled, and the warm, soft blanket wrapped around them.

            He reached over, and put his arm around her. She curled up closer to him. He turned to her, staring into her eyes, and whispered, “I’ve been trying to think of a name for you.”

            “Master, this cunt has a name. It’s E – ”

            He silenced with a hand around her mouth. “Alfred Mevenmein – Eve. I know. A terrible name.” He paused. “What do you think of Moldred Gavain – Eve?”

            Her eyes went wide, and before she could answer he said, “Disgusting, right? Fine to put on a piece of paper, but not the sort of thing you call a creature like you,” he ran his hand over her cheek. Eve ran her hand over his chest, feeling the hairs on his chest, and his strong pectorals, unsure what to make of what he had just said.

            He continued, “You deserve something more… I don’t know.” He paused, lost in thought. “Have you ever seen a dragon?” he finally asked.

            “A dragon, master? Dragon’s aren’t real.”

            He rubbed her lips, laughing. “You mindless little cunt. Of course they’re real. They come down from the mountains to the north. Horrible, fire-breathing lizards. A single one would barely fit in that great hall of yours.”

            “Can they fly? Like in the stories.”

            “Of course. They wouldn’t be so annoying if they couldn’t. When we fought one a year ago, it took us weeks to kill the damned thing. Anytime we got close to wounding it, it would take off.”

            “You fought one?” she asked, so amazed she forget his honorific.

            He smiled. “Aye. Me and eleven other knights. Alphonse, Gastogne, Balmeric, Kain – some of the finest in the kingdom. We killed it too. Eventually.”

            Eve tried to imagine, but it sounded impossible. She knew dragons had existed, the histories were filled with them, but why had no one ever told her they still did? Then again, she realized, why would they? She was a slave, no one ever told her anything.

            Still, it was hard to picture. A dragon – breathing fire and beating scaly wings. Twelve knights in full armor circling around. The man lying next to her one of them. She remembered herself earlier in the day, covered in mud and cum, and felt a horrible sadness wash over at the realization at far apart the two of them were. She held him tighter.

            “They sound incredible,” she said. “I would love to see one, one day.”

            He laughed, rubbing her cheek. “No you don’t. They’re terrible things. It would burn this little manor down and turn everyone you’ve ever known to ash. Who would stop it? Mevenmein?” he laughed again. “No, what you want to see is a tournament. A real one. Not whatever games pass for one here.”

            “Do you go to a lot of tournaments?”

            “All of them. Toulas, Ecen-Slaigh, Gillfont. I took the crown at Kallinboar.”

            Eve stared at him with awe. She hadn’t heard of half of those places, but just the thought of them was overwhelming. She knew, logically, that there were places beyond her fahter’s county, but it was an academic knowledge. She had fully expected to live and die without ever setting foot outside her father’s domain. But here was someone who fought in far flung places across the kingdom. She tried to reconcile this with the man who had beaten her earlier. She was surprised at how simple she found it. She had been told her entire life that great men have great appetites. Some of the tortures the king, or the great knights of old, inflicted on their slaves were the stuff of legend. She was more surprised he hadn’t done worse to her.

            Moldred continued talking as she thought. “You would love it. The crowds, the excitement, the fights. I suppose you wouldn’t understand the fights, but still. It’s incredible.”

            “This cunt could understand them,” she said, only realizing after the words left her mouth that she had just contradicted her master. Luckily, he laughed it off.

            “And what do you know about duels, cunt?”

            “N – not much master. But, this cunt does know some. At least, more than most.”

            “Have you ever been in a fight, cunt? A real one. Not the hair-pulling, scratching fests you cunt’s get up to.”

            “She has, master. This cunt has dueled men, and won.” Eve realized she was wildly out of line, but she couldn’t’ help it. For some reason she couldn’t place, she wanted, needed, to prove to this well-traveled, dragon-killing knight that she was more than some empty headed cunt.

            He stared at her now, a strange smile on his face. “Men huh? You’re father’s men no doubt. Well, you’re father’s men are weak. He is in the center of one of the most peaceful areas in the kingdom, and controls his lands with money and influence.” He stared at her, then, suddenly, as if remembering something, said, “Oh, right. I almost forgot my point.” He smiled at her. His brown eyes sparkling in the firelight. “You make my mind wander, you beautiful whore.”

            He gripped her tighter. “You’ve never seen a dragon. Fair, I suppose. I don’t know why I would have expected different honestly. But that dragon we killed, it had green eyes. Your eyes remind me of those.”

            Eve found herself touching the area under her eye, smiling despite herself. She didn’t know why being compared to a large lizard made her feel good, but it did.

            “So, for your name. I’m thinking Dragon’s Eye.” He paused, and Eve fought the urge to speak out of turn, and tell him what she thought of that name. “No,” he finally, blessedly, said. “Too long.” He ran his hand over her, fondling her breasts. “Fire Snatch.”

            Eve tried to answer with her eyes. Moldred ignored her, lost in thought.

            She had to say something. She would shave her head and body bald before becoming ‘Fire Snatch.’ “Master,” she dared. “Is Eve really such a bad name for this cunt?”

            She knew she had just broken about half a dozen rules, and braced for a slap or worse, but he just sighed and rolled towards her, rubbing her cheek affectionately. “You are so pretty, and I love how wild you are, but you are a stupid cunt, aren’t you? Honestly, I should punish you, but…” He smiled again. “I have a better idea.” He jumped out of bed. “Get up,” he ordered.

            Eve obeyed, following him to the space between the foot of the bed and the fireplace. The same place he had beaten her earlier. They stood across from each other, both fully nude. He was taller than her by almost half a head. His wide body, toned with muscle, seemed so much more than her own. She realized, as he started talking, that she was staring at him, and not at the floor.

“You say you can fight, and you want to keep your name,” Moldred said. “So, prove it. Let’s have a little competition. I am going to try to rape you. If you can hold me off for – ” he shrugged “ –  let’s say one minute, you win. If I penetrate you, I win. No leaving the room, but other than that go wherever you want, break whatever you want. It’s not my manor. If you win, you keep your name, we go back to bed, and we do what you want for the rest of the night. Talk about dragons. Fuck. Whatever.

            “But, when I win. Hmmm, let’s see, what should I do? It needs to be something you remember. I’ll give you a new name, don’t know what, but that’s a given. Also…” He paused, thinking. “Well, my father always says ‘When in doubt over a cunt, use pain.’ So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll tie your arms to the ceiling at the foot of the bed, and you can stand there all night and watch me sleep. Maybe I’ll even grab a few of these other cunts and make you watch.”

            Eve felt a sick feeling in her stomach. It was all the worst experiences of her life combined. It was the same as earlier that day, including her challenger’s absolute confidence she would fail. It was also like her first rape – the night with Bloody Ben. She found Ben disgusting, but had still been humiliated by him pointedly choosing someone else over her. Molded was horrible, but there were parts about him she liked. Plus, she could still feel him inside her. Still feel the way he had rode her. The thought of someone else stealing that from her made her feel hollow inside.

            Also, the bed was comfortable, and it was so rare she got to actually lie on one.

            Her body ached, just like earlier in the day. Her skin was raw and bruised from the whippings, the slaps, the torturous outfit Cum Puppy had put her in, and the passionate, violent way Moldred had used her. She had lost the earlier bout because of her exhaustion, but the wake-up tea still ran through her. Eventually it would run out, and she would crash hard, but right now she was in top form, maybe better.

            She looked at Moldred again. He was imposing. Taller than her, stronger than her. But, he was still just a man – a human. A muscular, powerful man, true, but the cock that hung between his legs wasn’t anything magical. He was just a man, and she liked her name, and it wasn’t like she had a choice anyways.

            Except, she realized, he wasn’t just a man. “Will you use your crest, master?” she asked.

            He grinned, and a light started to appear on his chest. Before she realized what was happening, Moldred crossed the distance between them, and appeared so close she could feel his breathe on her face. His hand was stopped a hair’s breadth from her cheek. She knew, without question, if he had slapped her she would be dead. His crest glowed on his chest, lighting up the room.

            “Should I not?” he asked. “It’s a part of me. As much as my arms or legs. I thought you said you understood duels. Would you ask your opponent to fight with one arm behind his back, and still call that honorable?”

            Eve stared into his strong, brown eyes, feeling weaker than she ever had in her life. She had felt powerless before, but never like this. His hand was so close to her she could feel the warmth of it. If he had hit her, at that speed, with that strength, she would have died before she realized what was happening. “Master,” she said, her voice soft, shaky. “It wouldn’t be much of a competition if you did.”

            He grinned, and his crest faded away. “Fair enough. No crest.” He took a few steps back. “Gash, keep time. And count us off. On three.”

            He stared at her, arms by his sides, not taking her seriously. Eve, took a deep breath. Her heart didn’t slow, but she could at least focus. As she did, she felt the anger rising in her again. She could handle the abuse, the humiliation. But she was sick of everyone treating her like a joke. Maybe he could kill her with barely a thought with his crest, but what could he do without it? If she had that kind of power, she’d never stop using it. Maybe he was the same. Maybe he couldn’t fight without it. She crouched low, watching him.

            Gash counted, “One, two, three.”

            Moldred dashed forward, his arms wide. Eve moved towards him, tumbling to the side at the last second. But, he fast, faster than he had any right to be with a body that size, and he had anticipated her. As Eve rolled past him she felt a hand lock tight around her ankle. It pulled her, and Eve scrambled to grab something. She was by the fireplace, and she grabbed a fire poker that was leaning on the wall next to it.

            As Moldred pulled her back, she rolled up and swung the poker in a single movement. She felt it hit, and saw a brief glint of red. Moldred had blocked it with his forearm, earning him a shallow, but long cut. Eve tried to stab it at him, but she was on her back, one leg in the air, and he was ready for it. He grabbed it and pulled. In that instant she saw his face, and the wild smile that was on it.

            She tried to roll. His grip was too tight, but it bought her space to go for a kick at his groin. Again though, as if he could read her mind, he was ready. He blocked the kick with his knee, ripped the poker from her hand, and threw it across the room.

            He pulled her closer by her ankle. It had all gone so wrong, so quickly. She knew if it turned into a grapple she was through. She needed to surprise him. She put her hands behind her and pushed with all her strength. Using her one free leg and the momentum of the push, she stood. It worked. Eve swiped at his face. Forced to block, Moldred let her other foot go.

            He blocked one swipe, pushing her hand to the side, but her other hand connected with his chest. Her nails leaving thin red marks. They were smaller than the ones that covered her body, but it was still somewhat satisfying. She dodged to the side as he grabbed at her, spun around for a kick, but he was gone.

            She felt pain in her leg as something slammed into the side of it, and she went down. As she fell, she realized Moldred had dropped low and swept her leg out from under her. She further realized that she was so used to men only fighting with their arms and weight that she hadn’t even thought to watch out for that.

            She hit the ground, and Moldred was on her. He pinned her down by her upper arms, and put his knees on her thighs – holding her in place with his weight. He stared into her face. She struggled, spat at his beautiful, horrible face. It landed on his cheek, and he licked her saliva off with his tongue. His wild, bloody-hungry brown eyes flashed in the light of the fire, and he entered her. It was over.

            “How long was that Gash?” he called.

            “Thirty-seven seconds.”

            He looked down at Eve and grinned, the same wild grin that had been on his face the entire fight. A terrifying, blood-chilling grin. “Over half a minute. Not bad.”

            She spat at his face again. He kissed her. She struggled. He began to thrust in and out as tears fell down Eve’s face.

-

            Eve’s head hung low, weighted with exhaustion and humiliation. She was standing – forced to stand – by a bar that ran from inside her cunt to another bar that locked around her ankles. Her ankles were kept over shoulder-length apart by the bar between them. Her arms were shackled to the ceiling above, holding her in place. The bar inside her was painful and covered in sharp spikes. A dildo gag had been placed in her mouth, and she struggled to keep from gagging as it tickled the back of her throat and forced open her aching jaw.

            Moldred walked around her, studying her. In his hand he held the fire poker she had scratched him with. Gash had already applied healing salve his cut. The tip of the poker glowed red hot, and he held it close enough to her that she could feel its heat.

            “I love that fire in your eyes, cunt,” he said, holding the glowing poker close enough to her cheek that she had to turn away. “But you need to learn some discipline if you’re going to be mine.” He ran his hand over his cunt, pushing his fingers around where the rod went inside her. When he pulled his hand away, the fingers were coated with her juices. He held his hand up for her to see the juices between them, before wiping his fingers on her cheek and hair. Then he put his hand on her mons pubis, rubbing it.

            His crest appeared on his chest, glowing with light. “Soon, you’re going to have this crest right here.” He patted her. When that happens, my word will be your law. But I don’t want slavish obedience. With a lightning fast motion, he slapped her. It wasn’t the same killing blow he had threatened earlier, but it still felt like a log had hit her face. If not for the ropes holding her the ceiling, she would have fell. As it was, all she could do was moan, and taste the blood in her mouth.

            “I want discipline.” He grinned and held the glowing poker up to her thigh. Eve shied away from the heat. “To remind you of this, I’m going to give you a taste of what going’s to happen when you get my brand.

            He pressed the side of the poker to the skin at her right thigh. The skin sizzled and she screamed under her gag. Her body arched with pain as every thought fled her body. It was burning hot. It was freezing cold. Every bit of her body screamed as her muscles clenched, and she nearly retched as she smelt her cooking skin. She felt warm liquid run down her thigh and realized she had pissed herself.

            “I’m sure you’ll get it healed by a witch,” he continued once her pain spasms subsided. “But I’d like to think the memory will always be there.” He held the poker up again, and she had no doubt where it would go this time. “Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear. “A slip would be very bad for you.”

            He pressed the tip of the poker to her mons pubis, and she howled. She clenched down on the rod between her legs, and could feel every crease in the spikes that lined it. Moldred didn’t stop. He moved the poker over her skin, up and down, Skin sizzling at he formed a thin line of burnt flesh. Eve screamed with pain, wanting to move away but forced to stay as still as possible, lest his torturous writing veer off course.

            When he finished, she slouched on the bar as much as the ropes around her arms would allow. There was nothing left of her. She was a hollow shell where pain had been. The wake-up tea had run out, her exhaustion was at its peak. The worst day of her life was nearing its end, and there was a crudely drawn ‘M’ on the skin above her cunt.

            Moldred looked at her, and studied his handiwork. “Not bad for free hand, huh?” She stared at him through the tangles of her hair, tears misting her vision. “And you know what, I think I finally know what I’m going to call you. I had all these thoughts of dragons and what not in my head, but a cunt’s a cunt. And simple is better.” He leaned close, and held her cheek. “Good night, Red.”

He turned away and snapped his fingers. Four slaves crawled into bed with him. They surrounded him, covering him, and he made love to each of them. She never took her eyes off him. She continued to watch, even when the fire had gone out, and everything was in darkness.  And in the darkness she watched him sleep.  Four women that were not her sharing his bed.

Red. The worst part was that she didn’t entirely hate it.