Irish Captive Ch. 3

Lord Groat had finally let Tommy go back to his nagging wife after three days. He knew he had been hell to live with those three days and would find a way to repay his groundskeeper. He had spent his fourth day of "hunting" riding through the country, hating the cold, the wind and the rocky, primitive roads. But now he looked at things in a different light. He saw how the rugged land had fused a strong people. People like Kate Aileen O'Riley, the Vixen who was waiting for him back at his manor.

In the late afternoon, he finally gave into his urge to see her and turned his horse back toward the main house. He washed the dust off in the horse barn and waved off his supper as he passed through the kitchen. Manu was on the stairs to his chamber. So long had he known his valuable servant that a simple look told him all was in order and there was nothing that could not wait until morning. He acknowledged him with a nod and kept going up the stairs.

When he reached his chamber he stopped before entering the room, vowing to himself that he would not repeat the events of two nights ago. He would remain in control and he would show her who was master. He would beat her if she needed it and he would take her in any way he pleased. His resolve was only slightly broken when he saw her kneeling at the foot of his bed.

Her head was bowed. Her red hair cascaded down over her shoulder and over her slave's collar. It didn't seem possible, but the collar made her even more desirable. She wore a fine white linen shift. It flowed over her breasts like milk, and then to the floor in a puddle about her knees. Her hands were behind her back. She spoke a single word. With perfect reverence and a tremor that sent a shudder through his body, she said, "Master."

His breath hitched before he could catch it. How could this diaphanous vision exude such strength and nearly bring him to his knees? He steeled himself before he moved forward. He walked up to her, took the ring of her collar, and lifted her to her feet. Then it came to him (and he was grateful for the shift in his mood) that she had been told she was to be naked at all times. Her humble countenance did not hide her defiance. At their first meeting as Master and Slave she had covered herself. Now, he put a finger under her chin and raised her head until her eyes met his. One eyebrow raised,he looked at her as if she was a child that had been caught stealing from the kitchen. With his hand he gripped the top of her shift.

As his hand ripped from her body the only piece of clothing she could call her own, she opened her cursed mouth. "Fillean meal ar an meallaire." Again, she regretted it before it was done. Mother Mary, when would she learn to be quiet? She tried to recover her transgression by lowering her head.

"Well, my Vixen. I've learned a few tricks while you were playing the life of the Queen here at the manor. I can now say with some assurance that you just cursed me. And that is not how my slave will act. Give me your hands, slave."

She complied, and he pulled her roughly over to the wall near the window. There was a ring and hook just over two meters off the floor. He pulled her hands up, stretching her beyond her height. He attached her handcuffs to the ring so her body faced the wall. He was pleased to see that. Her toes just barely touched the ground, so she had no choice but to let her full weight lie against the cold stone wall, flimsily shielded by an ancient worn tapestry, which offered little protection against the cold. She swore she heard him snicker, the bastard, as he took a hand and with little effort, pushed her to one side - quite effectively setting her to swing like a pendulum.

She could do nothing to prevent her body from swinging and her nipples from rubbing against the rough cold tapestry. The pain only increased as her nipples hardened at her predicament. She cursed - but kept her words to herself.

Lord Groat had in fact snickered at her expense. What a clever Master he was, punishing this slave with little effort on his part. Clever in fact was facing her toward the wall until he could get his passion in check. He went to his desk. Duke, who had been watching them both carefully, seated himself between Master and Slave. Groat looked through the correspondence on his desk to try and get his mind off his Vixen.

There was nothing really urgent. But he took his time and made as much noise as possible to suggest he was not paying attention to the slave on the wall. At the bottom of the pile was a note from Manu. He recognized his careful penmanship immediately. It started with a report on the house and the condition of the Lord's holdings. At the end was a special note regarding the Irish woman. It read:

"Your Noble Lord is indeed a wise man to keep a slave the likes of Mistress O'Riley. In all the harems of Arabia I have never seen such a natural submissive. But what really makes her extraordinary is her strength of mind. Being a student of the mind, I did study the Irish woman to find the origin of such a strong desire. The wonder is that it seems to all be in her head - her vivid imagination. Her needs are real. But the objects of her desire are, to this date, just like the Irish fairies - only in her heart and mind. She is, as you have wisely surmised, yours to own; yours alone to Master. - Your obedient Servant, Manu."

Groat knew when he was being manipulated, but he also knew it was for his own good. The jealously that had been threatening to eat a hole in his stomach started to dissipate. He knew, for all his ability to spin a story, Manu would not lie to him. So the Vixen had no real Captain she was pining for; only a man of her dreams. And I was that man now? In that instant, he imagined her below him as she looked up into his eyes and she wrapped her legs around him….He shook his head to clear the image. "She's a damned assassin," he said, without realizing he had spoken aloud.

He need not have worried as Kate did not hear him. The pain in her breasts was nearly unbearable. As she could do nothing to stop her body from pressing into the wall, the cold of the stone had slowly sunk into her flesh. It started as a dull ache, but it grew until even the movement caused by her breathing seemed to make it worse.

Groat rose to torment her. He turned her around and saw there was true pain in her eyes. Looking down, he saw the hard nipples were blue. He put a hand on each breast and she sucked in her breath. They were cold as stone and he knew they must ache like hell. She saw a smile on his face that seemed to have the same coldness, and closed her eyes against what she knew was to come. He slapped one breast and then the other. She bit her lip to avoid making a sound, but it did not stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. He kept slapping her and pinching her nipples. Soon she stopped biting her lip, and her breath was coming in gasps. Whatever place she was now in, he could only imagine. He smelled the musky wetness that was dampening her thighs.

His own blood heated as he watched her body react. She might be a rebel when she opened her mouth but her body deceived her. His hands moved over her body. Manu had done his doctoring well. Her skin was soft as silk from all the magic oil that had been used on her. Her body had a sheen of sweat despite the cold. With his large hands splayed across her pelvis, he pushed her against the wall, letting his thumb run across her fur. She moaned, and he pulled away. He was not ready for her to have pleasure yet.

He released her wrists and she fell to the floor. Her ankles, so long without weight on them, would not support her. She was on her hands and knees, and he put a booted foot on her back.

"Now slave, I've given you enough pleasure. It's time for you to please me. Go over to the fire." She tried to stand. He held her fast with his foot.

"You will crawl. You will crawl in my presence for 2 days. That will teach you to not cover yourself." Kate started to slowly crawl over to the chairs by the fire. All she wanted now was to lie down, to sleep, to die; to get out of this nightmare she had gotten herself into. Groat waited until she was nearly to the fire to give his next command.

"Slave, you forgot something." She stopped. "You need to retrieve your paddle. It is in the drawer of the desk." She had come over half way on the rough cold floor, and now she hesitated. There was the sound of leather sliding; she knew, was probably removing his belt. She couldn't take another beating like she had the first night. Reluctantly she turned and crawled back to the desk. She begrudgingly knew she should carry the paddle in her mouth, which she did as she crawled to the feet of her Master, who was now seated by the fire.

With little effort, he lifted her onto his lap. While he would have welcomed the feel of her skin against his bare thigh, he didn't think she had earned that intimacy yet. So she lay on his breeches, her breasts hanging down against his thigh. He pulled her hands up behind her and held them with one hand while he let his free hand roam over her skin.

He brought down the paddle on to her well- rounded ass cheek without warning. She jumped and cried out. Then she held her tongue, trying to summon some pride. She managed to swallow her sobs for some time. The paddle was not as sharp as the whip or belt. And as he continued, the pain spread into heat that seemed to fill her entire body. He kept up in a steady rhythm and soon the stinging and heat became searing pain. Eventually she gave into her sobbing and at the same time could feel her body betraying her yet again. Her hard nipples, wet thighs and pulsing womb left no doubt she was aroused.

Groat dropped the paddle and her hands. He opened his breeches and sat her unceremoniously upon his stiff rod. She was facing away from him which allowed him to use her breasts as handles. He held on none-too-gently as he instructed her to "ride me bitch". And she did. Using his thighs for level she lifted herself up and down, as his ample member stretched her and filled her. He did not take long to release into her as she had started to spasm almost as soon as he plunged into her.

When he was done, he put her down on her hands and knees. He stood up and gave her a light boot with his foot indicating she should crawl to the corner of the room. As she slowly crossed the room she tried to get her breath. Her ass was still stinging; her body was exhausted; and yet she yearned for the release that he had not allowed her. When she was almost to the wall, Groat opened the door to the small room she had noticed earlier. So, this closet was to be her prison. Without a word, he motioned for her to enter the closet and he closed the door, not even caring to light her candle.

Kate stood, with some effort, in the totally dark cell of a room. She felt around for the cot and table she knew were there. She also found the pile of rags the household staff had donated to her. Without a thought about what tomorrow might bring, she crawled on to the cot and fell into a fitful sleep.

Lord Groat smiled at his own brilliance; what a stroke of cunning to turn his would-be assassin into a sex slave. He was sure she knew now that he would remain the Master of his domain and of hers. As he undressed and crawled into his cold bed the thought of this Vixen to warm the sheets was only a fleeting fancy. In a month, his old mentor Lord Byington would be here to advise him on manners of the state. He had all manner of accomplishments he planned to show to Byington. In a month's time he planned on making his Irish Vixen the center of the his presentation.

***************

And so, Kate fell into her new life. She slept in the little room with the cot and awoke when the Lord did. When it pleased him, he'd grab her naked waist and pull her to him. He was almost always half dressed and she was usually bending to make the bed or clean the fireplace. His cock would be hard and ready as he mauled her breasts. He would take her from behind, quickly and efficiently, leaving her breathless but unsatisfied. The Lord didn't use his paddle and for that she was grateful. Pain, she could tolerate, but she did not care to be left at the height of passion with no release.

After the Lord had left for the day, she would rise and throw on some of her rags. Then she would attend to the job she had been assigned. Manu tried having her work in the kitchen first. But that was a new hell on earth she had never imagined. The cook was some large bitch from the devil himself. She treated everyone like dirt and seemed to take particular pleasure in mistreating Kate. She assigned Kate the most onerous tasks, usually involving her being on her knees. With her booted foot, she loved to prod Kate's ass. Many reasons were found each day to whack Kate with a large wooden spoon.

Finally one day it all came to a head. The cook had a fat son that did nothing but sit at the kitchen table and eat. He took a perverted pleasure in tormenting Kate as well. Kate had just finished cleaning the kitchen hearth, and was taking the bucket of ash out the back when the pig son tripped her, sending her flying. The bucket of ash landed up side down on his mother's head. Picking herself up, she looked up and saw the cook, she couldn't help it, she laughed. And laughed and laughed. She couldn't stop. About half the kitchen staff joined her.

The cook did not think it was so funny. She backhanded Kate half way across the kitchen. Kate had gotten good at ducking her blows, but she had been distracted by the laughing. The cook grabbed Kate by the hair and instructed two of the kitchen boys to tie her over one of the barrels. Kate struggled, but to no avail. She was painfully stretched over a large wooden barrel, braced to lie on its side. They used her leather slave cuffs to tie her arms out to the sides.

The cook ripped Kate's skirt off of her and started beating her ass and back with one of her largest wooden spoons. Kate tried not to react but soon it was too much. She started to sob and then nearly screamed with each blow, as her cheeks got painfully swollen and her ribs bruised. This was not the enticement of the paddle - this was brutal. The pig son just circled, taunting her with insults and occasionally grabbing her collar. He'd lift her head and rub his crutch into her face. It was all she could do to not retch at his smell.

The women of the kitchen and some the men had to leave rather than watch much treatment. The men remaining started to lick their lips at the site of a tight white ass bare to the world. When Kate started to beg the cook to stop, there was the cook, her son and two other men in the kitchen. Her pleas only seemed to cause the cook to beat her harder. The cook was breathing heavy with her effort. Her son was red in the face as well, but with desire, not exertion. "No whore is going to laugh as me! You think you are better than us all. Looking us in the eye as if you have no shame. You are a whore and a traitor and I'll beat you until you won't look anyone in the eye again."

The son grabbed another wooden spoon and spread the handle with grease. As he stuck the handle of the spoon up Kate's ass he yelled, "and you'll not tease me with that white ass of yours, whore!" He pumped her a few times heedless of his victim's screams and then threw the wooden rod aside. His hands were needed to free his own rod, which he intended to put up her ass next. While he fumbled with his breeches, his mother had switched to the handle of the spoon and was leaving welts on Kate's ass and thighs.

Kate's pleas had become mere whimpers, as she was about to pass out from the pain. She soon saw there was more to come. One of the other men was undoing his breeches as he stepped around to the front of her. He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head with one hand. With the other, he aimed his cock for her mouth. Kate had the presence to think. "So help me, if he sticks that in my mouth I'll bite it off!" She could also feel what must have been the pig son's dick probing at her backside.

Then it stopped. She didn't know why until later. The man to her front had let her head go so suddenly, her chin had slammed into the wooden barrel and knocked her already over#- taxed brain into unconsciousness. The last thing she saw was the cook land on the ground with Duke on top of her. Then it was black.

The next day she was reassigned to the laundry. She heard what had happened in the kitchen after Manu and Duke had arrived. Manu had dealt one blow to the fat son sending him crashing into the door. Duke, who had been on the heels of Manu, went for the cook as he saw her raise her hand to his Mistress. The two men ran for the door and were never heard from again. Manu managed to save the cook from having her neck ripped open by Duke. Manu fired both the cook and son and told them if he ever saw them again he would let Duke have them both.

Unfortunately this did make Kate anymore popular with the household staff. Her days in the laundry were not much better, but they were fewer. Manu kept a closer eye on her this time and when he saw it was not working out, he removed her from further harm. He assigned her to work in the orphanage. And that was a godsend for Kate, or so she thought. The work was hard, but the people that worked there were earnestly trying to make a difference for the children and they respected anyone willing to work. They still gave her the most menial tasks, but they didn't beat her.

The orphanage had a small resident staff of six monks. The eldest was hardly able to walk and spent most of his time in the garden. The monk-in-charge by his own decree, Kate had taken an immediate dislike to. Fortunately, he never seemed to be around, so she didn't have to worry that she would say the wrong thing and lose this opportunity to have her captivity amount to something. The other four monks were hardworking and treated Kate with some respect. The care of the 50 or so orphans was further handled by part-time help from a few members of the household staff and a few volunteers from the village.

Kate hoped that one day they might let her teach in the orphanage. That hope kept her going for a while. It helped her tolerate the Lord's groping, and she could hide from her growing desire for him. At night, she tried not to think of him sleeping so close to her. She struggled to block out the picture of his mighty staff slowly sliding into her as she sat astride him in bed. Most of all, she put out of her head the sound of her own muffled screams as she finally reached her release in his arms. No, none of this was important - or real for that manner. "Stupid woman," she said to herself. "I've got the children to take care of that's enough. Enough to tolerate being poked every morning by some big brute of an English dog!" But even as she admonished herself, she thought of his hands reaching for her and pulling her to him by the collar. Then he'd pull her two leather cuffs together behind her back as he kneaded her breasts and pinched her nipples. Kate, the Lord Governor's sex slave, shuddered despite herself.

*****************

A few weeks into her captivity Manu came to Kate and asked her to follow him. He was quite excited to show her something. She knew he had been working on some construction project, but had no idea what it was. When she entered the latest addition to the manor she was astonished. Manu had designed and had built a Roman bath. The room was completely done in tile. The tile, imported from Spain, was done in intricate Celtic patterns Manu had found. There were tile sconces holding candles surrounding the room. In the center of the room was a large sunken tub. She estimated six people could fit in it. Hot water, magically heated and transported to the room through some of Manu's ingenuity, filled the tub. She was sure a bath like this must have graced the palaces of Sodom and Gomorra.