tagNonConsent/ReluctancePossess Me Ch. 01

Possess Me Ch. 01

bytitania123©

Welcome back dear readers,

Here is the first chapter to the new story I have been obssesively writing notes on when I'm not actually writing the story itself. After listening to many comments on one of my previous stories, I will let you know now that not all the chapters of this story will fall under the non-con section. I will post a list on my author's page re: which section I will post each chapter under. I feel the entirty of the story is a non-con theme, as it deals with being a slave and giving up free-will, but I also acknowledge many people just want to read a story about an actual non-con sexual experience and not a lot of what I have written.

As always, please leave a comment or contact me on what you found worked and didn't work and please vote, as the higher the star score the more likely others will read it as well.

Thank you so much!

Titania





A great cloud had settled in the large, deep valley carpeted by a forest of thousand-year-old trees that stretched long and fat into the sky. It happened that near one edge of the dark wood lay hidden a little village built of the large timber taken from its wooden surroundings. With it, the cloud brought darkness and endless days of rain, turning the trodden ground into deep mud.

In the middle of one especially well-used thoroughfare, was a public house nestled amongst the other slag buildings of the row. The throng and noise of its merrymaking spilled into the empty street, skipping a small reverberating echo out to die in the thick mire. Though the street remained otherwise dark, golden warmth could be seen from the windows and open door, gaily inviting all weary passer-bys in. Most bodies filled the large establishment for the ale brewed to alleviate their mud-born sorrows. Some came for the few women that entertained in the halls. But a very small number came to conduct business that did not otherwise have a storefront in which to do so. Fromm Lightheart was one of the rare few, and was on that rainy night trying to devise a plan to save his hide from the enormous debt he had incurred.

In the smoky, dim light, the man sitting across from Fromm looked near wraithlike, with his deep set blue eyes and his strong, chiseled features. The slightly malevolent expression he wore, displaying his growing weariness with the situation, only added to the baleful appearance. Fromm knew the danger that lay in that form; he only regretted not realizing it sooner.

Unable to hold the menacing gaze long, Fromm looked down into his stein, wishing he could drown in the frothy ale.

"Mr. Lightheart, how long has it been since you began taking my money, borrowing it with interest, and yet failing to pay on it?"

"I-I'm not quite certain, sir."

"Five years. That is quite a significant amount of time to be in debt to someone and not know the length of it. Your lack of oversight in your responsibilities is undoubtedly what has positioned you so precariously in my now tightening grasp. My patience wears then, Mr. Lightheart. I want the money owed to me, now." His voice left a chill sliding around Fromm's neck.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, but I do not have the money at the moment."

"That is not what I want to hear, Lightheart."

"Please! It is not my fault! I tell you, it was stolen. I-"

"The last sum you borrowed was lost to you without a return on its investment because you are careless."

"Please, just give me a little more time; I'm certain I can come up with the money somehow."

The noise from the front of the tavern turned Fromm's nervous attention. The small band had begun playing jigs once more, refreshed from their short break. The merriment of the front room grew as a few barmaids pulled several men to their feet. The bustle and noise became a chaotic swirl of energy.

"Coming up with the money you owe me in time, would suggest you have something of value on you, now, not something you can produce from one of your foolish schemes in a few days, not in a few weeks. Lightheart, there is no more time. Either you hand over enough to settle your debt now, or I send you to debtor's prison where you will, no doubt, eek out the rest of your worthless existence."

"Please! No, you can't! I know I am behind, but you can't throw me in prison! I-I..." He tried to stammer out an excuse but struggled to think of one that would elicit the sympathies of Malik Blackwood. "Please!" he begged at last, reaching across the table to grab the hard man's sleeve, "if you send me away, my daughter will be left with no one to take care of her."

The music died down between the songs. The chilling look Malik sent the fat, groveling man made him release his arm and recoil back across the table. "A daughter?" he said in an air of disinterest, smoothing his wrinkled sleeve, "Surely the child can be taken in by someone else in the village. Children are easily-"

"No, my daughter isn't a child, but she-"

"If she is not a child, then she can fend for herself. She has no value in this conversation. Not unless..."

The haggard man sat up eagerly. "Unless what?"

Malik's usually cold, unreadable face turned just ever-so, as if he were contemplating a possibility. "Well," he said somewhat reluctantly, "perhaps we could work something out if..."

"Yes? If?"he said impatiently, a shining light at the end of his dark tunnel winking promisingly at him.

"How old did you say your daughter is?"

"She's nearly twenty-one," he said, somewhat baffled at her entrance into their conversation.

"Humans have value." He looked the graying man in the face, judging his reaction. "In exchange for your daughter, I might release you from your debts."

"In exchange? You want my daughter...like a servant? You wish my daughter to work in your castle?"

Malik weighed his response. "Not so much as a servant, more like a slave. I would own her, as by your debts, I am paying for her."

"But, sir, my daughter works for the village baker. Though it isn't much, she brings home a coin or two a week that helps support me. She also tends to our meager garden during the growing season and cooks and cleans for me. I lose a great deal if I were to just give her to you." The slovenly man became almost indignant at the suggestion of giving away his daughter; after all, she did so much for him.

He abruptly stood. "Then we have nothing further to discuss. I shall call for a soldier to escort you immediately to-"

"No!" he shrieked, throwing himself at the one man he had made the mistake of indebting himself to. "Please, I beg of you! Have a little mercy!"

"I believe not squeezing gold from your pestilent hide is being merciful. I have given you a more than generous offer, and you refuse it based on the assumption it will make your life a little less comfortable. Just think, Lightheart of how truly miserable your life will become. Think of your new, small, stone room with no windows. Think of the squalor, think of the rats, because, believe me, they will come to share your one small meal a day. And if you think you will be uncomfortable without someone to cook your meals, think of the discomfort of sleeping on that cold, stone floor come winter." His steel eyes pinned the man. "Make your choice, Mr. Lightheart, for I am leaving this place with the matter settled in one minute."

"Yes, yes, fine. My daughter, you may have my daughter."

Standing almost imperceptively taller, Malik set his jaw. As though the matter were of little interest to him he said, "Very well. I have been long from the comfort of my home and am unwilling to wait further. Let us to your home, so that I may collect her and be away."

"T-Tonight?" the defeated man stammered.

"Yes. I would have thought a man on the verge of imprisonment would gladly be rid of his debt."

"Well, my daughter, this will come as quite a shock to her. I was hoping I would be able to...tell her slowly. Or maybe, tell her she now has a job at your keep..."he said, somewhat hopeful.

Malik slanted his eyes. He had no intention of allowing Fromm to snake out of admitting to his misdeeds and his subsequent selfish act of selling his daughter to pay his debt. "That is out of the question. As I said, I am headed to my home tonight, and my payment goes with me. Now, stop stalling, else I shall decline anything but gold in lieu of payment and have you promptly escorted off."

There were no other paths to the light at the end of the tunnel. Nothing, but the cold, gray, merciless stone walls that surrounded him, slowly narrowing until he was forced to crawl on his belly. The two stepped out of the golden hue of the pub. Instantly, a man was opening a door to the large, dominating black carriage that sat waiting in front of the building. Malik stepped in and turned as if to offer the other man a ride, but, upon scrutinizing the state of his boots, caked in mud, he said nothing and signaled for the door to shut behind him.

Lightheart turned to the left, following the row of buildings until he came upon emptiness and cut to the left again down a narrow alley between the buildings, headed for his home a short three minutes away. Through the hopeless black, water hitting his face and obscuring his vision further, Fromm Lightheart trod through the slosh, slipping here and there, running through his mind a likely story to tell his daughter.

At twenty-one, she had received several marriage proposals, but Fromm had declined them all. Not only was he reluctant to part with a dowry for her, he was extremely reticent to give up not only a servant, but one that brought home a few coins a week that helped support his extracurricular activities, such as gambling at the pub.

It was that enslaving vice that brought him to the particular upsetting circumstance he now found himself in. Five years ago, Fromm had been forced to sell off the last of his land to cover his growing debts. Nothing, it seemed, ever turned a profit for him. The pleasurable diversion of baccarat had passed a few hours in the evenings, but soon, there was no extra coin or note to be found in his small cottage. The only income it seemed, came from his daughter's time spent at the bakery. She was even skilled enough to prepare items from their garden to sell. Their expenses were limited as she brought home a few loaves at the end of the day, tended a small vegetable garden that provided for them during the growing months, and dug in the forest for the tubers that could be found there.

Two or three men had even offered a price for her hand, though Fromm had never found the proffered amounts to make up for the loss of a cook, maid, and gardener added to the wages she brought with her. The coins, he sighed, knowing obtaining ale would be more difficult now. It had been his desperate need of a few extra copper that made him so happily take the offer of loans from Mr. Blackwood's man. But his poor luck turned worse, and in the following years, Dame Fortune never smiled upon him, but instead led him further from the path of prosperity, and further indebted to Blackwood. It was his last great scheme that had doubled his debt and consequently shackled him to debtor's prison; that was, until Mr. Blackwood provided an alternate means of ridding himself of his staggering balance.

His mind had failed to turn a story that could venerate him. Ah, such is life. Well, I've protected her thus far, he consoled himself. She's of age now, and I suppose it's up to her. The carriage sat at the front of the house, the horses straining, as though invisible whips of flame danced in the air above them, edging them forward. As he approached the black box, the door cracked open.

"Send her out immediately. Be quick," his harsh voice clipped before he slammed the door. Riled at being spoken to in such a demeaning tone, Fromm huffed his way to the front door. He paused a moment before turning the knob. When certain nothing would change with further delay, he clasped the handle and went inside.

His daughter sat by the fire, needle and thread in her hand, stitching a torn trouser. The scene nearly broke his heart. Oh, who will do my sewing, now? Not only do I lose a wage, I now must pay for services, or do them myself, if I knew how, he lamented silently to himself.

"Good evening, father," Brynna said without looking up.

Fromm muttered some sort of reply, though Brynna didn't make out any discernable words. He came to sit across from her, the flames lighting his haggard appearance more than usual. After an uncommonly long moment of silence, Brynna looked up from her work. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes, a-and no. Actually, a nice little thing has happened," he began.

"Has it? What?"

"Well, now, let's see. I was down at the Two Carver's, when a man came in. A right wealthy man, too. I came to hear that he was looking for a new maid to go and live in his castle. Well, my dear, knowing we could get more money for the work you do, I told him. I told him all about you and what a fine worker you are. He was immediately interested and hired you on the spot." He sat tall, smiling at his quick-witted lie.

"Hire me? But father, I work with the baker. I already have job," she laughed lightly.

"I know, but you get paid too little for it. This job will bring us more money. Plus, you live there, free," he said gleefully.

"Free or not, I am not leaving. This is my home, this is where I live," she said decidedly, with a certain amount of indignity in her voice. Then, she became worried that she was no longer wanted, despite all she did. She reminded him of it. "Father, I am needed here. Not only do I bring home an income for you, but I take care of this place. Who will plant the garden while I am away? Who will mend your clothes when you've torn them? Plus, I am fond of the baker and his wife. Why should I want to leave my home?"

"Because you are to work at the castle as a servant," he said imploringly.

"Well, I choose not to," she said with finality, attempting to squash the panic rising. Finality, however, was soon cut short.

"That is not your choice to make."

The large shadow that had intruded into their cottage stood in the doorway, very little light hitting his face. The wraithlike man filled the warm little room with a malignant sort of fear that crept into Brynna's bones. She was shivering almost instantly, despite her close proximity to the hearth in which she had stoked such a homey fire. A moment passed in which no sound was heard, save the crackle of the wood splitting in the heat and the rain beating down outside.

"Who are you?" she said with outrage to mask her fear.

"This is Malik Blackwood. He will be your master now. You will work for him," her father interjected, trying to ease the impertinent tone of his daughter.

She regarded him haughtily, again to disguise the alarm rising sharply up her spine. "And it is yours?" her slightly fear-filled voice spoke.

"It was your father's. He made the decision, and it is for you to carry it through."

A falling of the world around her caused Brynna to stand, facing the man. Heated energy flowed through her as she sought to guide her destiny. "I am sorry to disappoint you, sir, but my father was mistaken. I do not wish to work in you castle."

"Again, it is not your choice to make."

"Why do I have no say in it? I do not understand."

"It is not for you to understand."

"As it regards my person, and as it seems no one else is concerned with my interest," she said swinging to look at her father accusingly, "then, yes, it is my concern. Why is it my father's decision?" she countered.

He took a stride authoritatively into the room, the flickering light now illuminating his powerful visage. For the briefest of moments, Brynna was pulled into his ice-like eyes, captured by an emotion not yet known to her. "Your father sold you to me tonight," his deep voice cutting through her temporary bout of bravery.

Brynna's head began to fumble in upon itself, grappling to understand. "Sold me?" she turned shakily to her father who still sat at the edge of his chair, amazingly small, given his girth. "You sold me? How could you?"

"To pay his debts. I have come tonight to collect it, and he had nothing, save you. He bargained you away so that he could remain free of debtor's prison." She struggled to comprehend her new lot that carried such weight. "Or, I suppose if you are adamant and unwilling to save your father, and he truly does not wish to go to prison, I could be made satisfied by a third and final option." Both heads turned towards him in quieted hope.

"What would that be?"

"I run my knife through his heart." Slowly, he turned towards Fromm, his short backsword suddenly in his hand. "I am come to collect on a debt, one way or the other. At this point, I will take any of the three."

"Wh-what?" The room stirred with the old man's shaking. "Brynna, dear! You must do your duty now. You must go with this man," he said in great agitation.

She blanched. The gravity of her next words pulling her down, she stood as strong as her gall would allow. He glanced at her sideways, his resigned face waiting for her decision. "If what you told me is correct, he was willing to sell me into slavery. Why should I care if you kill him for his own debt?" He saw the pain and the turmoil, rolling away at her heart.

"Very well," he said indifferently and took a decisive step towards the cringing figure. He raised his blade but was stopped on the down swing when she shrieked her acquiescence.

"Fine," she said in a wavering voice, full of defeat and reluctance. "I-" she paused, breathing for strength. "I will go with you, but please, don't hurt him."

"If I accept you as payment, you must understand that you are no longer a free citizen, but owned property and will submit to me fully." His dark gaze pierced her, demanding nothing but full compliance.

Her father may have placed her in this position, but she quickly saw she was to agree to it and would have only herself to blame. She slowly nodded, releasing herself into his ownership. The deed was too much, and Brynna required comfort that no one in the room was capable of giving her.

Her stricken gaze turned to her father who could not brave to look back at her, but kept his eyes on the floor. She waited, but he said not a word. "Nothing?" her voice on the verge. "You have nothing say?" No answer came as he turned to stare into the fire's light. With pained expression she turned back to the wraith apparently commissioned to spirit her away from her life. "Now? I am to go with you, now?"

He nodded, again without sign of thought or emotion. She too nodded, as if shifting her mind. "My things, I must gather my things," the words numbly falling out of her mouth. She walked heavy to her room and gathered the few garments she had. No mementos were to be found to accompany her towards unknown destinations. No keepsakes filled her bag to remind her of a life of happiness and ease. She left alone, as if her world had never touched her, her life gone unlived.

She emerged from her small room, a little sack in her hands. She was set to leave, but silence and pause stayed in the time and no one moved forward. Her eyes could not stop from wandering towards the man who had fumbled her life into unrevealed destinies. He still kept his eyes from her, no words of atonement to be offered. Her life of servitude had gained her nothing, and her heart swelled with the emptiness it left behind.

Clutching tears deep inside her, she turned towards the door and the man ordained to guide her journey forward. She gave no word or sentiment as she strode across the small room. With her cloak secured around her draining form, she walked out the open door of her childhood and into the falling rain. She made it past the small yard and through the gate before the presumption of alighting herself into the carriage caught up with her. Out of courtesy borne of meager stuff, she waited until the presence behind her approached. Suddenly, a man took her small bag, and opened the door.

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