There Must Be Peace Ch. 01

This is a collaborative effort between my Master and myself. We hope you enjoy it and encourage comments.

"There must be peace!" the tribal chief shouted, incensed over the fuss his daughter was making, "And all peace comes with a price, daughter."

"Yes father, and that price is easier to pay when it is not your skin being used as the currency," the girl sneered, but fell silent when her father raised one hand threateningly. He simply glared at her for a long moment, obviously fighting multiple, clashing emotions. Finally he simply lowered his hand, and gave a nod to the strange men that had come to collect this tax of flesh. Immediately the girl found herself seized by the men, and taken to small carriage, although it was really just a comfortable cage on wheels.

The journey was a long one, starting in the gentle rolling hills of her homeland, up into the steeper terrain of the mountains to the east. By mid-day, the pleasant rolling green hills had given way to rocky, craggy ground that rose steadily, and in the distance, the peak of Mount Spire rising like a spike into the heavens. As they got closer still, she began to see the details of the dark and gloomy castle that had been carved out of the western face of the Spire. And the treacherous switchback pass that led up to the foreboding structure, the home of Lord Arcadian Sylver.

Many years past, her home village had been in constant fear of the raiders, and of the monsters that occasionally drifted down out of the mountains. The monsters stopped coming, and one day the village had found out why, when a warlord from the far north came into town, tossing three raider heads to the ground. The man had issued this proclamation, "I am Lord Archimedes Sylver, and this day I have spared your village the deprivations of these raiders. This I have done with no request of reward. However, if this village would like to enjoy my protection now, and for every day hence, then I will be happy to provide it, for a price. That price is one young girl from your village. She must be comely, and she must be presented to my men in one week. In exchange, I will keep men posted near your village, and will personally come and deal with any threats you face."

With that shocking announcement, he left, and true to his word, a group of the warriors from the north appeared a week later. During that week much agonizing and argument had erupted among the villagers, but in the end, it was the chief's daughter that had decided of her own to go through with it. When the men came, the brave girl gave herself over to them, and she was never heard from again. Must speculation as to what was done with them filtered around, but this shortly came to a cease when everyone realized that they were no longer having problems with the raiders. The village was truly peaceful.

Years passed and one day a new warlord appeared, younger, claiming to be Lord Aramus Sylver, son of Lord Archimedes Sylver, and he too demanded a price in flesh. This time, the offered sacrifice was the local baker's daughter, and she too disappeared, never to be heard from again. This was now the third time, with Lord Arcadian Sylver claiming his place, and taking his tax for the continued protection his family offered, his sacrifice.

Sacrifice, the word sent chills down her spine. Was it her life he wanted, or did he merely seek to ravish her and make her one of his wives?

Her thoughts ran in these circles the duration of the trip, which took most of the day. By the time the caravan had reached the top of the Spire, the sun was nearly gone, and long shadows rested over the everything except the castle itself, which seemed to be soaking, drinking greedily, the light of the dying sun. The gate of the castle opened, and she was taken into a small open courtyard, and from there she was forcibly taken from the cage and all but carried into a small door in the side of the castle structure.

The door led to a narrow, steep corridor that went down into deeper darkness. Below she could hear the sound of a despairing wail, and the smell of unwashed bodies and other, less pleasant, odors as well. A prod from one of the guards' spears sent her down the steps, quickly but with growing trepidation with each step. Shortly, she found herself being roughly tossed into a small dark cell, the door slamming shut.

"Wait!" she cried out, rushing to the door, grabbing the bars in the small viewing port. "I'm to be Lord Sylver's, not left in a cell!"

One of the men sneered at her and replied, "I take my orders from Lord Sylver himself, wench. Now be quiet, or you'll not get your rations tomorrow."

The guard turned to leave, carrying the torch that dimly lit the outer hallway, and as she realized that without that light, the darkness would be total, she despaired and said, "No, please don't leave me in the dark!" Panic rose in her voice, and the guard seemed to take pleasure in it.

"Very well," the man said, fitting the torch into a sconce on the wall, "You shall have enough light to see the rats by." With that, he laughed and left, left her in the dirty small cell with nothing but straw on the floor, and a bucket in the corner.

She did not sleep at all that first night, pacing her cell, alternatively hugging herself and crying, and occasionally becoming angry and railing against her fate. After some time, it began to dawn on her that for all she knew, she would spend the rest of her life in this tiny cell.

She was in for one pleasant surprise, in that when food was brought to her, it was hearty and flavorful, and not at all the moldy bread and tepid water she had expected, as a prisoner in a dungeon. She ate heartily, and when she was done, the guard that had brought her food told her, "Lord Sylver instructed us to give you better food than he'd normally send to a prisoner. You should be thankful that he did not send you the rotted fruit from his stores."

She was not thankful, though, indeed the contrast only served to confuse her even more. Why imprison her like this, and then show her favor? She was smart enough not to say this, of course, and simply nodded in 'appreciation' of the 'favor' she had been granted.

This routine went on for days and weeks, and she quickly lost track of all time. She had tried to keep track of the days by counting out straws, but the rats would move them around. The cell had no window to let in light, so she could not even see the sky. Time went on, without her.

Sometime during this time, one of the guards seemed to take a dislike to her, and started playing a cruel game with her. He would come to collect her meal bowl and waste bucket, and if there was anything in the bucket at all, he would complain about how she is making him carry off her waste, and as punishment for it, he would take the torch when he left, leaving her in utter darkness. She would cry and plead into the dark for him to return, bring back the torch, but to no avail. It got to the point where she would hold her waste as long as she could, for fear that she would be left in the dark again. Of course, there was no way to stop the calls of nature, and eventually she had no choice but to relieve herself, knowing all the while that this would net her a time without the light.

And that was her life... one day after another, a miserable existence, and to her dismay, she realized that her spirit was breaking. Why not? What was the point? Soon, she became resigned, when she handed her waste bucket over, she did not wail or cry when the light was taken, instead she would silently cry, or merely accept the darkness as her current state.

Then one day the door opened, and she looked, eager to receive her meal. She was happy that she had not used her bucket yet, and thus she would be able to eat with light. As she looked, though, she realized that the figure filling the doorway was not one of the guards. He stood head and shoulders taller than the others, and his broad frame nearly blotted out the light in the hallway completely.

"I am Lord Sylver, your Master. You will address me as Master, and nothing else, and I will address you as 'cailin', the word from my home language for 'girl'. For that is all you are to me, just a girl. You are not to be my wife, you are to be my plaything." She quivered at his words, but dared not speak the doubt that crept in as he continued, "Do you wish to be free of this cell?"

She opened her mouth, and was immediately treated to a vicious backhand that sent her to her knees, her head ringing. "When I ask you a yes or no question, you will nod or shake your head. When I want to hear your voice, I will bid you to sing... or I will make you scream. Now, do you want to be free of this dungeon?"

She nodded dumbly, still trying to shake off the blow of the backhand.

"Very well," he said, "but you must know that the moment you defy me, the moment you say no to any request, it is back to this dungeon for you. I am a hard man to please, but you will please me, or you will be left to rot in this cell, forever. Do you understand?"

She nodded, and the man stepped back out of the cell, bidding two of his soldiers to take her. She was carried roughly away from the dungeons and into the courtyard where she found it was daytime, mid day. The light stung her eyes, dazzling and blinding, but the warm light on her skin felt so good, she could not find room in her mind to complain about the pain in her eyes. She was taken to the stables, and told to stand in a tub of water. The water was cold, and as she shivered, she saw two boys, perhaps 16, approach her with brushes and soap. The boys soaped her and scrubbed her, and got more than their share of gropes on her body. She burned with shame at being watched and groped like this, but said nothing, enduring it with strength borne of fear of the dark dungeon. Once the humiliating horse bath was done, she was dressed in a plain white shift, which clung to her wet skin, hiding nothing.

From there, she was escorted into the castle, and taken through a labyrinthine series of halls and stairs, finally finding herself standing before a large oaken door, impressively bound in iron and and silver.

As the door was opened, she slowly took in the room beyond. This was obviously Lord Sylver's private chambers. There was a large, impressive bed luxuriously adorned with furs and silks from the orient, as well a fine hardwood tables and chairs for lounging and dining. Other than the standard furnishing, she also saw several devices that were obviously devices used to torture, and others yet that she could not divine the purpose of. She assumed the Lord Sylver must have many enemies, to need such a collection of devices.

She also saw Lord Sylver, now in the light of his rooms, and her breath stopped a moment. He was indeed very tall and brawny, but now she could see that his hair fell in raven locks about his shoulders, bound up by a leather cord to keep it from his face. He wore furs, and was adorned with tribal fetishes of his homeland far to the north. Beyond that, though, was the way he stood near a table, looking at her. He carried himself as if he ruled the world, rather than just a small, mountainous part of it, and the intensity in his eyes as he looked her over made her feel as she imagined a rabbit must feel when being pursued by a wolf. He thanked his men, bidding them to wait outside. The door was shut, and Lord Sylver went to it, locking it with a sturdy iron turn-bolt.

With no further preamble, he took her by the arm and guided her on a tour of the many devices he had furnishing his chambers. Most of the devices were meant to impose agony, but no real harm to the victim, such one chair with small sharp tacks, point up, in the seat. Another was a set of chains and shackles with pulleys, designed to pull the limbs apart, though he explained that it was designed with a snap-rope, should a torturer get overzealous and try to apply too much pressure. The device would make it feel as if the limbs were being torn out, but the safety ensured that the device would stop working before such dismemberment actually happened.

There were other devices, too, and some of them, he explained, were far more dangerous; Such as the Pear of Agony. The small metal, pear shaped device had a screw on the narrow end. The device was placed into the mouth, and the screw used to cause the leaves of the pear to begin expanding outward. It could be used as a gag, or to crack a human skull, or even used in the womb to rupture the insides. "But, cailin, you will never experience more than the agony these devices offer, so long as you always remain obedient."

The tour went on, each device more insidious than the last, until finally Lord Sylver brought her to the bed. The bed itself was very large, easily enough to accommodate four or more comfortably. "This is where I will sleep, but you will not often have that privilege. Instead, you will be kept here." He swept past the bed to a metal contraption, and the sight of it made her gasp.

A set of kneeling pads on either side of what was essentially, a saddle. Rising up from the seat of the saddle were two polished metal rods, phallic and well oiled, one slightly smaller than the other. Above this was a pair of iron shackles on a chain and pulley, He continued "When I am not using you, this is where you will be kept. You will be kept impaled on these cock-like protrusions, so that you will always be ready to accept me when I wish to use you. When you are stored here, these shackles are attached to your ankles, and drawn tight, forcing you forward, onto your palms."

He walked to her and stroked her face, still red from his earlier slap, "Your mouth will not be gagged most of the time, in case I wish to use it at a moment's notice. However, I will not tolerate to hear your voice, unless it is screams of pain or pleasure. You are not to speak to me unless I allow it, you are my entertainment, my pet. You will answer to cailin, our word for girl, or whatever else I decide to call you."

Her new position in life had started to sink in and as she was lost in thought he led her to a pillar where an iron spike held a thick iron chain. He made her embrace the pillar, and began to wrap the chain around her body, fastening it to a hook in the floor. Once she was well bound by it, Lord Sylver took his dagger and meticulously cut away her shift, leaving swaths of her flesh open and naked to the air. Then from a nearby hook he retrieved a long braided whip, giving it a couple of test cracks in the air.

"You will become intimate with my favorite games, and the first of those games is that I like to mark my pets. You may stop this at any time, but it will be back to the cells with you if you do. I am not a forgiving man."

His words sank in and the fear of the dark cell caused her to bite her tongue and commit to take whatever he could do to her. The lashing began, it was long and torturous, each lash of the whip licking her like a demon's tongue leaving deep, red marks, some of them bleeding, some of them bleeding badly. Her resolve was shaken as the whip began cutting into her but she endured it all, every lash, every mark, every bleeding welt. So lost in the explosions of sensation and pain was she that she was unaware of it when he had stopped momentarily. She became ware that he had become intrigued that she had have not yet begged him to stop.

"I am impressed with your stamina, cailin," he said quietly, then began to take strikes at some more tender spots, landing blows on her thighs, and once or twice on the sensitive lips of her pussy, stinging the lips open, and one blow even landed on her sensitive little nub. She squirmed and screamed but she never gave in. The strike on her clit brought tears, and to her amazement, sent her to a place that was all pain that slowly was becoming rendered into pleasure.

He noticed the change in her screams, the far- away look in her eyes and stopped the whipping. He approached her and quickly and quietly released her from her chains and threw her on the floor. He knelt behind her, taking hold of her hips, positioning her as he wanted, then pulled aside his furs and penetrated her immediately. He used his weight, and his hand on her neck, to push her forward, making her face press hard against the floor as he thrust into her.

She regained just enough focus to realize that not only was she being tortured and raped by this massive warlord, but that she was enjoying it. She was wetter than she could ever remember being before. With this realization, that her master was using her for his pleasure, and this was now her life, she felt something inside her let go, and a moment later she was being washed over by an orgasm more intense than she could imagine. He could hear him growl as he released inside her, and yet another orgasm shook her, and finally she passed out.

Some short time later, she was wakened gently, being helped to sit up. Lord Sylver provided for her a cup of water, which she took and drank thankfully. With this done, he took her hand, guiding her over to the 'saddle', and as he helped her settle onto the polished iron rods, and fitted her ankles in the cuffs, he whispered, "Pleasure. Pain. Obedience. Welcome to your new life."