Breathless

"Why," she kept asking herself, "this unexpected treatment?"

She felt refreshed, her energies replenished; she hadn't been in such good shape for a long time. The warm bed made her drift off again. In her dream she was finally sailing home, the warm Mediterranean breeze rustling the ship's sails. She saw her father, worried, his face in deep thought, his once dark hair now completely grey. Although she danced around him like she had done when she was still a little girl, spoiled by his affection, he now didn't take any notice of her efforts to get his attention. Suddenly the sea stirred up, and the waves became threatening. She could hear people shouting, but didn't understand what was said. Somebody touched her, shook her...she woke up.

*

She recognized the face of the woman who tried to wake her. The room was dark by now, only dimly lit by the lone candle the midwife was carrying. Since she detected urgency in the servant's face, she stood up immediately and was handed the cape she had worn earlier. The muscular servant had entered the room and urged both of them to hurry. The three women hurriedly left the by-then freezing cold room, and followed a narrow aisle until they reached a closed door, which the pudgy servant opened. The southern beauty was momentarily blinded by the intense illumination in the room, but welcomed the warm temperature originating from an open fireplace. The younger servant took her cape and motioned her to stand on the rug next to the fire. Both women started to remove the bandages and seemed relieved with the results; eventually, they removed the woolen socks.

The muscular servant moved a bench from one corner of the room and positioned it close to the warming fire, covering it with a woolen quilt and finally bidding her to lie face down on it. Both servants started to massage her with an oily substance. The kneading and greasing motion prompted her to relax; she closed her eyes, while every part of her body was massaged by the two servants. They had her switch sides, repeated the process starting with her chest, greasing her breasts, moving downward along her body until finally rubbing her toes. It felt great. She was reminded of her former life of luxury, when regular massages by servants were considered routine.

It must have subconsciously been reflected in her demeanor and movements, because the two Nordic servants, used to that treatment by nobles, instantly switched to more servile behavior. When they combed her hair, she was her old self.

A loud knock on the door interrupted the peaceful ministrations and the three women were startled. The young servant left for the door and after a brief exchange returned with a velvet blindfold. Still polite, the muscular woman indicated her intentions to once again block the southerner's vision, thereby painfully reminding her of her lost status. The new blindfold darkened her vision completely. The fleeting feeling of dignity the young beauty had enjoyed was once again replaced by uneasiness, and her anxiety resurfaced, resulting in a broad nervousness.

She could hear the two servants rearranging the bench, collecting their tools and finally leaving the room. Long minutes of nothingness passed, her state of anxiety quadrupling in that time. Gone was the confidence; the gruesome feeling of confinement had come back with a vengeance. When she finally recognized movements outside the door, she was again reduced to her captive status.

"Present yourself!"

Recognizing the firm voice of the noblewoman, she complied instantaneously, offering her body in the by now accustomed degrading manner, fearfully waiting to be inspected. The Norman lady approached her, studied her appearance for several moments, and seemed satisfied. This time anticipating the examination, she tensely waited for the woman to touch her; expecting her to touch her breasts again, she felt her nipples harden above the puffy areolas.

As one would encourage a puppy, the lady commended her on her hardening nipples and in so doing, again subtly shamed her. She felt exploring fingers on her upper lip, gently moving along its prominent cupid's bow, encouraging its opening by soft pressure, expecting access, finally revealing her white front teeth. She started to explore the beauty's oral cavity, thereby lubricating her fingers. She tested the Spaniard's gag reflex by slowly but steady slipping her two fingers towards her throat. There was none; in that regard she had been successfully desensitized. The noblewoman continued to explore her mouth, now less interested in its composition, and more in establishing and reinforcing subjection, before finally withdrawing her fingers.

She felt a soft pressure being applied to her back, indicating the upcoming inspection of her other orifices and she widened her stand, to ease access. By now her heart was hammering in a state of apprehension. She held her bottom cheeks apart, to ease penetration. She felt the fingers of the noblewoman, still lubricated by her own saliva, following the groove between her buttocks until they reached the cleft directly above her back entrance, where dark hair surrounded the location of her anus. The noblewoman softly explored the darker skin surrounding her opening in a circling motion, obviously intended to help her relax; but she finally applied pressure with her fingertips to indicate the upcoming anal penetration.

Because of the gentle explorations the captive was able to relax, enabling a smooth penetration of the external opening of her rectum. The outer ring of her anal passage gave way to two fingers, slowly but firmly invading her intestines. Her instinct to go on tiptoes, to rear up, was met with a soothing "Shhhh!" and applied counter pressure from the noblewoman's left hand. She gasped because of the humiliating exploration of her private parts. Like a prized animal, she was examined by the noblewoman, who found her back passage tightening up around her fingers, when she began to move them in a slow pumping motion in and out of her posterior opening.

Finally satisfied with the humiliating checkup of her aft, the woman then proceeded to softly circle her perineum, indicating the imminent examination of her vagina. This gave the beauty time to spread her lips, to reveal her rosy interior. Because of her fear and overall stressed condition, she wasn't sufficiently lubricated and therefore anticipated another unpleasant penetration of her last orifice.

The noblewoman was obviously mindful of her dryness, because she interrupted the examination. The beauty sensed movements, and suddenly smelled her own pungent scent on the noblewoman's hand, now close to her face. Not sure if she would be able to overcome her initial repulsion, she remained steady, waiting for the Norman's command.

"I'll check your cunt with or without your help, young lady!" she impatiently threatened.

She decided to help. It wasn't the smell of her own sex, which had her hesitating earlier; it had more to do with her not being aroused. She wasn't a prude, and had smelled and manipulated her sex many times, but now she was just immensely scared of the evening's development. She opened her mouth.

The noble woman was clearly aware of the Spaniards charms, because she was visibly stirred, when the young woman accepted her repeated oral meddling and finally commanded

"Spit!"

She did.

"Again!" she ordered.

Satisfied with the amount of wetness on her fingers, the noblewoman returned to force herself into beauty's ultimate treasure, ignoring the groaning caused by her ministrations. She found the captive to be exquisitely tight, due to the imposed period of non-sexual activity. She started to grab one of her breasts, squeezing it in a milking downward movement, enjoying the total control she had over the beauty's body. But she knew this pearl needed to be awakened first, to be fully enjoyed and that it was not hers to command.

Admired

The female captive found herself once again alone near the fireplace. The degrading examination had ended, the Norman gone, and her heart still beat fiercely, keeping her in a state of high apprehension, emotionally and physically battered by the demeaning treatment, the outright rape by that noblewoman.

All the women she had met in this castle -- and she had only encountered females, except the guards yesterday and the Norman horde who raided her entourage long ago -- had tried to make sure she understood her lost status. She had started to accept it and had resigned herself to the fact of her being a mere slave. But the last several hours had revived her buried remembrances of her nobility; it was still residing within her, which was why she felt so miserable after the noblewoman's treatment.

She recognized several individuals entering, felt someone removing her blindfold, thereby enabling her to more rapidly observe and assess her surroundings, and greatly reducing her level of tension. She was again surrounded by women whom she had never met.

"They must all be servants," she observed, "but are robed in a nobler style."

They had brought a stool, positioned it near the fire and politely indicated for her to sit down. Several different pieces of clothing were arranged along the bench. One happy tradition of her mother's which had most delighted her was the trying on of different clothes. They had both spent countless hours reviewing, fitting, and arguing over the various outfits presented by merchants from almost every part of the known world. That's why she immediately judged the material and style to be most exquisite.

"So they are going to dress me, only to have the Lord unpeel me, when he wishes to do so, like a banquet with many courses," she mused bitterly.

They started to redo her hair; applied makeup to make her lovely lips even fuller and her eyelashes longer, and scented her with a fragrance smelling of cross-leaved heath, which she found quite fitting, even in her dire situation. When they finally let her pick a garment, she made her decision based on details which she reckoned would be the hardest for him to undo, unless he were to cut it right off.

It took all the help she could get from the servants to put in on. It was woven as a single piece and had therefore to be turned over her head in a movement demanding assistance. She was surprised at how absolutely perfect it fit.

"How did they get my measurements? The tailor must be very sure of his skills," she thought, impressed by the excellent planning and craftsmanship, which must have been put into it.

Tight around her waist, it accentuated her hourglass figure; the low cut around her bust nicely emphasized the cleavage of her white breasts, ultimately downplaying their fullness, leaving adequate mystery for the tempted male stare. She had to smile, it was that gorgeous. It widened considerably below her hips, leaving ample room for her to dance. The arrangement of its three colors made every movement of hers sensual, purple red being its most dominant, covering everything except for the part in the front where it was replaced by a darkish brown, interwoven by golden decorative patterns, again highlighting her womanly curves. The ends of its sleeves widened starkly and were of the same color, so she could by her own choosing, use her arm movements as a distraction from her charms while dancing.

It was obvious that the three servants couldn't hide their enchantment. She looked absolutely spectacular. The poor beauty's emotions oscillated between pride and an empty nothingness caused by the upcoming event. One servant left straightaway, while the remaining ones neatly folded the unused garments in a small chest, leaving the room empty except for the bench and the small stool they again bade her to sit on.

The next moments were the longest, the most dreadful, because now it had finally come to surrender herself to the Lord. Waiting for something to happen when she didn't exactly know how it was going to end, preceded by long confinement in solitude, torture, explicit degradation due to sexual innuendos made it hard for her to hold her outward composure.

Finally she heard voices, male voices.

"Be strong. I have to be strong!" she caught herself uttering.

The door opened and there he was -- or so she thought -- huge, loud, long slightly grey hair and a full beard, a long scar across his face, dressed in a surcoat and wearing gloves. That's what she glimpsed in the second he entered. They had forbidden her to look above the Lord's neck; hence she hated herself for the little indiscretion and hopped nobody had noticed. From then on she kept her eyes to the ground, subserviently.

He ordered everybody to leave.

On the outside the southern beauty's demeanor hadn't changed; she was still sitting gracefully on the small stool, but inside, her remaining ego had just been squashed. She wouldn't survive the remaining night with this fearsome Norseman.

*

They had met twice before, fought alongside in a successful raid, thereby establishing mutual respect, and later had crossed swords during a tournament which began their ongoing rivalry. Gunnarr had spotted the small group of riders some time ago and followed their movements as they swiftly ascended the winding path leading to his camp. Gunnarr went back towards his marquee and was informed by one of his scouts that while the Norsemen were still occupied unloading their ships; the young lord had decided to press ahead quickly, eager to return home.

Within minutes the small squad had reached the camp, speedily pressing forward toward his position, driving their horses to an even harder gallop, despite the small distance remaining between them. His intimidated guards moved back a little, but he was unimpressed, retaining in his broad stance, even if it seemed as if they would run him over. The horses were restrained at the last moment, the leader of the group dismounting while the animals were still scrambling to a halt, and embraced him heartily.

"Gunnarr, friend, I'm glad to see you."

"You are a show-off, old friend," he stated dryly, and returned the embrace.

"I know, but you need to replace your guards, because they seemed impressed."

"Yeah," he returned somewhat reluctantly, acknowledging the young Lord's awareness and absurd ability to mix fun with purpose. "Come with me, we need to talk." He guided him into his large tent.

*

"It was on our way back that we encountered the small vessel and boarded it. It must have been a merchant's ship, because they didn't put up much of a fight. That's where I found her."

"Greedy bastard!" he chuckled amusedly, knowing he would have taken the same opportunity. "So why are you telling me all this, Gunnarr?"

"Well, I know of your fondness for exotic women, so I thought, why not bring her along as a present for you. I mean, I still don't get your taste, but who am I to judge?"

"But you deemed her beautiful enough to get my attention, right?"

"Eiríkr, believe me, she is not what I would choose. But for a Mediterranean native, she is pretty hot."

"You are such a barbarian!" Gunnarr retorted, grinning mischievously, mocking his friend for his obvious distain of everything foreign. "Where is she now?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure. As you might understand, when we returned from our last raid, I was eager to see my wife and son. So I sent her with some of the stuff we found on the ship as a token of my gratitude to your turnkey..."

"You did what?"

"I know, not a smart idea, but given my homesickness at that time, being worn out and such...you get my drift," Gunnarr replied, a little abashed by his friend's reaction.

"I know you meant well. Thanks for your generosity and understanding of my..." Eiríkr paused, thinking on how to not insult his friend again, to get it right "...urge to plug every hole I can lay my hands on."

Gunnarr's face lit up, before he finally burst into hearty laughter.

*

When all the servants had left, he ordered her to stand up, eyed her thoughtfully.

"This foreign woman indeed has a lot of grace and beauty," he thought, while continuing to assess her appearance. "I don't know what all the fuss is about. She doesn't look mistreated at all...well, maybe scared to death," he acknowledged to himself.

The turnkey wasn't going to change that. Years of dealings with captives who had to be turned into manageable slaves told him fear is always a good way to enforce compliance. Treating this woman respectfully would only encourage her defiance. But he had to make up for the perceived mistake by the young master, of her being abused in his realm, and he therefore decided to personally present her to the Lord.

He observed her face, the clear intention not to look at him, and decided to preserve this condition by blindfolding her. But she needed some protection for the walk to the Lord's chambers; therefore he left her standing without any further command, exited the room, and gave the proper instructions to the waiting servants.

*

"I'm not to his liking. I don't know what they are going to do to me now!" She became hysterical; such nerve-wracking was her tension, caused by her devastating conclusion.

She was still agitated when the servants returned, put some ugly but warm shoes on her, and again blindfolded her, steadying her movements and finally escorted her out of the room. The thoughts of meeting those two horrible women again, abusing her to their liking, probably now even more, because there was no more value to her, tormented her mind while she was being led along.

The outside corridors were cold and unforgiving, and the ugly shoes helped enormously to shield her small feet from the snow, but she had different thoughts on her mind. They reached the chambers, where the jail master had been waiting, quickly. When she heard his loud voice, she was again rocked to the core, but surprised when he took her hand and guided her inside. It was warm again. Somebody took off the shoes and when she felt a very fine carpet under her feet, she concluded instantaneously, even in her frantic state, that she was finally going to be presented to the real Lord.

Beauty

He had her led along slowly, setting the pace for was about to come, motioning the two musicians to play, silently acknowledging his appreciation to the turnkey who had personally brought her to him, and quickly dismissing him. When they were finally alone, except for the two minstrels positioned behind a large paravent, he took assessment of his friend's so-called gift.

The fact that she had been blindfolded suited him well, because it gave him the opportunity to take a good look at her, before giving her the chance to do the same. He liked this advantage, appropriate for his playful personality.

She was taller than expected, much younger than he -- he judged her to be in her early twenties, and had to smile because of the dress she had chosen to wear. He moved in a little closer; her skin was very white around her elegant neck and ...

"Mmh... nice!" he almost blurted, instantly drawn to her charms, teasingly hidden under her dress. Then he observed her face and realized that the poor thing was scared to death. "What have those monsters in the dungeon been doing to her?" he wondered in outrage.

He came up behind her and removed the blindfold, then quickly distanced himself from her, stretching out comfortably on the large divan next to the enormous fireplace which brightly illuminated his chamber across the room, making it hard for her to evaluate him quickly, when she recovered her vision.

She didn't move at first, seeming to be lost in the vastness of the room, but when her eyes adjusted to its brightness, she slowly began to dance, keeping her sight subserviently to the ground. He was blown away by her facial features. Her straight nose led to the fullest lips he had ever seen, slightly open because of her labored, obviously agitated breathing, revealing her perfect white teeth. Her brown eyes, outlined by dark, bushy, well-shaped eyebrows, indicated her Mediterranean origin, and her whole face was framed by an incredible fullness of dark, slightly curling, shoulder-length hair.