Castle Blackthorne

Lord Sebastian Blackthorne was as handsome on that dark night as he must have been five hundred years ago, with no touch of silver in his long crimson hair, and the look of triumph on his face as he assessed his captive perfectly suited his arrogant eyes and sensual mouth. He took his time looking her over, his smirk growing with each moment, before even extending a single finger to the delicate hollow of her throat.

"At last, my darling, you are where you belong."

Blackthorne's hand drifted down from Desdemona's throat to the collar of her shirt, and he slowly ran his fingers over the buttons that ran down the middle. Her clothing was already scuffed and torn, but it still held together for the moment; nevertheless, his cold hands left pinpricks of chill on the flesh beneath the fabric. With cruel nonchalance, he unfastened the clasps of her vest, and there was little Desdemona could do beyond wriggling in response. The wooden structure he'd chained her to held her hands and legs spread apart in an X, leaving her body as unguarded territory. Once the maroon wool of Desdemona's vest hung undone, the vampire attended to the shirt beneath it.

"Do you know, my dear little hunter, how often I've longed to do this?" Blackthorne grinned like a hungry wolf and with one motion of his arm, he ripped her shirt open, sending buttons scattering about on the floor. Desdemona could not help a squeak of indignation, no matter how much she'd intended to maintain her dignity. (That was looking more and more like a lost cause by the moment, anyway.) Blackthorne's eyes lingered on the great swell of her cleavage that now peaked out above her corset and shift, and if there had been hunger in his gaze before, it was now positively greedy. He traced a finger over the top of one breast and down into the line between them, and there was nothing Desdemona could do to dislodge him. She would have thought a man with a harem he'd built over centuries might have become jaded about the female body, but he apparently still had a callow youth's fascination with such things.

Desdemona always struggled to do up the closures on the front of her corset, but with Blackthorne's inhuman strength, it was a matter of moments to bend or rip off the metal fastenings. Her corset clattered to the floor (most likely ruined now, and it would be more expensive to repair than the shirt if she ever escaped the castle.) Blackthorne gripped the fabric of her shift and ripped the straps off the lace at the top. Desdemona gasped as the fabric fell away, leaving her top half entirely open to his eyes.

"Happy now?" She asked him. "Have you looked your fill?" Desdemona accompanied her taunts with what was meant to be a defiant writhe against her bonds, but which sent her heavy breasts swinging back and forth like a burlesque dancer. The time to be embarrassed should have been long since passed, but she felt it keenly when Blackthorne's smile cracked into a full grin.

"Magnificent," he said. "Just as I'd imagined." He ran his finger over the tip of one stiff nipple, then grabbed her breast tightly enough to make her squeal. "You will be the jewel of my collection as well as my bride." Desdemona instinctively tried to kick at him, but the restraints held her legs in place, and he continued to take his time groping her breasts.

"How romantic," she said as dryly as she could. "You could have at least started with a kiss."

This got Blackthorne's attention. The next thing Desdemona knew, he had seized her long auburn braid, forcing her face to look at his face, and then he pressed a crushing kiss against her lips. She kept her lips smashed shut against his, but the pressure of the kiss was one she could not fight against. At least the restraints kept her from swooning, but perhaps innocent unconsciousness would have been a blessing.

When at last the kiss ended, Blackthorne had clearly noticed her refusal to participate. He let go of her braid and instead pushed his fingers into her mouth, forcing her to part for him. Once he was inside her there, she knew better than to bite down and fill her mouth with a vampire's tainted blood.

"You'll open for me here," said Blackthorne, "when I desire it. I'll have your kisses when I wish them, and when I allow you to rest upon your hands and knees, I'll fuck your pretty mouth. I'll have you how and whenever I wish, and if you struggle, you'll only ensure you live out our marriage in chains." He free hand grabbed at Desdemona's hip, thankfully still covered by her skirt. "If I wish to bend you over a table and have you in the ass, I'll do so when the whim strikes me. Before the sun rises tonight, I will have violated every part of you, again and again, once for every battle we've ever fought." He pulled his fingers from her mouth, and wiped them off on the smooth skin of her stomach as she gasped for breath. Desdemona didn't think she could feel any more humiliated and enraged, but then his hands were at her waist, undoing the buttons and ties, first of her skirt and then the petticoat underneath. The thin fabric of her drawers didn't last very long beneath his nails, and she closed her eyes so she would not see his satisfaction at the reveal of her shaking thighs and light patch of hair between them.

"I'm curious," said Blackthorne. "Are you a virgin? It's so difficult to tell with modern girls." His cold hands flickered over her, and Desdemona fought back another undignified noise when he dipped a finger inside of her. It wasn't a surprise that she was wet- she'd had a similar reaction to restraint when her lover Darius had shown her what he could do with rope (if only he were here now)- but it wasn't exactly helping her pride. She tried to swallow and recompose herself, but found her throat dry.

"I've fucked every man between here and the continent," Desdemona said. Blackthorne gently laughed in response.

"It wouldn't matter if that was true, my love." Desdemona opened her eyes when he removed his hand, and saw him undo his belt. She pressed back against the wood she was chained to, but that wasn't much of an escape. It wouldn't do any good to beg, but she licked her lips and tried to find her voice anyway.

"No-"

"Hush, love. I'll make the first rape gentle."

Blackthorne's flesh was cold all over, Desdemona discovered. She first felt his cock as it rubbed against her thigh, a sensation as chilly as a winter's night, and her bottom half twitched involuntarily to push him off. The cold shifted between her legs and up against her lower lips; then, with a grunt, he entered her, burying his icy cock inside her where she was warmest. Desdemona screamed, but Blackthorn covered her mouth with a kiss, which no thrashing in bondage could escape. She finally had the air to gasp when he started to withdraw, but then another thrust sent the cold back up inside her cunt, harder than before. A tear trickled down Desdemona's cheek, but she wasn't aware of feeling shame or sorrow or even pain, as wrapped up as her mind was in adjusting to sensations it was never meant for.

"Oh yes, my love," he sighed. "You fit around me so-" he interrupted his own sentence with another thrust- "beautifully. I'll have you every night from now till the end of time!" One hand squeezed her breast while another pushed down in between their bodies, seeking out her clit with fingers as chilled as his cock.

"Go to hell!" Desdemona said, though the words were hard to get out of her mouth as her head jostled back with each thrust. She could stop and think and perhaps sob and perhaps plan an escape if only he would stop touching her. Instead, he laughed, and the rubbing of his fingers became even more insistent, in time with the rocking of his body. Her hips quivered and her knees shook, but even if the restraints had not held her up, Blackthorne's pressure would have. He kissed along her neck until he reached the side and whispered in her ear:

"Just enough to mark you as mine."

He bit down on her throat at the same time as he pressed his thumb directly down on her clit, and whichever action pushed her over her limit, Desdemona's body crashed against a wave of unwanted ecstasy. Blackthorn groaned when her body clenched down around him, continuing his cold assault with even greater force than before. As the echoes of her orgasm pulsed through her and then slowed, Desdemona nearly allowed herself to sink into sweet unconsciousness.

She forced herself to think, as hard as that was while she was being fucked. She knew what awaited her if she fainted. She'd heard from the women she'd been lucky enough to rescue in time. Blackthorne kept his newly caught brides in a tower where he visited them each night with rape and torment of both the everyday and the sorcerous kind, drinking enough blood to leave them alive but drained of any ability to fight. He kept them mortal until their spirits were finally broken, then cursed them with life-in-death when at last he knew they would obey his every word, and that they'd been driven slightly mad enough to suit his taste.

She couldn't surrender to that just yet.

Blackthorne pushed into her one final time, then shook hard as he came inside her. Then he kissed her, with her own blood still staining his lips. Her body was finally granted relief from the cold when he pulled out, and she hung limply in her restraints and whimpered. Blackthorn pulled his clothing back to rights, gave a satisfied look at her ruined clothing and tear-stained face, then reached up to unlock his captive's hands. Desdemona fell onto him, even dizzier and weaker than she had realized after he'd drank his fill from her, and when he unlocked her ankles, she tumbled over to the ground completely.

"Don't sleep yet, my sweet," said Blackthorne. "A moment of rest, and then I'll have you from behind. Over the table there, I think..."

Desdemona only partially listened to him, instead feeling about at one of the few garments he hadn't stripped off of her- her boots. She had just enough time to find what she was looking for when the vampire leaned over to pull her up from the ground. Desdemona turned back to give him a pleading look- and then her hand was filled with something shiny. She swung the silver dagger she'd kept concealed in the boot in an arc, and although her strength was low, it cut satisfyingly into Blackthorne's wrist. He hissed in agony and scalding splatters of blood singed her skin, but Desdemona was able to roll away from his grasp. Her head was light and her limbs were heavy and the room was very dark, but she crawled forward as far and as fast as she could, scrambling towards the tower staircase. She wouldn't be able to get away very far even if she escaped onto the grounds; she would likely collapse from exhaustion first, or be captured by one of Blackthorne's sons or servants even if she evaded his grasp. She just had to delay him long enough for one of two things to happen.

"You think you can hide from me in my own home?" Blackthorne's voice echoed after her.

The first thing that could happen was rescue. Her friends back at the university might be able to piece together where she was, and while they were no army to take an entire castle, perhaps they could get in and out with her in their arms. Darius alone would be a formidable fighting force- there were some advantages to having a werewolf lover.

"You think you can defeat me now, when you could not before?"

The second thing that could happen, however slight a chance there was, would be to kill her abductor. Desdemona crouched on the stairs, extending her dagger upwards. She prayed there was enough energy left in her body to leap out at Blackthorne as he descended, and by some miracle hit him in the heart or the neck. He could recover from such a blow if his body were brought into the moonlight unless she severed his head. That definitely sounded beyond her abilities with a knife and a body on the verge of fainting, but what could she do if not try?

"I will find you, my love..."

Desdemona clutched the dagger as Blackthorne's footsteps drew closer. Just one chance...