Greywolfe Strikes Ch. 03-04byDreamMaker12©
So engrossed I was in my own thoughts I didn't hear the door open behind me. I felt the rope snap and I felt my throat close as a result but seconds later I was being pulled back in through the window, by the rope that I was dangling from.
I felt the stone scrape my back and my bottom, then felt arms circling around me. He tossed me onto the bed and got the makeshift rope away from my neck. My breathing came in rasping gasps while I clutched the bed for support with one hand and the other circled my throat with the other.
"Did you really think it have been that easy to get away from me? I told you there was no getting away from me. That you were mine, and that you were never leaving here."
I tried to speak, to tell him I'd rather die than continue being his whore; but I couldn't yet form words. I shook my head in frustration but he took it as a negation. He stood there while I worked on getting my breathing right.
In the minutes it took me to get situated he saw the letter I had written and started reading it; what he saw must have angered him further because so abruptly he picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder that I was out of breath again. As he carried me down the stairs to the ground floor, I wept; but as we reached the ground floor where there were people all around I started squirming and shifting, my naked flesh was there for all to see I merely wanted to cover myself. Forcing me to go naked before him and the maid was bad enough, this was simply vicious.
He carried me down some stone steps, I heard a door creak open, then down some more steps: this must be a dungeon. I couldn't see anything after the door closed, and he walked more slowly but with the sure footedness of a man who knows where he's going. He set me down on what I guess is a table; I heard movement then the door opened. He can't...
"Please, don't leave me here." I said in a weak and raspy voice. My body seemed to get up and walk two steps toward the door of its own accord, just in time to see a smile on his face that literally scared me stiff. He closed the door and I was left in utter darkness.
As I slowly walked with my hands out trying to find the wall, the tears started brimming, I felt the wall and some things hanging there but I wasn't looking for a weapon. I found the corner, and I sank down to pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them while I let my head fall against my knees and I just let myself cry. I don't know how long he left me there, ten minutes- an hour, I was wrapped up in my own misery to pay attention.
I heard the latch on the door, I heard the door open, I heard the footfalls on the steps, then I saw the orange glow of a fire on the semi-wet stone floor and a small part of me rejoiced in the feel of it. He set the torch down in its place on the wall near the steps. I still hadn't raised my head, I had seen the glow on my own skin and heard him set the torch in its hold, and then he was standing before me.
He knelt down beside me, when he stroked the hair from my face I looked up at him, a tear fell from each eye simultaneously.
He grabbed my wrist and shackled it before I could react; I think my gloom had me in a sort of trance. They were leather and they had buckles on the top, and were separated by five small steal chain links. Then he dragged me by those chains, across the uneven stones to the center of the floor, where a large bolt waited ominously. He put the other shackle through the large loop and grabbed my other wrist to shackle them together.
They were tight, they chafed and pinched, and there was no pulling them apart, or escaping, the chains were far too thick. If I had a tool it might be possible, but like this, not a chance of escaping this fate.
"You tried to leave me. You did the one thing that would ensure I never saw you again. How could you do that?" He spoke with a subdued voice, I was sure he was trying to compose himself, control his anger. But how long could he hold it at bay?
"Yes. It was the only way."
"I own you now, all of you, how could you –"
"No." I yelled, and it echoed through the room as I lifted my head to glare at the man, no longer caring if he lost his temper. "I do not belong to you, or anyone. I am not property. I am not a slave. I am a human being, with a soul. Yes, you could keep me locked up in here till the day I die, as your prisoner, hostage, you can call me a slave and a whore, but I know I am not owned by you. Not any part of me. I am a free-born woman, with allegiance to no one. I may have submitted to you in the past, but know this: no part of me will ever belong to you."
"I'll have to change that attitude."
With that he walked to a part of the room that remained in shadows. When he returned he was carrying a long stick. A switch, no, a cane I suppose it was too thick to be a whip.
"This will leave bruises, maybe, but not welts, and won't draw blood." He looked down at me with eyes that seemed no longer his. They were beyond rage and anger, if I knew him as anything more than a monster, I might say it was regret and hurt.
My knees where under my shoulders, my back was arched, my hands bolted to the floor in front of me. My head was turned back toward him so I could watch what he was doing, and then I realized that it was pleasing him to see the fear rise up in them in anticipation. I leaned forward on my knees so my hand could pull my hair to one side and out of the way, then I went back down, to wait for my punishment.
"Get on with i--." I said as I leaned my forehead down on the stone, my chin at my knees.
He apparently didn't need my invitation. Before I had finished my sentence he brought the cane down across the middle of my back. I screamed outright. It echoed through the room and reverberated through the stones.
My throat hurt, from the near hanging, the screaming, all of it. After that first scream I more croaked in response to the strikes.
"This can end at any time." Strike, croak.
"At anytime you finally," Strike, croak.
"Admit to yourself," Strike, croak.
"You belong to me." Strike, croak.
"You are mine." Strike, croak.
"And you will never," Strike, croak.
"Never leave me."
I lunged forward to avoid another blow. I was laying flat, hands, still bolted to the floor, were at my hip and to the side a little, as I sobbed this confession. "Alright. Alright. I am yours, your spoil of war, your conquered slave," I choked on the word; it took me a second to continue. "Your slave, to do with what you will. I belong to you. I—I will never leave, you have my word."
"Good. Good girl. I hope you fully understand that. That's all I ever wanted." He walked to me as he untied his breeches. "Well, that and this." He said as he lifted me by my hips, and aligned himself with my whole.
He used his fingers to find it. And find it he did. "Ah, my sweet little morsel, you know you want this." He said as I winced. "See, you are all ready for me." He withdrew his fingers and showed me the wetness, then offered it to me. "You know what to do."
I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and my tongue darted out of its own accord. He forced his fingers into my mouth up to his rough knuckles and I sucked and licked them clean.
"Good girl." My hands are still bolted to the floor; he had repositioned us so that I was facing the bolt, my hands in front of me, to steady myself I gripped at the chains, as his hands found my hips again.
He positioned the tip of himself at my entrance, in shallow short breath I breathed.
"You are mine. You are mine. And you're never leaving. Right, my little morsel?"
"Yes." I said in a near whisper, trying to get the words to sink in. "I am your property, your slave, and I'm not leaving, ever." That last word seemed to resound through me.
"Good. I think you are understanding now."
I put my forehead down on the cold stone, the light from the flame flickering. I felt him guide his thickness to my entrance. My hair a tumbled mess tossed around my shoulders and the ground.
He pushed my back down, to arch for him; forcing himself a fraction inside of me. I struggled my breath coming on short pants. I was lost to everything but the feeling of him inside of me as I was filled with his impossible length.
When I thought I could take no more, he went on, forcing me to accept him. I wiggled desperately beneath him, but that just seemed to entice him, I realized as he stretched me to the point of unbearableness. My nails dug into my palms as he finally sheathed himself fully inside me, the tip of him nudging against my womb. He pulled out just as slowly forcing my body to feel every ridge of him as he withdrew; long, slow, agonizingly torturous movement.
Then he pushed in and I screamed like it was my first time. Maybe the combined pains of the day were catching up with me, but it hurt- more than anything before.
He started to pull back and then stopped, "Your body is pulling me back in, did you know that, my little morsel, your body craves mine. It pulls at me and sucks at me like you want nothing else but me inside you."
"I'm hurting, please.." God help me, I am begging him again.
"Please, what? You can't ask me to stop, not now, while your body is pulling at me like this."
"No, I can't ask you to stop because there is no stopping you, I know that. Just, please, go slow. My back, my neck and throat, my every inch of me is hurting. Just, please, go slow." I took a long shaky breath, in which neither of us moved. "I beg you, I beg you, sir, go slow, please."
He leaned forward and used his hand to turn my face to his, and then he kissed me. It was soft at first, just a peck on the lips, then when I didn't pull away (because I was his now and feared the consequences of denying him) he went deeper into the kiss. He used his tongue to lick my lips, I opened them in response. His tongue parted my lips wider and roamed the inside of my mouth. He took my response as an invitation and went further. His tongue danced with mine, then he sucked both our tongues into his mouth and it started over. My tongue explored his cavernous mouth.
His hand had started to move from my face to my neck to my back, my most tender places. I gasped and winced and turned away when his hand found one spot that the cane had found numerous times. He had said it wouldn't leave a welt but at this moment I doubted it. It hurt so much I nearly screamed again.
"Ahhh! Please, be careful." I said while I went back to my waiting position.
"I was hard on you." He said as his fingertips lightly grazed over the spot. "Too hard."
"It was my fault, you were rightfully angry for my trying to escape, and then I yelled at you, argued with you. I made you even more angry." I said as my head laid on the stone floor, my hands gripped at the chains where I was bolted to the floor. I can still feel him inside me, not moving but still there. "I made it worse." Was I consoling him?!! What has happened to me?
"You are perfect. You know that, my little morsel? You are more perfect than I could have hoped for." He said softly, it surprised me and confused me. What does that mean? "I will do my best not to hurt you again, you tell me if I go too fast."
He began moving very slowly, forth and back, going just a bit deeper each time. The feel of him, his thickness, moving deep within me was exhilarating.
I knew he was grinning, without looking back I knew it. But since I've pledged myself to this life, as his sex slave I knew I had to become accustomed to it. I had to start liking it, or I would go insane. All this I realized later when I had time to think, when you're in that moment you're not really thinking of anything. At least not any coherent thoughts; well I don't anyway.
He was moving at a good pace now, one where I could keep up, and I did. My hips moved in motion with his thrusts. This he must have done with many other women and he was my only experience, but I think we moved and mixed well together.
"You are perfect, my little morsel. You body molds itself to accept mine. It is like you were made for me. Like this," he reached around my body to grope at my area, and somehow managed to get two fingers inside while his 'thing' was still in me. "This was made for me." Then his thumb started stroking and pushing that sensitive spot that always pushes me over the edge.
My back arched downward, away from his body, and then he moved both hands up towards my breasts. In each hand he kneaded and caressed a breast, then he pinched at my nipples. Hard and fierce. I cried out, half screamed. He eased up for a second while I relaxed a little then started again. Harder than before and I screamed this time, despite the achiness of my throat.
"Ah! Please don't." He eased off again, and I panted.
"Are you sure?" He said as he started moving inside me again. His strokes long and slow, then faster. He was still gripping my breasts.
"Mmm." I whimpered.
"Do you really want me to stop, I think you like it like this. Hard and painful, pain mixed with pleasure."
"Do I? I thought you wanted it that way?"
"I do, but do you?"
"I don't know, show me?"
He pinched my nipples again. Hard and long. He pulled at them, toward the floor, my back arched the opposite way now, towards him, as I moaned and cried out. Then my back made contact with his chest. Hot and sweaty and lightly covered in hair, it felt nice for all of about two seconds until the marks on my back were remembered. I fell towards the floor, a tear escaped my eye while his hands were trapped under me.
My back half was still up in the air, he was still inside me, and I could feel him twitching inside. He removed his hands and let them lightly rest on my hips. I shifted around his invading length and said, "Finish. You have to finish, my lord. Please." While looking back at him.
"I could stop." Could he? I doubted it. Was he just saying that for my benefit, then?
"Please. Please, my lord, finish. Hard and quick. Please." I said while I looked at him with what I hoped was a pleasant smile. I knew if he didn't finish, if I were the reason he couldn't finish, it wouldn't go well for me. Remember, you are just a slave, by your own admission, you belong to him. If he got bored of you he could easily sell or even kill you. Do good, be good.
I went back to laying my forehead on the floor and gripping the chains, while he took hold of my hips and suddenly, violently, drove into me. I threw my head up and screamed, and when he pulled back I cried out. It made no sense to me-I didn't want him all the way in and I didn't want him all the way out. I must be mad.
He thrust forward again and his balls slapped against me, I wailed again but not as loud. I thought hearing my confession of ownership made him happy before so I decided it was worth repeating.
"I am yours. Your slave, your property. I will never leave you, I promise. I will stay forever. I belong to you. Yours. All yours. Jonathan." And with that he flowed into me.
I could feel it, but this time wasn't disgusted. It filled me and I actually wanted it. In fact at feeling that warmth fill me, I was overcome with such sensations that I too joined in his elation. I suppressed a small scream and could feel my own juices mingling with his. And with that he once again filled my insides with his maleness.
"Oh, God!" We said in unison. Then he started to fall forward before I winced and moved slightly forward so he wouldn't fall on my back, gripping the chains tighter in anticipation of pain. While keeping himself inside me he moved to my side and gently laid me on my side in front of him. Much like that first night together and many since, I fell asleep with my hands still bound to the floor, him at my back and his hand on my breast.
But this night was different in one respect, as I was drifting off to sleep, I think I heard him say, "I am sorry I hurt you, my little morsel, I won't do that again. I love you too much."
I woke when I heard the dungeon door open. I was in his arms his shirt was draped on my shoulders to cover my back. I clutched the arms of his shirt close to me, he looked down and saw I was awake.
"What were you thinking of?" He whispered.
"What do you mean?"I said lowly.
"The window, the letter—why?"
"You read it, can you honestly not understand why?" I said incredulously. He remained silent.
"I couldn't live like that anymore." My fingers moved up to lightly circle my throat. "I can't say sorry, can't use forgive me. It was my only way out."
"You're not sorry. You—You're letter, you said you felt too much. What did you mean?"
"It's all too much for me. The pain of you taking me so hard, you hurting me so," I indicate where the bruise on my face had been. "The conflicting feelings I get from you, I hate you so much but you can make me want you, and then you can feign interest in my health, my eating and give me plenty of food, but when I try to fight you, you don't feed me. And on top of all that, this is all far too many sins for me to count; I know I am already damned so what is the point? I can't repent, I can't honestly say I didn't enjoy it at least moments of it, and neither can I say I won't do it again. It is all too much for me." I said again, as I sobbed.
When he continued to say nothing I said, "My letter was meant more for God than anything, I just needed to say something before dying like that, and writing it down was the only way. I wanted to clear my conscience while hoping to God that I be granted peace. What I have done, what I have suffered, I could only hope that God saw and understood. I can hope for peace, but I know that I am damned. I may not deserve it, but I hope for it."
"Stop. You are not damned, I thought you understood. I explained to you, that just because it brings you pleasure does not mean it is wrong."
"Yes, I know, I do, I remember." By this point we are back at my cell and he is placing me gently on the bed. "But pleasure is one thing, what this is, is a sin. Multiple, so many I would not venture to count." He looked upset and took a breath to try to argue further with me, I'm sure.
"I forgive you." I said before he could speak. "Sir, I do not agree with your methods or your reasons for what is happening now, but you should know that I forgive you, for all you have done and what you will do, for I am sure that you are not done."
He looked as confused as I was minutes before, I had had a revelation, forgiveness is an act of compassion, and it is not given because it is deserved but because it is needed. This man needed compassion.
I stroked his cheek and lifted his hand to kiss it, then (under his bewildered gaze) eased myself under the blankets turned on my side (towards him) because my back still hurt, put my right arm up under the pillow and reached for the blankets with my left. He placed them on me, and turned for the door.
The next day was by far the most unusual to me. When I first woke I found myself to be tethered or rather shackled to the bed. My right hand was shackled to the left bedpost-the one nearer the window. The chain was longer than most, as far as I could tell, I could probably still get up and walk to the chair in the room, but for now I needed to stay in bed. To sulk or think or rage, not necessarily in that order.
End of Chapter 3
It had been a full day since I awoke with the shackle on my wrist. That day I was so hurt and angry; and the strangest part was that I was hurt and angry because The Brute had not come to me. I wouldn't have known what to say or do, but when full dark came and I watched the moon make its path across the night sky, I realized he wasn't going to come. It confused me further when I realized that.