Taking Stock

She awoke slowly, her head fuzzy as she came into consciousness. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and she took stock of her situation. Blinking open her eyes, she saw her own stockinged feet bereft of shoes and the cobbles that paved the village's main square. Her hair hung in damp, unbound tendrils and clung to her face and neck in the morning's growing humidity. It was early still, and she shivered with unease.

Not good.

She tried to lift her head and realized quickly that she was unable. Twisting her head side to side she took in her bound hands to either side of her, caught up in the aged but sturdy wood that made up the town's stockade.

I'm in the stocks? How...?

Memories flooded as her body awoke and full awareness of her situation was realized. Numbness in her hands warred with the feeling of the cool air burning away as dawn broke. Last night in the tavern, there had been a confrontation she had hoped to avoid. Serving wenches like her were not supposed to spend as much time with their betters as she had with the Mayor's son. Under his tutelage over the last several months, letters on the page started to gain meaning. She could piece together short words and copy her own name thanks to the kindness of a friend whose secret lessons were less secret than she knew. The meetings had always been innocent, a sharing of words and friendship in truth without the perverse act that she had been accused of last night by the boy's father.

Her face reddened as she recalled the interaction with the man. He had crashed into the Bread and Bones last night, busy on a Saturday as the townsfolk, men mostly, added more to their list of things to pray over in church the next morn. A breeze blew through the square, rustling leaves by the posts of the stockade and kissing her skin. Goosebumps thrilled on her legs where her wool stockings ended.

"Have you enjoyed corrupting my boy, slut? Think you to use your wiles to win a husband? Do you think you can spread your legs to reach beyond your status?"

She had been speechless, embarrassed and frozen in place. She was unable to defend her honor against the constant peppering of insults. A small, dark pit in her stomach had clenched like a fist to her stomach as he had publicly berated her. Fingers of that fear and adrenaline had loosened as he neared, threatening bodily harm with his nearness. Almost as if she could start to enjoy this sort of treatment.

"NO!"

She had protested his words, his actions and her betraying body. Turning to flee into the kitchens from his assault and he had gripped her arm, vice-like while she spun, spilling mugs of cider. She whirled, skirts tangling as her worn boots slipped on ale that had been sloshed. Her private hopes of betterment crashed to the ground like so many shards of ceramic ale mugs. Her vision blackened as her head thudded on the planks of the tavern floor.

A flash of pain stung the back of her thigh. She jolted to her current moment.

"Awake, slut? Good."

She was bent at the waist, she realized as another strike landed on her taut, bare legs provoking a cry. She glanced towards her own legs noting that her skirts had been hiked around her waist to reveal her underthings and her dress was lowered so the pale fabric of her corset was visible as well. A ripple of unfamiliar sensation burned her insides hot. She panted, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Surrah, please. Tis not as it seems. Free me that we make speak in private."

"Private? Privacy is more than you deserve but perhaps we may reach some agreement. Since you are so determined to act the town whore, I thought you might take pleasure from the opportunity to show your wares. Would you like that, slut?"

He struck her again with what she determined must be a leather riding crop. The burning feeling ached in her stomach making her squirm. She ached for ...something.

"Please..." She mumbled weakly.

"Please, what, slut?" His hands were warm against her cool skin. Her back arched as he smoothed them from the bottom of her corset to her hips. "Please, use me as I am meant to be used?" His words shot a pulse to her netherlips. She ached, biting back- what- a moan? A protest? She was no longer sure.

He continued his ministrations, his fingers dipping below her roughhewn undergarments and sliding them down to her knees. His fingertips were feather-light as they grazed back up her now completely exposed legs and backside. Her womanhood felt warm in the morning air. She shuddered with embarrassment and ecstasy as she responded in ways she had only felt a handful of private moments before. Her nipples tightened, rubbing against her corset.

Slap. His hand struck against her backside, stinging her skin and finally bringing a cry from her lips.

"Good." He responded, his voice thick with growing lust. "Show me how you like to be used. Look how you glisten with desire to have me."

He teased her, his hands growing ever closer to her swollen lips until she felt that she could smell her own arousal.

"Please" She gasped.

"Please, what?" He repeated his earlier words. He was prompting her to beg. She quivered and thrust her rear into the air. Tears welled and dropped in great splats to the cobblestones in her shame. He circled ever closer, grazing her pussy lips and then hovering. "Please, what, slut?" he demanded.

"Please... please, use me." She swallowed a sob in the moment that he celebrated his triumph over her, plunging two thick fingers immediately into her hot, throbbing slit. Need had made the passage easier but disuse made it tight. Crying out again she strained against the wood of the stocks. Her restraints limited her body's movement but the helplessness only heightened her arousal. Plunging fingers from one hand found a rhythm while the other groped and massaged her backside. It was firm and plump from her day's work on her feet at the tavern.

"You are quite tight for one so well used." He mused, almost surprised. The hand groping her rear crept up her side and tore violently at her corset stays and suddenly her breasts were free to the morning air. He grasped and tugged her erect nipples and groaned, betraying his own exponentially growing need. Said need pressed against her thigh through his leather jerkin as he leaned forward to continue the onslaught on her breasts. Her body knew how to move in response in ways her mind did not. She struggled against the stocks to deepen the press of his rigid cock.

Now he grunted and she felt the loss of his thrusting digits as a loss.

"Please..." she trailed, whimpering. He fumbled behind her, removing also the firm press of his cock from her thigh.

"Yes, wench. Wait but a moment and you will have that for which you lust most."

True enough to his words, there was soon a new protrusion, grazing between her pussy lips. It was at once, soft and hard and she felt she might burst if she did not get to feel it in its entirety. Using his cock, he traced droplets of precum from his smooth head onto her glistening lips.

"Is this that which you lust after, slut?" His hands left her breasts and gripped her hips to steady them as he pressed his hardness into her slit.

"Yessss." She gasped the acquiescence. She felt something tighten deep in her belly and below as she opened to him. "Oh, it hurts." She felt equal parts pleasure and discomfort as she was stretched accommodate his thick member. A strange heat bloomed from her center to diffuse in threads to her very toes, making them curls in her stockings. He did not pause as he breached her maidenhood, only moaned and sheaved himself entirely in her gripping sex. The bloom unfurled in pulsing waves. She sobbed wordlessly, overwhelmed with sensations.

He drew out from her and then drove himself into her again and again. With every thrust, her bruised nipples swung and she was knocked against the stockade. She found she could brace herself against it to meet him so that every time his cock was driven to the hilt, it was met with a slap of his hips and balls against her thighs. Her awareness of the depravity of her situation was lost to the slap-grunting rhythm but the sun did not stop in the wake of her bliss and the town would awake soon to bear witness. His cock brushed her cervix and she screamed now in her pleasure. Her breath came in ragged gasps now.

"Yes. (scream) Please. Surrah, yes." (slap)

"Take it (grunt), wench. For whose (grunt) cock do you lust?" In his degradation of the serving girl, he too had lost his self-awareness.

"Yours. (slap)(scream) Your cock, Surrah." Caught up in her screams, he caught her hip in one hand and used his other to encircle her swollen clit. Suffuse anew in pleasure and desire, her pussy clenched in waves as he expertly applied pressure to her sensitive button. The waves of heat were a fire, alive inside and threatening to consume. She would burn alive.

So she did, she was a bonfire. She was blaze and she would ignite the whole town in her passion. Her pussy seized and he felt her orgasm as she writhed soaking and groaning, her tightness and reactions to his sexual onslaught delighting him unexpectedly. She was his. He was going to own this wench for his pleasure. His own orgasm built, tightening his balls so that each wet slap alongside her milky thighs, each wet press, lit him up with tiny explosions.

"Whose slut are you?" He was close to spilling his seed into her wanton, willing pussy.

"Yours, Surrah." She choked out, relenting and he shattered into a thousand pieces, his final plunge leaving a burst of cum that filled her and dripped down her still quivering pussy lips. He withdrew his cock, panting. A rooster crowed nearby and village sounds broke into the bubble their pleasure had built.

"Mine," he growled. Fumbling to right his jerkin, he came around to the stockade front and heaved it open. Her support suddenly gone, her knees buckled with the weakness of physical expenditure and emotional turmoil. "Mine alone." He reinforced and unceremoniously heaved her up, wrapping his cloak around her nudity. She was scarcely conscious.

He bore her away with haste. Deciding the fate of his new wench could come later, after some more deliberation. And use.