The Bound Knight Ch. 11

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, or non-consensual sex or scenarios.

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Bawdy was too soft a word for it. It was to Mevenmein's advantage to turn the duel into a spectacle. An impressive display would win him favor with the lords under him, and, more importantly, could turn the duel itself into a mere side event. Bands vied for attention at every corner of the fairgrounds. Wine and beer flowed freely from tents and stands. The smells of roasting meat and baking fruits filled the air. And of course, there were an abundance of slave girls on offer.

Josephine walked the grounds in plain sight and completely invisible. Most men had no idea how easy it was for a woman to disappear. It didn't require magic. She wore a long cloak with a hood that covered her face. Around her neck, outside the cloak, she wore a heavy chain shackled with the symbol of some house six counties over. To anyone who saw her, she was the property of a lord they did not know, out on an errand they did not care about. With her body not on display, she was a risky prize. Perhaps someone truly desperate might open her up and see what they had won, but with so much free, easy meat, why bother? She was effort in a sea of ease.

A woman staggered past her -- fully nude except for a thick iron collar with a metal box hanging from it. There was a slit in the box just large enough for a single coin, and written on her body in tar was 'GUD FUCK 1 HAF PENY.' Semen dripped down her thighs and the sides of her mouth, though Josephine didn't hear so much as a jingle from the box. Not surprising. The girl had no way to enforce her pay. She could only hope she did a good enough job that whatever man was fucking her took pity on her. There was a look of despair in her exhausted eyes. Likely from realizing she would never make enough to satisfy whatever master had sent her here.

As she passed, two men, stumbling drunk despite the earliness of the day, grabbed her and pulled her to the side of the road. Josephine walked past without a second glance. Looking down the street, she saw at least four other women in identical states.

She passed stalls that were just a row of asses and cunts sticking out holes in the wood. There was a whipping post where, for a price, men could take brambles or rods to the skin of fresh young maidens. There were women in stocks with their buy and rent prices painted on their foreheads and tits. Every food stall had a team of nude women alternating between serving the food and serving the customers who paid extra. Every tent had a pair of pretty women in front, dressed in lingerie and begging every passerby to go in. "The women inside make us look like ugly hags," Josephine heard one say to a man in a pleading tone as he fucked the women she was chained to by the neck. "Don't waste your time with our loose cunts master. The women inside have the tightest holes in the county."

'Wanton,' that was the word for it. She had seen worse of course, she had lived in the capitol, but there was something about the ramshackle nature of it that got under her skin. Yesterday, this whole area had been an open field with some slaves crawling over it -- setting up posts and carrying in carts and barrels. Now moans of pain and pleasure mixed with lute strings and flutes.

She passed an open strip of land where well-dressed men were playing darts. The 'boards' were women whose asses had been painted with concentric circles of red and blue. They cried out with every hit as the men congratulated each other. Each of them had at least one, sometimes two slaves to suck their dicks as they waited their turn. Josephine could see the replacement boards were already being prepared -- a line of slaves stood at the end of the field, their asses being pained by other slaves. A few were crying, but most just looked resigned to their fate.

A loud cry came from one of the boards, and the man who had just thrown his dart pumped his fist in triumph. "Bull's-eye, right in the pussy," he cheered as half the men joined in with him and the other half pulled out their purses to pay their bets. The board, ten or so darts sticking out of her ass and cunt, wept streams onto the ground beneath her face.

Josephine felt no pity for her, or for the scared young girl who was already being chained up to replace her. She stared at them all with disgust on her cloaked face. She had long ago figured out the problem with their world, and as far as she was concerned, these weak cunts, so desperate to please, were as much a part of that as the men that tortured them.

She continued on. The further she traveled from the center of the fair, the more rundown it became. The women here were less numerous, more haggard. No less attractive thanks to the potions given to them at birth, but their scars were more severe. There were no women with boxes on their necks here. No one would pay them in pity. The women that walk here were led on a lead by rough looking men carrying clubs. Drunks and cripples lounged in the streets, drowning themselves in cheap ale or crawling like ants on a carcass over the cheaper ass.

A few stare at her, and Josephine leaned her head forward, worsening her posture. She doubted it would do much, but every little bit helps. Mostly though, she moved confidently. Not too slow, but not too fast -- doing nothing to indicate that she was prey.

The tent was unadorned. No women outside to hark at passersby. No signs promising cheap beer or cunts. Two large men flanked the front flap. One moved to block Josephine as she approached, but she didn't slow, and the man simply let her through without a word.

Inside was a single table with bottles and stoppers of various liquids sitting on it. The sides were lined with boxes and bags of herbs, giving the whole tent a musty smell. The smells of the herbs fought with the cheap, bitter incense that burned in the center of the tent. It was acrid and stung her eyes.

"Leave," the man behind the table said. He wore a large cloak, similar to hers, that covered his entire body. The table was low to the ground, and he sat cross-legged behind it, but even though he was sitting and covering his body with a cloak she could tell he had a powerful frame. His hood was down, and his head was shaved bald. Even the eyebrows were shaved, giving him a strange, unearthly appearance in the hazy smoke.

"You can't be here," he continued.

Eve ignored him. She walked to one wall, where the bags of herbs dangling from the ceiling had been left off. The entire side was bare, save a wooden crest hanging from the ceiling. It was identical to the one burned right above her own cunt -- the king's crest.

The man stood as she walked over to it. He began walking to her in a way that promised violence, but still she ignored him. She lifted the crest off the wall, turned towards him, and placed it on the ground. The man stood before her, his fists balled, his muscles primed to strike, but he didn't move. He just watched her.

Josephine lifted her cloak, and let it fall to the ground. She undid the clasps on her metal panties, and tossed them to the side. Then, she stepped over the crest, squatted down, and began to piss on it.

Almost as soon as the golden stream touched the crest, the man fell to his knees, dropping his forehead to the ground in a deep bow. He kept his bow, even as the pool of her piss reached the ground his face was pressed into. Once she was done, she stood up and stepped over him. Wordlessly, he lifted his head, cleaning her thighs and pussy with his tongue.

"Take me to The Mothers," she said.

He crawled back behind the table, and pushed aside hanging herbs to reveal a hidden flap in the tent. He parted it, kneeling to the side. Josephine stepped through. The man followed behind her, pausing only to drop his robe. Underneath he was nude and bald. There wasn't a single piece of hair on his muscular body. A metal chastity sleeve surrounded his cock. The sleeve looked small, even for a flaccid penis, so either he had a tiny dick, or it was very uncomfortable. Josephine guessed the latter.

The path forward was a tunnel leading under the ground. She wondered if the tent had been put up over the tunnel, or if it had been dug swiftly after the tent was put up. She supposed it didn't really matter to her, and stepped down the slope. The man followed behind her -- submissive, but also blocking her path if she tried to turn back.

She wondered about him. He was no slave. There was no brand on him, and even if there was it wouldn't have worked. The seal was a spell created by Alwynn himself, and it worked only on women by design. Whatever magic he had used to create it was ancient. Long lost to everyone but him. But then again, there were other ways to control someone, and there were secret cabals against the king in every county that had more than one witch. They all adored finding ways to control men. She wondered what kept this one in line.

The path was lit intermittently with low burning lanterns. It didn't go down too far though, and she quickly came to a wooden door. She opened it without pausing. Inside she found a surprisingly spacious room. Well lit with dozens of lanterns and torches, it smelled of herbs and flowers. Likely due to the cords of them that hung from every rafter. Brightly colored carpets covered the floor and walls, hiding any trace of dirt or bare stone. Six nude men, just as bald and locked in the same chastity sleeves as the one that had led her down here worked at various tables -- grinding mortar and pestle or fetching herbs. There were only two women in the room.

They had the aged features of witches. One was younger, maybe mid-thirties, with her wrinkles only beginning to form. The other was ancient, with a stooped back and long grey hair. She even had a large boil on her nose. But, the crone look she was going for was ruined by her plump, pleasant face. They sat on cushions at the far end of the room. A man knelt between them, balancing a platter of wine and fruits on his head and shoulders. The younger one had another man between her legs, pleasuring her with his mouth. From the stain on the pillow she was sitting on, Josephine guessed the man had been there a while. The witch wasn't paying attention to him though. In fact, both of them were staring at her, their mouths agape.

Josphine grinned.

"Mother Gret, Mother Sal, a pleasure to finally meet you both," she purred.

Sal, the younger one, stood up so fast she spilled some of her wine on the man who had been between her legs. He didn't seem to notice though, and simply moved to the side. Josephine noticed the glazed look in his eye. A few of the other men stopped as well, but some, ones with that same glazed look, kept working.

There were lots of ways to keep people in line, and from the amount of poppy she saw hanging from the walls she could take a guess as to these witches preferred method.

"What are you doing here?" Sal asked, horror on her face. "How did you -- "

"Mother Sal," Josephine interrupted, her voice as sweet as she could make it. "There's nothing to worry about. Mother Mil told me about this place. In fact, she wanted me to meet you both."

Sal's eyes narrowed, anger flaring in them. "Mil is dead you bitch, and she told us all about you. You're one of Alwynn's sluts." As she said the words, Josephine noticed the man who had led her in positioning himself so he blocked the door. She also noticed that despite both witches having Mevenmein's brand on them, neither so much as flinched at the king's name. Clearly, the count wasn't as disciplined as he thought.

Gret, still sitting down, said, "And less than twenty four hours after you appear, Mil is murdered. I don't know what you thought to accomplish coming here, but you've underestimated us."

Josephine's smile never dropped. "I heard about what happened to Mother Mil. A terrible thing. You both know about the visiting knights? I fear she was killed by them as part of a plot to secure their victory."

"Shut up," Sal said, drawing a knife from behind one of the cushions. "You think we're going to believe something an inquisitor's bitch says?" She moved towards her, hatred coating her face.

Her smile grew wider. "Oh, Mil didn't tell you? I'm not in the inquisition anymore. I left the King's Cabal."

"Shut your lying, whore mouth," Sal snapped. "I can see his brand on you."

The looks of anger on their faces nearly made her burst out laughing. Instead, she slid her fingers across the seal on her mons pubis. "Come feel. The king's seal is broken."

Sal slowly moved forward, her knife clenched tightly in her hand. She stared at Josephine, clearly expecting a trap. None came though, and her fingers brushed against Josephine's seal. She pulled her fingers back like she had touched fire, but from the look on her face Josephine could tell she had confirmed she was telling the truth.

"How?"

"Simple, I am the greatest witch since Alwynn." She grinned, and both witches shifted from shock to anger to disbelief and back again. It wasn't a lie, though breaking the spell that had kept most of the population in bondage for a thousand years had taken a bit more than her. The witches of the King's Cabal were the best, and every one had tried to break the seal. Her mentor had just so happened to be part of a line of witches that went back generations. It was her mentor that finally perfected a way to break it, and it was her that had broken the seal on Josephine. She had taught the trick to Josephine, expecting Josephine to break hers. It hadn't worked out for her.

But these witches didn't need to know any of that.

Finally, Gret stood up as well, and touched her hand to the remains of Josephine's brand. Her old eyes went wide, and she dropped to her knees. Sal stared at her for a moment, then joined her.

Josephine kept smiling, but she wanted to scream. Even these women, who so clearly delighted in controlling men, who had found a place of power despite their bondage, couldn't break out of the submissiveness that had been planted inside of them. It was disgusting. She wanted to end them here, but she knew it was impossible for her. She had told Mevenmein she could make a crater. That had been a lie. The most she could do was heat up a room, maybe enough to kill one of them, but even that would take every ounce of power she had. The other one, and her men, would surely cut her down afterwards.

So instead, she said, "Sisters, please. There's no need for this. We're all equal here." She put her hands under their chins and lifted. They stood. She looked them both in the eye, smiling as sweetly as she could.

Sal looked at her, clearly on the verge of tears. "Can you break ours?" she asked.

"Of course," she said. "But I have to prepare the spell." It wasn't completely a lie. It had taken over a month to prepare it for her. She had spent the entire time she was journeying to Mevenmein preparing a second use. She had used that one on Kitten, a bet she still hoped would pay off. The lie was that she had no intention of doing that for these two.

"I can do many, many things. I'm going to change everything, but I need your help."

Gret cried out, "Anything, sister."

Josephine's smile dropped ever so slightly. These hidden cabals all tended to run the same playbook. Superiors were 'Mother,' equals were 'Sister.' Sure, they valued seniority, usually to their own detriment, but this Gret was daft if she thought she was at all equal to a woman who had broken the defining spell of the millennium.

But Josephine held her tongue. "I'll need some things from you. The first is newt moss. I suspect you should be able to get that without too much difficulty. The second may be more difficult though. I need Virgo root, aged at least ten years. Can you manage that?"

"Sister," Gret said, bowing her head, "It will be done."

Josephine's smile returned to normal. She rattled off a longer list of other, more basic things she would need. As the witches planned out where they would get the ingredients Josephine looked around the room at their 'slaves.' She looked at the one who had been blocking the door, the one who had led her in. His eyes weren't clouded like many of the others. He had been guarding the front. Maybe he was particularly trusted -- particularly loyal. She ran her hand over his smooth, muscular chest. She ran her hand over his lower region, fondling his balls. She could see the discomfort on his face as the chastity sleeve kept him from expanding. But despite that, he stood at attention in front of the door.

It would take them at least a few hours to gather everything. She would have to find a way to entertain herself in the meantime. Maybe she would see where they kept the keys to these chastity sleeves.

-

Eve sat on a bench inside a large tent that had been erected beside the stadium. Men-at-arms and their trainers moved about at a frenzied pace -- preparing for their scheduled events and their chance to earn glory. The slaves moved even faster -- polishing weapons and armor, serving as makeshift benches, polishing cocks, serving as chamber pots. Men went out with pristine armor and a glint in their eyes. Some returned cheering. Others returned a bruised mess. The losers all went straight to the slave girls, dragging them out -- eager to gain back some of their lost pride.

"Would master care for refreshments?" a short, pretty girl with her blonde hair in a single, long braid asked -- kneeling at Eve's feet. She dismissed her with a wave of the hand and the girl crawled away to kneel by the wall with the others. It was the third time she had asked, and the seventh time any of them had. It was her own fault of course. She knew that, if she wanted to signal not to bother her, she should have slapped them away. Her dismissive attitude simply indicated she didn't want anything right now.

But strangely, she found herself unwilling to hurt them. She wasn't sure why. It had never been a problem before. She thought back to Little Eve or Sloppy Tongue. How many times had she beaten her fellow slaves just because she could? She tried to ignore the thought, and chalked it up to being worried that, between her crest and the gauntlets, she might cause real harm.

Not that she was avoiding causing harm. After their carriage was parked she had shoved 513 into a cage not much larger than the one in the dungeon. There was a whole stack of them there for that exact purpose, but she still felt slightly bad. She had taken the girl out of a cramped cage in the dungeon, only to shove her in a cramped cage outside. The hot sun had to be worse than the dungeon chill. Plus, the cages were stacked on top of each other, and she doubted they would let them out just to use the bathroom. Not too bad if you were on top, but she could imagine how miserable it would be on the bottom rows.

Outside the tent trumpets sounded, and she could hear cheering. Vassimir walked up, sitting on the bench across from her. He held out a skin of water for her. She shook her head 'no.'

"Drink," he ordered, pushing it towards her. "You're going to be sweating more than you're used to in that armor. You'll need it. Just tilt your head back and pour it through the slits in the armor."

She did. Some went in her mouth, most trickled down cooling her hot skin. She poured more. She ended up pouring about half the skin over her mouth and down her armor. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was.

When she looked back down Vassimir was staring at her. "I spoke to your father. He knows what Moldred is planning."

She nodded.

"Which I say only so you know not to worry about it. Clear it all from your mind, stick to the plan, and remember your training. Manage all that, and you'll be fine."