The castle of Baron White Ch. 01

"What did I tell you about those village sluts? All gagging for a bit of rough treatment! What say you friends? Shall we give her what she wants, or should she be punished for being a hungry little tart?"

The sheer strength of the roar from the waiting Lords made it quite clear to Raya what their decision was. She was going to be punished.

Two of the burliest and largest Lords swept forward and grabbed an arm each, dragging Raya forward towards the feasting table. With careless ease they swept the food away from the knotted surface and pushed her down so she bent at the waist, and each pinned an arm out sideways.

"You can't do this to me!" Raya yelped angrily. "You bastards! Let me go or I'll make trouble for you! I'll tell everyone in the village what you get up to up here..."

Even as she said it she knew that the threat wouldn't mean a thing to them. Their parties were stuff of legends, and most of the village took the view that anyone stupid enough to not take heed of the stories, deserved everything they got. Raya writhed and squirmed as much as possible but quickly discovered that her hands would not come free from their grips, if anything they gripped harder the more she tried.

The fat and sweating hand of Lord Mortimer swiftly came down and gripped her hair, pulling her head up from the table. He slowly tilted His head towards her and forced her gaze to His.

"Now, now my dear, lets not make this into an ordeal. Behave and you will get to go home to your village and tell them whatever you wish. Perhaps it'll secure more wenches for next years party aye men?" The Lords shouted various encouragements and agreements, obviously eager to get the ball rolling.

"Tell me young whore, is it to be the hand, the belt, or the whip?" He jerked her hair on each important word, making her pay absolute attention, and to humiliate her that little bit more.

"Fuck you!" Raya screamed through gritted teeth, arching her back in a futile attempt to lash out at Lord Mortimer. Suddenly, a heavy hand came down hard on her left buttock, followed quickly by another to her right. Raya whimpered with a yelp of surprise, her skin rippling and goose bumping with the sudden and painfully intimate strike.

"Wrong answer girl..." Lord Mortimer growled salaciously before raining down another series of quick spanks to her slowly reddening cheeks. As quickly as it started, it stopped. Raya felt his fingers pinch the red handprints he had left, no tenderness here, but an almost clinical examination of her skin and flesh.

"I say hand first..." A new volley of blows struck down onto her quivering flesh, the strikes getter harder and slower with each strike, cruelly building tension and making her wonder when the next would come. Lord Mortimer laughed his bellowing laugh as Raya winced and whimpered at each spank, her cries making his cock prime and swell, raising the front of his perfectly tailored trousers. Her head swam with the realisation of her defeat, and the stinging of her flesh. Her whole body began to heat and tingle, spreading from temple to toes in a sickeningly familiar way. She bit her lip hard as he began to speed up the spanking, each time he caught the inner crease where buttock meets thigh her cries turned a little more into anguished whimpers, almost needy. Tears rolled down her cheeks leaving tiny salty marks on the feasting table, running into the knotholes and filling up the dents and scratch marks like small sorrowful lakes. The stinging was turning into a hot ache and though she knew she was raising her behind now to every strike, she could not stop herself from doing so. Her cheeks blushed scarlet from her sobs, but also from the embarrassment of her body's fresh betrayal. She could barely make out the talking around her, the tones of their voices far more easy to register than any words. Somewhere beside her she could hear leather moving through material, and she became dimly aware that Lord Mortimer had stopped his attentions to her now evenly dusky pink buttocks. Her eyes began to refocus, and she saw a few of the Lords sitting back in their chairs, gently and lazily running a damp palm over their stiffening cocks, rudely protruding from their flies. Their eyes were hooded under heavy lids, mouths twisting in greedy need as they watched the way her nakedness squirmed under the ministrations of Lord Mortimer. The Jesters had gone, and the servants merely stood to the sides of the hall in seeming ambivalence, no doubt used to the type of scene before them. There certainly wasn't going to be help from them.

Without warning, a loud whistle of leather cut through the air and exploded onto her vulnerable thighs with a heart-stopping crack. Raya's head jerked up in a silent cry, her lips parting slightly in a devastating pout as her eyes darkened to a deep amber green. It felt like getting slapped in the face by a wave of icy water, leaving her breathless, and close to floundering. Like the radiating pain was the only thing keeping her afloat. Just as the heat returned she heard the whistle again, leaving her no time to recover. It bit and cut into her skin leaving a blazing red welt across the middle of her buttocks. Her breath caught again, leaving her silent and barely breathing. Five more blows struck down wickedly close to the first mark, the skin a livid scarlet and red, her flesh singing a desperate song of pain and confusing pleasure.

Her head was telling her of the cruelty of this man, the revulsion it felt for him, but her body was crying out for the sweet torment of the lashing and the dark sexual pleasure that it rammed deeply into her trickling cunt. As her body adapted to the onslaught, her breathing became deeper and shallower, all cries of pain melting away into high pitched whimpers of pure animal need. Her hips rolled and encouraged the beating with un-abandoned lust. Her body shook as she shut her eyes, picturing anyone to take her mind away from her hideous, salivating tormentor. Her pleasure built unexplainably, reaching hidden and unknown areas. Her skin was aflame, her stomach felt like ice and her fingers itched to rake over the table and leave deep grooves, if she didn't get release soon she would simply die. Through the haze she could hear Lord Mortimer's sickly thick drawl.

"Jesus, look at the hot little bitch...You'd think she was enjoying this!" he laughed, striking her more fervently. "We'll just have to find another way to punish the slut, and then she can deal with us all."

Lord Mortimer threw the belt down onto the flagstones and gripped her hair again whilst bringing one of his fat fingered hands down to her sweetly flowing pussy. She had been so close...so close and now she writhed again in heated frustration as she floated at the brink. Running the length of his palm up between her buttocks he drew the slickness over his hand and brought it to her face.

"Look here, look at how turned on that made you. Only perverts get turned on by being thrashed girlie" he threw a look over at the Guardian who had been edging to the end of the table the whole time, attempting to sit unnoticed.

"You've done well in your choice you snivelling wanker, but don't be so quick to think you can rejoin us. Hold her tighter! Lets see just how much of a slut she can be." He commanded.

Lord Mortimer ran his whole palm up from her mound to her rosy puckered arsehole, and down again, in teasingly slow movements. Raya felt the pressure building in her stomach, this repulsive man was actually going to make her cum, and she would welcome her release despite the circumstances.

"Now my pretty wench...ask for your release, beg Us" cackled the Lord.

Raya mustered the final dregs of her resolve and forced her head up as far as his holding hand would allow.

"...fuck you...I wont beg you..." she breathed.

His stroking became harder and faster as he swore at her impudence, never dipping into her silken depths, only insinuating the possibility. His cold possession of her sex strangely added to the sensations, like her earlier fantasy of the farrier. At that thought, the image of the young farrier emblazoned itself in her mind, blocking out Lord Mortimer all together just as he pushed a solitary finger deeply between her pouting sex lips.

Her body seemed to explode as she bucked and shivered under the tight bonds of the minor Lords hands at her wrists, almost jerking them from their duties and startling them in the process. Her cries escaped her parted lips and reverberated around the hall reaching the cobwebbed edges of every far corner, as tiny droplets of sweat glittered between her shoulder blades down to the dip of her lower spine. After a minute or so, her body fell flat onto the feasting table and she fell silent once more, her skin quivering softly. She could feel herself floating somewhere above her body, it felt tranquil and soft, but not quite right, in her current state she couldn't begin to work out why.

As her eyes swam back into focus, Raya noticed the night had well and truly come on, and she also saw out the corner of her eye the large doors open slightly and a figure creep in and sit down, but before she could properly register it Lord Mortimer began to bellow again at the top of his lungs.

"Come up my friends! Slick yourself with her juices and ready yourselves for the imminent party! We'll drink to Baron White and his lousy bastard son."

Raya fought the noise and the fuzziness still in her head to make herself search for the new presence in the room. He was sitting directly in front of her in one of the many high-backed chairs so far unnoticed by the revellers. Unlike the other Lords he sat silently, a darkly shadowed face that she could not entirely make out through her tears and tussled mess of red hair. She knew his eyes were locked on her as everyone else's was, but it wasn't quite the same lust or gluttony that was being slapped on by the others. His raven wing eyebrows arched wickedly, giving a slightly aroused, half amused, but mostly concerned air to Him. It made her distinctly un-nerved, and devastatingly curious.

Suddenly, the unknown figure rose from His seat and climbed onto the feasting table, His booted feet knocking over the discarded tankards and pheasant carcasses in a seemingly unmindful way to the distress and destruction He was causing. He stopped at the edge of the table, mere inches from Raya's tear stained face, and fixed His fiery gaze at the wiry guardian, whatever recognition might have been in His expression was tempered by a sneer of disgust.

"What's the meaning of this?" He barked demandingly.

The other Lords back away a little and fell respectfully silent, their faces now full of reverence as they stared up at Him. He seemed completely untouched by the drunken revelry around Him, and stood waiting for the reply of His now even more simpering guardian. Now He was out of the shadows, Raya could clearly see the formidable man for what He was. Standing an easy 6ft, He was an impressive sight; His dark blue eyes were glittering behind a swept curtain of dark brown silken hair. A sharp goatee beard that made His face devilishly handsome framed His swarthy features, and gave a deeply rooted aristocratic air. The others may have been born Lords, lived like Lords, and celebrated as such, but this man seemed to embody what a Lord should look like, the power and presence radiating clearly for all to see.

His leggings hugged muscular thighs and narrow hips, while His sleeveless shirt revealed lean, sinewy biceps. On the upper muscle of his left arm there was a heraldic tattoo bearing a lion seemingly hunting a kill, teeth around its haunches. But on closer inspection Raya realised that the lion was in fact mauling a lioness, and not a deer as she had first thought. Without having to ask, she knew who this was, this was the owner of the castle, this was Baron White.

"What is the meaning of this!?" The Baron repeated, as he jumped down off the table, snatching a cane from one of the swiftly returning servants.

"Answer me now man or I'll stripe you with this very birch!"

"Nothing my liege..." stuttered the Guardian. "Merely entertainment for your fathers benefit, and of course..."

"And of course he is not present as you well know, he is nursing a hangover from the first days festivities!

Killian stopped abruptly as a muffled whimper reached his ears. Raya fell from the feasting table and slumped into a silent foetal heap on the cold stone floor below. Her hair fanned out and danced around her like autumnal leaves on their final decent, the only part of her now moving thanks to a low breeze whistling along the slabs.

The young Baron knelt down on one knee beside Raya's prone body; gently moving the sweat soaked hair from her blushed and mottled face. He gazed at her for a few moments, tracing with His eyes the lines of her parted lips and the dark eyelashes that swept her cheeks, trying to remember all the details of her soft features. In one swift motion, He lifted her around the waist and under the knees, drawing her into His arms before turning to face the waiting Lords. She was lighter than she seemed, he was surprised as how easy it was to lift her.

"All of you, leave now and I will forget what I have seen here this evening. I may even forget to tell my father, but do not doubt that I will make all your lives a nightmare if you touch this girl again. Is that clear?"

There was a disgruntled and angry muttering of assent from around the room, it was obvious that they had no choice but to obey, but they certainly were not happy about having to do so. Killian turned on His heel and stalked to the end of the hall, shifting the door open with His boot. Before leaving he glanced around the hall once more,

Lord Mortimer had turned a dark purple colour, his features a twist of fury and outrage.

"Watch your step boy! The others might be afraid of you but I'm not...your father will hear about this, but from me and not you. I think we both know where he will show his loyalty. It wont be with his good for nothing son! I'll take real pleasure in seeing you fall when you take over as baron"

Without another word Killian turned and left the great hall, Raya still held fast in his arms.