The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 01byrbobrien©
We stood there, freezing and cold. They had stripped us naked for inspection. The men were rough and jovial; the war almost over. We were their spoils.
I had been taken prisoner on my wedding night. The soldiers stormed into my husband's home, stopping with huge grins when they saw the scene unfolding in front of them in our bedroom. They gave my husband a choice, because he was one of them, even though not a soldier: him or me. The fucking coward didn't hesitate, and they took me. I was naked, scared, and my heart turned black. I hated him. And he had left me a virgin. Losing my virginity to one of these animals made my cry on the spot, uncontrollably. I still have no idea what happened to my husband. I call myself a widow.
It had been about a week. We had been treated okay, very little attention paid to us, but they fed us and let us tend to our sanitary needs. But today would change everything. The men lined us up, naked, whips in their hands, wooden sticks at their belts. Some women screamed loudly, some whimpered, some stood silently shaking. I was the latter. I was trembling, but I refused to cry. I would not look up; fear gave me courage.
Suddenly, I felt an intimidating presence standing before me. I stared at his filthy, black boots. I felt coarse, strong fingers grip my chin, as he forced me to look into his eyes. I begged myself not to cry, but as my head rose, I could no longer contain my deep despair. Tears began to fall as I shook violently. His eyes pierced mine, dark but kind. He wiped the tears away from my face.
"I will take her," he turned and three guards dragged me carelessly, as we followed behind him.
I was driven in the back of an army truck to a camp, still unclothed, cold, frightened. They gave me water; it tasted like the finest wine in that moment, and I savored it. I couldn't remember being given any sustenance that day. Somehow I lost consciousness . . . They must have drugged me.
When I awoke, I was inside, on a hard floor, cleaned and naked, bound with my legs secured together and my hands tied behind my back. Immediately, I began to cry again.
A voice from the shadows came forward. "Sssh."
I was sure it was him, my captor.
"I am not going to hurt you," he said gently.
I was too afraid to speak. If he wasn't going to hurt me, why was I tied up and naked?
As if reading my mind, he spoke. "War is not pretty. But it has neared its end. This is how it is done. You are my reward. You are mine now." He paused as if allowing me time to process what he was saying. "Do you have any family left?"
I just trembled, trying to find my voice. "No," I whispered. "I don't think so."
My family had sold me to my husband to try to save me from the war. My husband was supposed to be our enemy, but we had a lot of money, and my parents just wanted me safe. If I married him, they felt I had a good chance of survival. I was their only child, and my people were dying en masse. They didn't want me to be a statistic. I had no idea where my family was, but rumor had it that they were taken and killed in the war themselves.
"I was taken on my wedding night," I admitted. "My husband was . . ." I clenched my stomach, "one of you."
He creased his forehead, as if the memory or recollection of it became clear.
"You are mine now. Things do not have to be unpleasant . . . especially if you cooperate." He spoke softly and yet I feared him completely.
"Why?" I squeaked out.
"You have no rights anymore. All the women have become slaves or worse. I'd like to think you'll come to like your new status."
I just shivered, letting my predicament sink in. I closed my eyes tightly, counting in my head, telling myself that this couldn't possibly be real, this wasn't happening. Or worse? What could possibly be worse than being a slave?
"Had you been with your husband long before you married?" he questioned.
This was just so surreal. I was tied up, helpless and naked, and this large, intimidating man towered above me, questioning me casually, as if we were out to dinner. I tried not to find him attractive, but he was striking in a classic way. He was beyond muscular and his dark, brooding eyes stared into me. He was naked from the waist up, and his light hair hung down into his face. I couldn't believe that my mind traveled toward wayward thoughts. I wanted to die. Death would be better than this humiliation.
"I am a patient man. It has helped me earn the rank I have. But I will expect that when I ask you a question, you do not hesitate. I know you are scared. But I demand an answer."
Any arousing thoughts I may have accidentally conjured were gone. Real fear gripped me instead. He could do anything he wanted. And truthfully, I didn't really want to die.
"No. I met him the day I married him," I finally said, embarrassed. "My parents sold me to him," I tried to explain.
He sighed, mulling things around in his head. He ran a finger through his hair, as if fighting within himself. I wished I knew what he was thinking.
"How many men before your husband?"
I turned my head to stare at the ground before me and closed my eyes from embarrassment.
He knelt down to me and grabbed my chin, as he had when he first chose me. He forced my gaze upward into his eyes, uncomfortably. I didn't know how to respond. What would he do if he found out I was a virgin?
"Answer me," he said, no trace of humor. He sounded angry, and it made me well up with an indescribable, profound fear.
"None," I admitted and then the dam broke. I really started to cry.
"So your husband was the only man you've been with?"
"Been with?" I asked timidly, knowing all too well what he was asking.
"Yes, Slave. Don't play coy." He seemed to be getting angry with me, exasperated.
I trembled, trying to find the courage to speak under these circumstances. "I have not been with any man," I paused, humiliated, "ever." I stared back down at the ground, fear palpable.
He stood up, pacing. "Are you telling me that you are a virgin?"
I just bowed my head in affirmation. I was devastated.
And then he left the room. I was alone, crying, and wishing I could just wake up from this horrible nightmare.
I could hear people talking outside of the room, muffled voices, voices of only men, as I lay there, vulnerable and helpless. But in the not-so-far distance, I could hear screams of women, tortured echoes. I heard the whack of whips and smacks, and loud, anguished begging. I heard men laughing and music and merriment at the women's expense. It was soon becoming clear what my fate would be. I was a slave or as he said, worse; I would be tortured. I tried to tune out what I was hearing, trying to visualize peaceful images from my childhood.
I had no idea how long it had been. I had drifted off to sleep.
"Come on. Get up," the man said, untying me. "No one will believe that a person of your kind is a virgin. Be grateful I chose you. And be grateful I believe you."
"Please," I begged. "Where are you taking me? Please don't hurt me." Any pride I may have had was replaced with a sickness in the bottom of my stomach. I had never been more frightened in my life.
He ignored my pleas. "What is your name?" he asked aloofly.
"Rosemary." I wanted to obey him; I didn't want to be whipped like some of the women were. I was truly a coward.
"You can call me Sir for now," he offered. "And I am not going to hurt you."
That was the second time he told me that he wouldn't hurt me. Could I trust him? Should I trust him? Why would I trust a man who had taken me prisoner?
When I was untied, he picked me up to carry me, naked and helpless in his strong grip. We went through what appeared to be a large compound. I couldn't believe my eyes. Women were tied up; some were being whipped, others fucked mercilessly. I closed my eyes as he carried me through the wails and moans. It was a mixture of torment and lust and sex and torture. Tears came uncontrollably again.
He took me outside. Many buildings surrounded the large, center compound. He brought me inside to one of them. It was warm and actually inviting. It was a small home in its own way. He placed me down on a soft, plush couch, exposing me fully. I shivered, even though the room was not at all cold. A fire had been lit.
"I do not want your first time to be painful, Rosemary," he said bluntly. "I want to learn your body."
Oh my god. He was going to rape me! I was no longer going to be a virgin, and I was going to lose my virginity to this . . . this barbarian!
"Do I need to tie you down, or will you cooperate?" He spoke in a detached tone, but of course he did. I was his prisoner. He didn't know me. He certainly didn't care for me.
I had no idea what to say, how to respond. What choice did I have? He would do what he wanted, but he was asking, and I somehow felt my belly tighten. I was so scared and yet a part of me was aroused. It was so confusing.
"You hesitated again, Rosemary." He grabbed my hand, and we left the warmth of the living area. He brought me into a bedroom, accented with red and cream colors, soothing. How ironic.
He led me further into the bedroom, and then turned me around to face him, the back of my legs against the side of the bed. I stood naked in front of him and looked down, humiliated. I had been fully washed and shaven by god knows who when I was unconscious. I felt tears burning my eyes again.
"You are truly beautiful," he said, catching me off guard, and I stopped breathing. "Your virginity would not last long here, Rosemary. Trust me. It wouldn't be pretty if some of the other men found out. So I am happy to be your first. You will become my slave here. I can't very well have a slave without sex. And I can't very well control my slave if I do not know her body. Lie down," he ordered, but there was something kind in his voice. It was such a contradiction.
I didn't move. I wanted to run out of the room. But to where? No one to save me here. And much worse men lurked right outside the building. I shook.
"Now," he ordered again. This time kindness was no longer present in his voice. "Tonight will be about your pleasure, Rosemary. After tonight, it will be about mine."
I got on the bed on my back. I could not control my breathing and I quaked.
"I had no idea I would be getting such an innocent. We need to take care of that right now," he said as if the thought was unfathomable. But he looked down and smiled at me as he began tying me, spread eagle, to the bed, first my wrists and then my ankles. I was his to do as he pleased.
"What part of your body brings you the most pleasure, Rosemary?" he asked me, and I blushed profusely. I had no idea how to answer. I couldn't answer. What could I say? I liked being touched . . . I had a particularly sensitive body. I was confused at my feelings of arousal. I was almost panting. And yet, I was seriously frightened at the same time.
"Calm down," he said, and again, he smiled. He was unfortunately breathtaking. Why did he have to look like this? This just could not be happening. "I'll ask you a different way. How do you find orgasm? Obviously not through penetration."
I literally wanted to die. How could I tell this complete stranger who had taken me against my will that I had never reached orgasm? That I had never gone that far with a man. I had pleased men. But I had never gotten past petting for myself. I had never been pushed over that edge that everyone talked about, that I saw happen to men. I was waiting for my wedding day. Call me old-fashioned. Again, I was humiliated.
He laughed. "Please tell me you've had an orgasm before? Are you telling me you've haven't? Jesus, Rosemary. What I am going to do with you?"
I trembled and tried to steady my breathing. I felt like I might pass out.
"Relax," he could clearly see my distress. "Let's find out what you like, what part of your body is the most sensitive, and let's see if we can't get you to orgasm before I deflower and claim you."
Oh my god. Breathe, I told myself. I did not want to be aroused; I did not want to let go, to give this stranger, this kidnapper, this rapist, for god's sake, the pleasure of taking my virginity, and yet my body defied me. I could feel the wet drips of arousal pooling between my legs.
He began to lightly stroke between my legs with his fingers, slowly, tenderly. My embarrassment flushed my whole body as he smiled knowingly. My secret was out. He held his fingers up to my face, showing me the glistening juice. "It is clear that you like to be tied up. I will take note of that for our future. You are very wet," he smirked.
"Please . . . "But I didn't know what I was begging for.
"Tonight I will let you speak freely, moan, squirm, do as you will. I want to take note of every reaction you have. As time goes on, I will ask you to control your reactions, and if you can't, there will be consequences. Trust me. You learning to obey me is the only hope you have for safety. But tonight, control nothing. I want to see and hear you as I pleasure you. Do you have any questions?"
Holy shit. God help me. I didn't want this, and yet my body clenched and my belly tightened again in that longing way.
"You don't have to do this," I pleaded.
"Yes," and he paused. "I do. Trust me. I do."
My head was spinning, and my body was betraying me in humiliating ways. "So . . ." I squeaked. "Am I going to be your slave? Your sexual slave?" I paused, flushing and squirming as I spoke the words. "For how long?"
He just chuckled. "No. You will be my slave in all things, not just sex. You will do whatever I ask of you from cleaning to cooking to yes, sex. You will no longer have a say in anything you do."
"Oh." I felt a wave of helplessly that left me both panicked and excited. What was wrong with me? "And, when it's over? Where will I go? What will I do?" I suddenly lost my breathing again, fear gripping me, as I thought of what would become of me. I struggled to find air.
He stroked my cheek. He was so gentle. It was so disconcerting! "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Breathe. Don't think about anything except what I am going to do to your body right now. You can't control your future. I may not be able to control your future. But I can control right now. Be in this moment with me. Let yourself go. I promise you'll enjoy it. I can already tell that you do."
He sat down next to my helpless, secured body and stroked my breasts, around the large mounds, under them, around them, feather-like, gentle. I tried not to moan but failed. Again, he just smiled. It wasn't cruel, but it was smug, and it embarrassed me more than I can explain. Every part of me burned.
"Look at me at all times," he demanded. "I will be gentle and lenient with you tonight. I haven't had a woman in a long time, and I haven't had a virgin in many years. I don't want to hurt you. But let me repeat myself. As time goes on, you will need to learn to obey me if you want to remain as safe as is realistically possible here."
His statement was foreboding and tied my stomach in knots until he began to touch me again. I groaned as he lightly started to play with my nipples. He played and rolled the nipples around between his fingers, and I squirmed and moaned and struggled to close my legs. "Oh god, please," I whimpered.
"Your nipples bring you much pleasure," he said matter of factly. But he didn't leave them alone. Instead, he laid his heavy, strong body on top of mine and nuzzled his face between my heaving chest and flicked the tips of my nipples with his tongue.
"Aaah!" I struggled to break free, the teasing sending electric jabs of desire right between my throbbing legs.
"Try to stay still. You will need to learn to control your body's reactions. And the binds can hurt. I have never encountered such sensitivity. I like that. You feel good under me. But I'm afraid they will feel the same way I do. You are exactly what they look for."
I squirmed. They? I was aroused from his teasing but I was in knots with the fear of my future, my fate.
He sat back up but straddled me, sitting down on me, and gazed into my eyes, pausing to let me calm down, to relax. I had literally started to pant out of fear or was it lust? He stroked my cheek and my lips, as he looked intently into my eyes.
"Such beautiful, blue eyes. Emotional. Don't be afraid. Hard to believe that you're related to . . . them." And he rose, positioning his long body by my side.
He began to run his fingers up and down my body, finding my erogenous zones as I moaned and quivered under his touch. "Not one for poker, I can imagine," he joked. "I can read your body like a book," he said. "You will want to be careful about that when other men touch you."
I cringed but not for long.
He tickled up and down my body, pausing in between my legs to brush my sex lightly and stopping when he could see I was getting too aroused. "Oh, Rosemary. You are going to make a wonderful slave. You will be so easy to control," and with that, he spread my pussy lips open with one hand and began to tickle the insides of my folds with the other. He found a little sweet nub I had never known existed in me, only heard about, and lightly twirled a few fingers around it, delicately, gently, sweetly.
I could feel my whole body tightening, building up to a crescendo. I began to tense, my breathing erratic, fearful, excited, out of my control, something I had never felt before. My body burned all the way up to my ears. What was happening to me?
"You are quite receptive. You are ready to have your first orgasm, Rosemary. Do you feel what your body is doing? How it's changing?
"Yes!" I panted. And then, involuntarily, guiltily, "No!"
He laughed and stopped. And I felt a pain so intense, a torture so excruciating, I began to cry, pulling on my binds frantically.
"These sensations are new for you. Sssh. Calm down. Relax. I want you to enjoy it. I want you to be wet and ready and open for me when I penetrate you. Your first time feeling cock will be slightly painful, and I'd like it not to be. The wetter you are, the better it will be for you."
He paused as my pulse slowed a bit again, as I tried to force myself to find my equilibrium. I wanted to scream and cry and I wasn't sure if it was from lust or anger. How many women had he done this to? How had he become so skilled at exploring the female anatomy?
He continued, "I will let you come before I penetrate you. But you need to embrace it, enjoy it, let it happen. I know this is new for you. It makes you feel vulnerable, I'm sure, but you can't worry about that anymore. Enjoy it while I let you. There will be plenty of times when I deny you this beautiful release. Just like I did right then. I can take it away as fast as I give it. Remember that. Remember how you feel right now. I am in control of it. You are mine," he repeated again.
He began to stroke my pussy lips again, lightly, teasingly. It tickled and turned me on so much I couldn't stop writhing. I wanted to beg him to go back to that swollen piece of flesh he so expertly manipulated. I wanted to climb that precipice again. I wanted to fall over it, but he wasn't letting me yet. I was about to beg, but for what exactly, I really didn't know.
"Stay still," he said. "You're making my cock too hard. How many times do I have to tell you: I don't want to hurt you tonight."
God! He was so erotic and yet I was his slave. It just didn't make any sense. He liked watching me squirm. It made him hard. Somehow that scared and excited me at once. What was my new life going to entail?
He suddenly stuck a finger inside of me, and I squealed in delight, involuntarily. This was the very first time I had anything in me . . . there. He curled his finger and then lengthened it over and over inside of me, and I felt that build again, that sweet tightening. I was panting again, squeezing his finger with the inside of my body involuntarily, trying to lift my hips. I was climbing, climbing, climbing to some indescribable feeling. I moaned and from somewhere deep down inside of me, I heard, "Sir, please . . . please . . . Sir . . . please." I was not myself. I was not in control of what I was saying or doing. I was possessed.