Excerpt from: “Her Lord and Master”

Rachel gasped and spluttered as cold water splashed across her face, jerking her out of the depths into full painful wakefulness. She felt sick and horribly confused and her head throbbed. She had been falling…

‘Now you are awake, woman, you will explain yourself,’ a man’s voice said sternly.

Who had said that?

Blinking the water from her eyes, Rachel focussed on the hard face and steely grey eyes of a man perhaps in his mid forties. He was wearing a black skullcap and black mediaeval-looking robes over a quilted black jacket. A cane with a leather blade on its end hung from his belt.

‘Who… who the hell are you?’ she choked out.

As she spoke, her surroundings came into focus. She was standing in a room of stone walls and a stone floor with illuminated by what looked like oil lanterns hung on brackets from the walls. There were other devices also hung on hooks and brackets that she could not yet make out. There was a single heavy oaken iron-studded door in front of her. A second, larger, muscular man, wearing a sinister half head mask that covered his eyes and a studded leather jacket lurked in a corner. He watched her impassively with his bare brawny arms folded across his chest.

There was also something else that very strange and wrong, but Rachel was still too sick and dizzy to work out what.

‘W… where am I…’ she added feebly.

The man in black smiled coldly. ‘I am Slavemaster Thralbane and you are a prisoner in the Citadel of Lambour in the land of the White Veil.’

Some of those names seemed tantalisingly familiar. If only she could clear the fog in her brain. Then the more prosaic one registered at last: a prisoner!

And now Rachel realized what else was wrong: she was totally naked and quite unable to move!

She was standing upright with her feet spread wide and her ankles cuffed to posts on either side of her. Her arms were stretched out wide level and cuffed and strapped to a metal rod that lay across her shoulders and the back of her neck, which took most of her weight. A single broad strap was bound across the front of her throat, pulling her head up. Rings on the ends of this yoke rod were hung over hooks set in the side posts to which her ankles were fastened. The posts were joined above her head by an arching crossbar, forming a frame about the size of a double door. The heavy plank base to which all this was secured was mounted on four small wooden wheels.

As the fog in her head lifted, Rachel began to squirm in fear, tugging at the heavy straps. But she was completely helpless. Thralbane smiled at her futile struggles and while she twisted and strained, he walked around the device in which she was imprisoned, looking her up and down with apparent approval.

Rachel had a bright lively face crowned by collar length pale blonde hair which complimented her pale blue eyes set under light arched brows. Her nose was firm and straight and she had a wide expressive mouth. Her figure was trim and lithe with broad but still well-proportioned shoulders. She had high-set, pointed breasts full at the bottom with large and distinct red brown nipples. Her waist was tight with good hips, a shapely firm bottom and a deep pouting pubic cleft capped by a cropped and trimmed fuzzy delta of brown curls.

Thralbane slapped her buttocks to test their firmness and pinched her nipples and lifted her breasts.

‘No… stop…don’t do that…’ Rachel spluttered in shock and disbelief that he could handle her like that.

But he ignored her; sliding a finger into the depths of her cleft and pushed it up into her vagina to the knuckle and making her yelp.

He withdrew the finger and examined the film of moisture that now covered it. ‘You are no virgin, I see….’

Rachel felt her stomach knotting up while her cheeks burned under his outrageous and intimate examination. ‘Don’t… don’t you dare… t… touch be like that again… you filthy bastard… now let me go!’ she sobbed through clenched teeth.

‘Only the Red Lord himself can pardon you for your trespass,’ Thralbane said. ‘He found you in a swoon while out riding on the Downs not an hour past. He was intrigued by your odd clothes and accoutrements…’ He gestured to the wall where her costume hung on a row of hooks. ‘He had never seen the like before. Where do you come from? Not the White Veil, that’s certain…’

Finally, Rachel’s mind cleared sufficiently for the names he had spoken earlier to connect and a flush of anger and resentment overcame her fear.

‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’ she shouted. ‘You can’t play games like this with me. Don’t you realize that it’s all fairytales? I never imagined you people were crazy enough to do anything like this. It’s criminal! You should be locked up! You will be locked up when I tell the police… aaaowwww!’ Her rant ended in scream of pain.

Thralbane had unhooked the cane from his belt and swiped its leather blade across the undersides of her breasts with stinging power, so that sharp cracks of leather on flesh rang out, while her globes bounced and shivered. As her eyes filled with tears he swung again backhanded, this time slashing the blade over her nipples and briefly flattening them down.

As she spluttered and whimpered in disbelief, he laid the blade warningly across her lips. ‘From now on you do not speak without permission and when you do you will do so with the utmost politeness and humility. Now, tell me your name…’

‘R… Rachel Peters,’ she stammered, too shocked to protest.

‘Well, Rachel Peters, you seem to be confused about the truth of your situation. Perhaps the blow on your head you received has clouded your mind. Let me show you just where you are, and then perhaps you will talk sense…’

He reached over her shoulders to where the pole to which she was strapped pressed against the back of her neck, and pulled a loop of braided leather up over her head and pushed it between her lips, cutting into the sides of her mouth and baring her teeth as they closed upon it. Then he gestured to the hooded man in the corner ‘Jago: take her to the Show Pole Room…’

Thralbane opened the cell door so that Jago could wheel the yoke frame and a helpless Rachel sideways out through it and into a stone-flagged, lantern-lit corridor lined with several more dungeon-like doors. Rachel flinched in renewed shame at the thought of somebody else seeing like this, but there was nobody else in sight, although she could hear muffled moans coming from behind some of the doors. Her frame rattled along the stone slab floor, making her breasts jiggle, and then into a room at the far end.

This room was also windowless, with iron pipes and heavy valve wheels mounted on the walls. In the middle of the room was the head of a stout pole rising up from a socket recessed in the floor. There was an iron hatch in roof above the pole. The pole was capped by a crossbar set at head height with hooks on its ends. Dangling from beneath them was a pair of chains with stirrups and cuffs on their ends that reached almost to the floor. Angling upwards from the shaft just above floor level was an adjustable expanding rod with a curious forked tip.

Rachel squirmed and snivelled in growing fear, gurgling about her gag. What was this thing?

‘This is the Show Pole which displays prize female slaves for decoration when the Lord had visitors of rank. It may also be used as an aid to discipline,’ Thralbane explained.

Jago freed Rachel’s ankles from the frame posts and unhooked her yoke. With a grunt, her lifted her off the frame and swung her round so that her yoke rings dropped over the hooks on the ends of the show pole brackets. Before she could find her feet, he pulled her legs wide and fastened the dangling cuffs to her ankles with her feet resting to the stirrups beneath them. Now she could kick her legs about forward and back but not draw them together.

Thralbane stooped and adjusted the angled rod, pushing its forked tip up between Rachel’s thighs. Her eyes bulged and she shrieked about her gag as she felt the twin ribbed prongs of hard rubber sliding up into her anus and vagina, making her sheath and rectum bulge. She tried to clench her thighs about it and lift herself off the impaling prongs, but it was impossible. Her cheeks burned with fresh anger. How could these monsters treat her like this?

‘Now you will see the truth of your new circumstances,’ Thralbane told her.

Jago turned a big valve wheel mounted on one of the wall pipes. Rachel heard water hissing as it flowed through pipes somewhere beneath her. She felt the show pole tremble and then begin to rise. There was more hissing of water through pipes and the hatch in the roof above her flipped open and she passed up through it into a long dark brick-lined shaft. She continued to ascend at increasing speed. More hatches opened to let her pass. Where was she going? The show pole must have been buried in some recessed socket in the ground and was now being driven upwards hydraulically. How long was it?

The last hatch flipped open and she emerged into dazzling sunlight.

Rachel blinked and then screamed about her gag.

She was dangling totally exposed above the roof of a white stone tower thirty metres above the ground. It was one of many towers forming a huge citadel of crenulated walls, battlements, turrets, moats and baileys, looking out from a hillside across a valley that stretched to the horizon. There were people moving about beneath her and horses were prancing across courtyards and banners were rippling in the breeze. As she struggled not to be sick, she realized that it was far larger and grander than Cormer Castle had ever been even in its prime. Nobody could make up something like this just for the fun of deceiving her. Whatever this was, it was not a joke. Oh God, what was going on?

Then the show pole began to vibrate up and down and then twist from side to side. The mount capping the pole tip from which the crossbar hung was sprung, so that she moved separately from it and the dildo shaft, which moved with the main pole. The actual distance it travelled was only a few centimetres vertically and a few degrees laterally, but it was enough to bounce and twist her body about the twin impaling prongs within her. It was as if she was mounted a huge vibrator!

Her eyes filled with tears and her cheeks burned with acute shame even as her nipples stood up hard. The vibrations were making her breasts bob and jiggle as if they were alive.

The people on the battlements, balconies and courtyards were looking up and pointing at her. She thrashed her chained legs about and strained at the straps that bound her to the yoke, even though they were the only thing holding her above a frightening drop, but she was totally helpless. She could hear distant laughter…

Rachel thought she would go mad. Or had she already gone mad? She was being screwed on the biggest shaft in the world in plain sight of dozens of strange pairs of eyes while suspended over a fantasy castle. It was a most incredible, acutely embarrassing thing she had ever done…

So why was her pussy and dripping and throbbing and getting hotter and hotter in response to the vibrations?

No, surely she couldn’t! Not here… She jerked and kicked about even more wildly, struggling to escape before… uhhhhh!

Rachel came in mid air and sprayed a mist of her juices over the citadel of Lambour.

***

Thralbane was slapping Rachel’s cheeks until her eyes focused and locked with his.

She was back in her dungeon cell hung on the wheeled yoke frame once more. Jago was again standing impassively in one corner. She felt drained and her tingling, sticky pussy ached. As her memory returned, her cheeks burned once again. Had she actually come on a pole in midair in front of all those strangers so hard that she had fainted?

But Thralbane did not give her any time to wonder at it. ‘The Red Lord will be here soon expecting answers,’ he said sternly. ‘Now you are going to tell me how you came to be trespassing on his land, dressed like a warrior but carrying that ridiculous sword. When you do so, you will speak respectfully, addressing me as Master Thralbane, you understand?’

Rachel nodded fearfully.

He pulled out her gag, then rubbed the leather spanking paddle blade through her wet and aching cleft as a reminder of her recent shame and a warning of what would follow if she did not cooperate. ‘Where have you come from? What is your mission? Tell me the truth… the whole truth…’

She was not sure of the truth herself at that moment. All she could do was tell him what she remembered. ‘It… it began like this, M… Master Thralbane…’