The Spoils Of War Ch 02 3

The Spoils of War: Chapter 2

They lowered me back down onto the floor. Bastia, the slave master, said to my captors, "you know what to do." One of them gave a look causing him to add, "yes, yes, do whatever you want--we're selling her anyway. Just don't damage her... Too much."

The men dragged me to my feet, snapped the leash back on my collar, and led me back inside the awful dungeon. The Lady's guard accompanied us. We did not have far to go, down some steps and a corridor into an area that was open to the sky and set well below ground level. The walls were smooth; there would be no escape that way. Numerous crude tables, implements, buckets, and the like cluttered the area. Having seen halls filled with implements of torture, this area seemed tame by comparison. The men halted. One unhooked my leash while the other brought a wooden yoke with buckets on either end. He pointed to a well in the corner and a large tub next to a table. His order was wordless, but clear. I was to haul water to fill the tub. I would be forced to help clean my hair before it would be sold to that woman. But there was no time to protest, even if I could while gagged, as one of them slapped me firmly on my naked ass to set me off to work.

I carried the yoke on my shoulders with the empty buckets over to the corner. They were heavy enough without water. Eager not to draw their ire, I lowered the buckets into the well one at a time and hauled up the water. Not having been fed or watered for two days, I was exhausted, but managed to pull up one bucket, then the other. I wish I could drink, but I was still gagged. I strained under the wooden yoke as I walked over to the tub. The wood dug into my naked skin. Pouring the buckets into the tub, I could see it would take many trips to fill it.

One of the men had gone off, but the other watched me closely, along with the Lady's guard. I moaned and pointed to the gag to see if I could have a drink. My captor just shook his head and motioned for me to return to my labors. I dared not disobey. It was hot and my body began to glisten. I was unsure how I could be sweating, as I was so dehydrated. The sun beat down on my naked skin. Doubtless no breeze ever reached down into this pit to cool the labors of those who toiled or suffered in it. I thought again of my poor husband and prayed he would not be sent to the mines.

I strained with each load. My body began to ache. My captor and the guard watched me closely. They began to discuss my attributes.

"Fine tits on that one," said the Lady's guard. "Would have been a shame to have fed her to the dogs. I hope the brand won't mar them too much."

"Nah," replied my captor. "No reason to damage that valuable flesh. We'll mark that tight ass of hers. Even without her hair we'll still want to fetch a decent price for that slave. You can see she is fit."

Their eyes never left my body. They were clearly enjoying the sight of me working myself to exhaustion. Anyone could see the lust in their eyes. Was everyone in this city so cruel? The slave master's words rang in my ears as well, "do whatever you want." I had been spared the predations of our conquers so far. Could I hope that perhaps a sweaty, exhausted slave would not appeal to these men? All of the soldiers seemed to prefer the younger girls, but every time I looked up I could see them leering at me. My husband would have had fierce words with them if they had looked at me like that in our village. He would have wiped those smirks off their faces, I thought. But my husband was not here. I was alone, naked, and defenseless against these brutes. They would take from me whatever they wanted.

For now all they wanted was to watch my body at work. Over and over again I returned to the well. Was the tub leaking, I wondered? How could it possibly hold so much? Finally, just when I thought I would collapse, my body covered in sweat and grime, my captor held up his hand for me to stop.

"Up on the table, slut, on all fours," he barked. He seemed to have acquired a small whip while I was working, which he cracked in the air for emphasis. Terrified I scampered up onto the wooden table, as he instructed.

The table had a long wooden board with round holds in it near my feet that I had not noticed at first. Stocks! But how would I be put in them, with four holes along the wooden planks? I lacked the imagination or the cruelty of my captors as I soon discovered. The guard slid my ankles over into the middle two holes. Then I felt his firm hand on my neck, forcing my head to the table so my weight rested on my upper chest. Then he grabbed one of my wrists, then the other, pulling them back into the outer outside of my ankles. "Don't move," he ordered as he swung the top of the stocks down in place, locking my ankles and wrists in a line. After placing a padlock on the device, I was held firmly in place with my head pressed to the table and my bottom forced up. I squirmed uncomfortably. I was locked and helpless.

I started to shake with fear and humiliation. My body was fully exposed. In a panic I began to tug and squirm. "Easy there, slut," said the Lady's guard, stroking my smooth ass with his firm hand. "Hmmm, nice and firm--you were no pampered princess." He stroked my thighs, now exploring my body with both hands. It was true. My husband is ... well was ... a blacksmith and I often helped him. It was hard work, but we were deeply happy together until the raid. I closed my eyes as I felt the brute's hands on me, imagining my husband. Would I ever feel his gentle touch again?

Could it only be two nights since I last made love to him? It seemed like forever. It had been the night of the raid. He had held me so close, so tightly in our bed. I wrapped my legs around him. We kissed over and over again. I did not even sense when he entered me. I only knew the kisses had become more intense as the feeling of my beloved inside me began to overwhelm me. I melted in his arms, more than once before I began working my thighs to bring him to his climax. The moment was delicious. We had had so many like that since our wedding night, but now they were gone forever.

I opened my eyes suddenly. My exhaustion must have betrayed me. The guard's caresses on my nether lips were not that of my husband. What was I thinking? How had that brute aroused me and awakened such thoughts? I was locked in stocks, not wrapped in my husband's arms. I started to cry. His fingers kept teasing me. I sobbed, knowing I had grown moist from his touch and my thoughts.

"MMmm Bastia was certainly right about this one--what a slut," said the Guard as he rubbed his fingers together, wet with my juices. "Locked in stocks and naked she is ready to go." He laughed as my whole body flushed beet red with shame.

"Go ahead," said my captor. "You heard what Bastia said. She's ours to do with as we please. I might take a turn with the slut myself."

"No point in wasting this juicy tart," said the guard. I could hear him unbuckle himself. I clenched my fist, I squirmed, barely able to move. I was helpless. I knew this moment would come from the minute I heard the war cries of our conquerors when I lay pressed against my husband. It was remarkable it had taken this long. Why did I let myself think of my husband? It surely goaded the guard on to see me aroused.

I tried to scream as I felt him press inside me. The gag ensured that it came out as a whimper that only seemed to encourage him. I had only ever felt my husband inside me before. This was no gentle embrace. His thrust was fierce. Even when my husband and I played rough it was not like this. I must pretend it isn't happening, I thought. I must be somewhere else. To my shame, each thrust seem to warm me further. I could not ignore it. I could not think of anything other than being impaled by this brute. I sobbed into the gag, and gasped. The guard seemed to laugh, and I could hear him begin to grunt with each thrust.

Finally, I felt his hot juices flow into me. He cried out in pleasure and slapped my right thigh firmly as he came. What if I became pregnant, I thought in horror? My husband and I had been trying to have a family but carrying this man's child would be an unthinkable nightmare. My tears flowed. I did not even know this man's name. He did not know mine, nor did he care. He pulled out and gave my ass a firm slap, making my body jump.

"Excellent," he exclaimed. "Nice and tight." He pulled up his pants. I could feel his juices slide down my leg. I could do nothing about it. I remained locked tightly. "You want a go?" the guard asked as he looked to my captor.

"No time now," he replied. "Time to harvest her mane for your Lady."

I peered over to my side. My other captor walked towards me with a long, curved knife and a slave girl beside him. She was about my height with brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She was not naked, but what she wore could hardly be counted as clothing. A thin flap hung from a string around her waist, with her breasts were wrapped in some sheer fabric. A collar, much like mine, graced her neck. I guessed that she belonged to the house.

The slave girl carried soap and some clean rags, sitting herself on a stool next to my head. She said nothing, knowing what to do. She stretched out my hair, dangling it into the water. She took a small bucket and poured the water onto my hair, over and over, dousing it completely. The water was cold. I shivered in the stocks. The girl quickly began to soap up my hair, gently, but firmly scrubbing it clean. She seemed intent on her work, cleaning it better perhaps than I ever had in the little tub we kept behind the workshop. My body shook with another wave of shame, My hair would be cleaner for my captors than it ever was for my dear husband.

"Try to relax," she whispered into my ear as she began to rinse my hair. "This part won't hurt if you relax. You do have lovely hair. It will grow back." The water ran over my face and I closed my eyes and put more effort into pretending that this was not happening.

The slave girl looked me over and then asked my captors, "do you want the rest of her cleaned?" I kept my eyes closed, wishing I could not hear. I knew she could see that I had been used and the men laughed, knowing why she had asked. One of them must have grunted or nodded his assent as I felt the chilly water splash onto my body. I would have been grateful for a bath perhaps, had I not been locked in place while a slave girl began to scrub my body with one of the rags. At least her touch was gentle enough. And at least it would wash off that filthy man's juices. I am sure she suggested my bath out of kindness. I could almost imagine being at home as she began to dry my hair with the clean rags.

The sun was directly overhead and I dried off quickly. The slave girl tried to soothe me. "Be calm," she whispered. "Struggling only makes things worse." But I could not help tugging at the stocks, unyielding though they were. The smell of a small fire began to fill my nose. I struggled harder. I did not need to open my eyes to know what that meant. They were readying my brands.

"Hot enough yet?" I heard one of my captors ask.

"Yes, but the hair comes first. We don't want to damage it accidentally," replied his partner. "Wait for Jenna to finish."

That must be the girl's name. At least she has a name. Jenna is the girl being kind to me. But she is also the girl who is helping them take my hair. I could feel tugging as Jenna began to braid it. It was long. My husband loved it long. He told me so before we were married. He could be assertive too--in his loving way. "I never want you to cut this," he had said. "It is too beautiful, and I want to see more of it." It hangs down to my waist, and maybe that, along with its color, is why I am going to be sheered. It was such a cruel irony, I thought. Now it will adorn the head of some cruel noble lady in this city.

"It is ready," Jenna said. Then she whispered to me, "please be still--the blade is extremely sharp."

"Don't move slut," said one of the captors as he sat beside me. "We don't want to have to wash your blood out of it." I closed my eyes as tightly as I could. I could feel the blade against my skin as he shaved off the hair. It must have been sharp, as my hair fell effortlessly away from my scalp. The man clearly had done this before. The blade slid against my skin, removing every inch of every strand of my red mane. I could feel the hot sun on my exposed scalp.

"Nicely done," exclaimed the guard. I opened my eyes to watch Jenna put the long braid into a large pouch and walked off. The hair that my husband had so adored was gone.