War Prize Ch 03

Author's note: This is the third of a three chapter story. All three chapters are about this same length. All parts are complete and have been submitted (unless something weird happens).

This is the first NonCon story I've written, and I'm grateful for any feedback readers want to give. Though, I would ask that you read all chapters before sending any.

Many thanks to RustyOzNail, HotCappucino and SimonDoom for their critiques and help with editing.

I hope you all enjoy it.

Belle

*****

War Prize: Chapter 3

She makes her choice

Elspeth endured another day, perhaps growing accustomed to her role as the conquering General's property. She'd cataloged his few kindnesses, and accepted his use of her body for his pleasure. Once again, he'd left her chained in the tent while he attended another day negotiating what he referred to as a peace treaty. She doubted it would bring her any.

The day passed, glacially. Lights came on in the tent automatically at some point; she listened to the sentry outside laughing with someone, but could not understand his words. She went back through the news feeds on the tablet, attempting to find out any information about the condition of her city, searching the names of her parents, her brother, the one or two of her Mate's friends she considered her friends as well. Each futile attempt reinforced her sense of aloneness, and emphasized the extent to which she had allowed herself to depend on Him.

She settled back down on the cot, curled up with the oversized shirt around her and the blanket over her. She was awakened by the sensation of the blanket being pulled off of her and a finger hooking under her collar. She was tugged to her feet even as her eyes opened and she managed to focus on the General's face.

He looked giddy, his eyes wide and a grin on his face. He still wore the more formal uniform he'd donned that morning, except for the coat. He dragged her to the table and used his booted feet to push her legs apart. Her ankle cuffs secured themselves to the metal legs of the table. Disoriented still, she felt him pull off the shirt, and her arms folded behind her and secured to each other, as they had been so many times before.

Another click, and the chest harness disengaged and was pulled off. Then he was on her, behind her, his body pressing her into the table and his hands roaming up and down her front. He settled on her breasts, kneading them, digging his fingertips into her flesh and squeezing her nipples mercilessly. She twisted, unsure whether to push into his hands, or pull away, which meant leaning into his body. His arms closed around her, so each hand mauled the opposite breast, and his breath rasped hotly near her ear.

He leaned down, taking the cartilage of the top of her ear in his teeth, biting down lightly, and beginning to talk to her.

"This is what you want, isn't it Essie?" he growled. "This is what he trained you for, what he groomed in you."

She wasn't sure what he meant until his hands transformed to claws, clamping down, tugging at her flesh, pinching her nipples. He caused so many little jolts of pain she couldn't decide how to react, her body couldn't react to all of it. But there was truth in what the General said, and part of her reaction was pleasurable anticipation. Though her skin sang and likely bruised, though her eyes watered, though she hissed and clenched her fists, she also moaned and ground her backside into him. She tried to rise up on her toes to push herself against his crotch, but the ankle cuffs couldn't move.

His teeth on her ear clamped down harder and he moved an arm under her breasts, holding them up. When he started slapping them, she shuddered, bucking back into him. He let go of her ear, and kept up his battery of her front.

"Tell me, Essie," he said. "Tell me this is what you want. Tell me what Curran taught you. Show me what he saw in you." He paused and his next words were barely audible. "Show me, Elspeth, and I'll reward you like he never did."

She cried out, "Please. Please. Yes."

The General continued clawing and clamping her breast with one hand, but moved the other lower. He brushed her mound with his fingertips, lightly. She pushed her hips out, toward him, stopped by the table bracing her legs.

"Here too, Elspeth?" He slapped her lightly, a mere sting when she wanted fire.

"Yes, please. There. Everywhere."

He groaned, kissing her jaw, his tongue trying to dart under the collar. The General started smacking the front of her vulva in earnest, hitting her hard, just over the spot where the dormant device was implanted. Her body shook in time and when he had reddened her skin he let go. He pushed her over, leaning down with her letting himself weigh on her and mash her breasts into the cold metal table. She heard a zipper, but he stood up without entering her.

Without another word he began spanking her backside and her shoulders. He let loose a barrage on her that went on and on until she writhed on the table and ground her forehead down. Until she cried and cried out and climaxed and squirted and on after that. Until the General was spent. Until her ass was red and spotted and her cum dripped down her legs.

Then he shoved his erection into her, moving in fast and withdrawing slowly, in and out again, slower still. She stilled herself, resting her cheek on the cool table and stretching her fingers in their cuffs. He stroked her back, stroked her arms, her hair. He traced his handiwork on her back and buttocks, then leaned down so his hands could trail down her thighs. He laid his head down between her shoulders, kissing and licking, kissing a line from one shoulder blade, across her spine to the other.

His hands glided back up the front of her thighs and met at her sex. With some of his weight holding her down, and his penis firmly inside her, he began stroking her labia. His fingers prized her open, delving into her most tender spots. He circled her clit, stroking her there, teasing and arousing her. His breath was hot on her neck, his beard stubble scratching on her back, the fabric of his shirt tickling along her arms and shoulders. His fingers danced on her.

"Here's your reward, Elspeth. Here's what you will always get from me. Submit. Accept me. And receive."

With that he began flicking her clit more rapidly. He moved his cock in very short strokes, never leaving her. He used his thumbs to hold her open and two fingers on each hand to attend to her central nerve. He alternated rubbing her clit vigorously and stroking it gently. When she started rocking and pushing her hips into his hands, he redoubled his efforts.

She moaned in a long groaning grunt. She closed her eyes tightly and rocked back against him in time to some internal rhythm they'd found. Her breasts twisted and dragged on the table and little frissons of pain bloomed which made her shiver. And her every shiver was answered by a different touch from him. The tension in her muscles built, her legs straining and her body wanting to curl in. Prevented by her position and the table she tried twisting to one side, but the General shifted his weight, and teased her by lightening his touches.

"Oh, gods," she gasped, unthinking. "No, please more, please don't stop."

He chuckled, low, and set his teeth in the meat of her shoulder. His fingers danced on her clit and lower lips, and his shaft moved in her. She stopped moving, relaxed into him, and he did reward her then. He thrust in her more deeply, more quickly, and used his fingers firmly on her again. Her muscles tensed again, her toes and fingers curled, she let out a long wail that was muffled by the table. His fingers moved faster on her, circling her nub, pressing it to the bone and vibrating her nerve endings without assistance of any device.

She arched her back, took a lung full of air and let out a loud high-pitched grunt. The orgasm crashed over her, jolting her, all her muscles contracting and releasing in time. She knocked her head on the table and something halfway between a laugh and a sob erupted from her. His fingers kept moving, and now he was fucking her too. His cock pushing and pulling, her thighs bumping the table even as her body relaxed. He moved in her, his full length retreating from her and gliding back in with the slick wet slap of two bodies in motion with each other.

He laughed now too, grunting, calling her his, calling out her names, her real name and this new name she'd been given. She felt the change in his tempo, as he gave himself over to his own pleasure. His long arms stretched in front of her, gripping the edge of the table so it didn't slide. He pounded into her, and she didn't feel fear. Instead she was overcome with the familiar feeling of the post climax bliss, and her pleasure in the man enjoying her.

When the General had his climax, she felt that too, this time. The unmistakable quick change in speed, the involuntary jerking, and the extra warmth of his seed spurting deep inside her. He laid down on her back again, relaxing on her as his body let loose the last twitches of lust well fulfilled. Then her arm cuffs came unlocked from each other and she stretched her arms out, then wound them with his.

They stayed like that; she wasn't sure how long. His penis slipped from her, but he didn't move. Her leg cuffs detached from the table, but he still didn't move. She felt him breathing, his weight not uncomfortable, she found his hands with hers, and wove her fingers with his.

That's when he said, "It's over, Elspeth. The peace accord is done."

He stood, and she stood with him. He stepped back and she turned to face him.

"What do you mean?"

He stepped back again, looking her over. He shrugged. "The treaty is completed. Your government capitulated. We got everything we wanted, and gave away only what we cared to. We'll be going home. Soon."

She opened her mouth, but he put a finger to her lips. "We wash. We sleep. We'll talk tomorrow about what this means for you."

She noted that he unhooked the chain only long enough to allow her to reach the shower. She noted that once they both were clean, he led her back to his bed, and locked her in.

As she laid there, waiting for sleep, she thought, 'Not so much has changed, after all. Some reward.'

++~~++~~++~~++

The next day was much the same, at least to start. After they'd completed their morning routine, the General locked the chain to the hoop in the back half of the tent and left her. She moved around, still testing the limits of her freedom, but making no serious attempt to escape. She had been convinced that would be futile. The General left the tablet for her again, and had unlocked a different source of news.

She read articles and watched videos praising the valor of her enemy's soldiers and the wisdom of the leadership. As frustrating as the propaganda was, it also gave her some more information about the peace accord that the General mentioned. His country was keeping most of the territory it had conquered, her people would be refugees under foreign rule, or have to uproot their lives and move to the other side of the country.

At some point she tired and laid down on the cot. She stretched there, enjoying the sensation of all her limbs. Her hands moved on her body, assessing old bruises, scrapes from her run through the woods, and the distinct lump in the middle of her mons that marked the infernal device. She rolled to one side and her mind drifted, once again half sleeping, reminiscing.

~~**~~**~~**~~

Her Mate had been clever, when it came to introducing her to the games He wanted to play. After she refused her father, she had nowhere to go but His apartments. He welcomed her in. He collected her belongings, and He even confronted her father to get the documents she needed for her independence. He kept them safe for her and she never wanted them.

He presented His proclivities as innate desires He knew were unusual. She was young, naïve, grateful for His concern and assistance, and felt it was her role to support Him. He started with simple bondage, not tight or difficult, but only to immobilize her. He was effusive in His praise of her willingness, and always couched His appreciation for her submission as enhancing and complimenting her beauty, her strength, or her compassion. He counted as obvious assets the things her father always claimed she lacked or criticized. The effect on Him was obvious, and He was no selfish lover.

She dreamt of the first time He marked her. By her second year with Him, she'd grown to enjoy Him slapping or pinching her. She'd enjoyed that frisson of pain with the pleasure from the first time He'd bestowed in on her. He'd introduced her to the flogger by then, and she'd loved the sensation of the soft leather drifting over her skin, the light sting and thud.

He'd come home from work, frustrated, annoyed at some version of the office politics that distracted from the important things He did. He'd gathered her in His arms, burying His face in her lap as she sat on the couch. He'd asked her indulgence, had confessed that He had a need, that refraining from giving in was more than He could bear. In her memory, His eyes may have been wet with unshed tears of desperation.

She'd agreed, reaffirming her desire to help Him. He'd tied her down to their bed, her arms and legs spread wide and straining. He'd walked around the bed and when He retrieved the flogger, she'd giggled. He'd traced just the tips of the falls on her skin, tickling her, swirling the leather around her breasts and down between her legs. He swung the instrument and the first few strikes were soft, causing her to warm all over. She smiled, giving Him encouragement He didn't need.

The rest of the incident was a blur. He started hitting her stomach, harder and harder. Then moved over the rest of her body striking hard and fast. At some point she started screaming, her hands clenching in their bonds and her body shaking. He reddened every square inch of her front and limbs. All she remembered was that somewhere in the fury, the sensation boiled over into the strongest orgasm she'd ever had. But He kept going, kept flinging the leather down on her, kept going back and back and back, to the tips of her breasts and the center of her vulva. Kept going long after she was able to respond.

When she was spent and verging on delirious, He'd climbed onto her and used her body as the vessel for His remaining lust and aggravation. When He was done, He laid down on her and whispered to her. His penis going soft inside her, her body on fire and covered in sweat, and His voice in her ear praising her endurance, praising her strength, praising her ability to withstand Him. He tied her willingness to submit to Him to her strengths as surely as He'd tied her limbs to the bedposts.

When He let her up, He carried her to the bath and watched while she washed herself. He showed her the oil that would help heal her skin, and she didn't even think to wonder why He already had it. She didn't even consider what that meant about how long He'd planned this. She simply accepted His tutelage.

The next day when the bruises appeared, He named them her beauty marks. He inspected them every day, making pretty comments about their meaning. By the time the last one had faded, she'd grown so used to His tales that she invited Him to mark her again.

~~**~~**~~**~~

In the middle of the morning the General returned. She heard him moving around in the front of the tent, and then he appeared at the table. He sat down and stretched his legs out, leaning back in the chair, completely relaxed. He'd changed into the loose camouflage pants and brown undershirt that she realized marked his off-duty clothing. His hands were clasped loosely in his lap and he looked at her through half closed eyes. She leaned back on her chair, drawing a foot onto the seat and causally wrapping her arm around it. She barely noticed her own nudity or the restraints on her limbs. She met his eyes and they sat silently for several long moments.

Then he reached out with a foot, hooking it around the leg of her chair and pulling her close to him. When the corner of her chair met his, he spread his feet and leaned forward. He gripped her ankle and draped her legs over his lap. She remained impassive, watching him and allowing him to stroke her legs without responding. He leaned farther forward, his hands gliding up the outside of her thighs, pulling her closer. She had to admit that it felt nice. She thought back to quiet moments with Him, when He would explore her body as though learning the topography of a new continent. When He would spend what seemed like hours, wanting nothing more than her stillness and the feel of her skin under His hands.

The General was doing something similar, touching her legs and stomach, and watching his own hands. She imagined this happening in other circumstances, maybe tied down in his bed, or just lying under him on a long couch. The ease with which she imagined it and the lack of distress in the imagining startled her.

'Have I become so comfortable with this, so soon? Am I betraying Him?' she wondered.

She watched the General as his hands roamed over her, until he stopped suddenly and sat back. Her legs were still draped over his and she started to move away, but he held her still.

"I have something for you," he said, "but first you need to know some things."

He paused for a long moment, regarding her, leaning on the table, one hand wrapped around her shin. She stayed silent, because that was her habit, and because she could think of nothing she needed to say.

"You know Curran is dead," he said, bluntly.

She didn't react.

He nodded, briefly, as though approving of her stoicism.

"Curran is dead. And what do you have without him? He kept you and made you into what he wanted. What resources or assets do you have to claim as your own?"

She felt herself squeezing her lips together, felt every muscle in her face tensing, and her eyes narrowing. 'I'd still have everything, bastard, if not for you and your godsdamned war.'

Then she rolled her eyes at herself, because it was just as much His war as the General's. Her Mate's fault was in losing. She blew air out through her nose, and raised an eyebrow. The General smirked at her.

"You're dead too, Elspeth." He tossed the statement out as casually as someone would comment on the weather.

"What?" she said, startled into speech.

He nodded, slowly, keeping his hand loose on her leg. His fingers stroked along her ankle and in a momentary flash of irritation she tried to jerk away. But he clamped his hand around, his grip like a vice, in contrast to the relaxed position of his body.

"Yes," he said slowly. "As part of the documentation allowing me to accept you as my prize, you were officially declared dead to your government. You're not the only one. I can't say, of course, but you'll have more countrymen than you'd believe nearby. When we get home. So, what do you have, in that little country of yours? What's left for you there? You won't even have Curran's name to trade on, because no one will know who you are. If you were to go back, you'd have to go under a different name. Not that anyone alive knows your actual name, do they?"

She'd stiffened and drawn back from him as far as she could. Her toes curled and she twisted her feet, she pushed at the table. But his hold on her was strong, and her position lacked leverage. She felt it. She was old enough to know that she was being manipulated. Old enough to smell the tactic, making her acutely aware of her vulnerability and his offer, however unconventional, of strength and security. It had taken longer, with Curran, to see how well He'd played on her fears and her lack of confidence. She'd been years into the relationship before she discerned His penchant for flattering her strengths as a way to change her.