This is part of a longer story, written in November 2010 for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The setting is an utterly misogynistic kingdom (in a roughly medieval time) where sex should only be pleasurable for a man, and any woman who enjoys the act is weak and scorned. Slavery is practiced. Long hair is a trait of whores and temptresses, so all chaste women wear their heads covered. The main character, Gwen, was found earlier in the story to have the gift of magic, and for that reason was cloistered in a monastery. The monastery of Hemsedal, however, was later sacked by a black-clad Knight and his bandit-followers. The Sisters were taken as slaves, as the laws of the Kingdom allow. Gwen was enslaved by the Knight himself, who has revealed himself to be magically talented as well.
*
Gwen had been allowed to go out and gather herbs for the healing of her Master's wounded men, one of her occasional duties. The thought had briefly crossed her mind that she could run away, but she squashed it almost before it took shape. No. She had been taken by a noble Knight, in just accordance with the laws. His desire to often run his fingers through her lengthening hair was disgusting, but he had told her he would not rape her, and had remained true to his word. She was more fortunate than any of her Sisters, she knew, and had reason to be grateful. The Lady of Light clearly wished Gwen's path to follow this road. She had been obedient in the cloister; surely she could continue to lead a virtuous life here, even if her Master did not allow her to pray as often as she had before.
It began to rain, dark falling more quickly than she'd expected, and she hurried back to the encampment. She stopped by the small herb-hut the Knight had ordered built behind the kitchen in order to drop off her gatherings. Brother Hannu called to her from the kitchen doorway, "Gwen. Your Master wishes to see you as soon as you get back. I wouldn't delay, were I you."
While she wished to appear presentable, the urgency of the message caused her to skip going to her chamber to change; she arrived soaking wet and panting slightly at his workshop. She pushed open the door and stepped into the darkened interior, her hand rising to untie her wimple unthinkingly before she realized the place was empty. There was a smoky smell from the extinguished fire.
Frowning, she stepped back outside and tried to think where else he would be. His cottage. Stumbling along the rain-slicked pathways, she hurried there, hoping he would not be displeased for having to wait for her.
"Master," she gasped, pushing open the door and bowing. "Forgive me. I came as soon as I received your message. The rain came upon me more quickly than I'd expected..."
"Shh. It's all right." He beckoned her inside, his dark gaze taking in her sodden clothing and wet hair, now free from its wimple. "Come, get closer to the fire. My poor girl, come warm yourself."
"T-t-thank you," she mumbled, her teeth chattering as belatedly, her body felt the frigid rain and wind.
"Take off that wet tunic, my dear. You'll warm up far faster without it."
Gwen reached for the hem, then froze. "Master, I cannot undress..."
"Don't be absurd, my Gwen. You'll freeze. Here."
To her discomfort, he crossed the room and swiftly pulled the soaking garment over her head. She folded her arms over her bound breasts and lowered her head, trying to cover as much of her indecency as she could.
There was a wet
slap
as her tunic was dropped over the edge of the table and she jumped, then jerked again as his hands suddenly cupped her face, lifting her gaze to meet his. He was standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body. She longed to step away. Even the cold rain was better than this...
He lifted the damp mass of hair off her back, running his hands through it, and she heard a stream of water hit the floor as though he'd rung the moisture out of it. Indeed, he seemed to have done so with his magic, for when he lowered his hands to her bare shoulders, she felt the unaccustomed tickle of the soft hair brushing her neck and back. She shivered, and he briskly rubbed her arms.
"Take off those wet trews, you foolish girl," he chuckled. "You'll never warm up with wet garments on."
"Master," she whispered, agonized. "Please..."
He rested his finger against her lips. "Shhh. Do as I say,
miroslav
, my beautiful slave."
Trembling as much from cold as from shame, she untied the drawstring around her waist and let the miserably wet wool fall to the damp-stained wooden floorboards.
Taking her shoulders, he walked her toward the fireplace set into the far wall, where a roaring blaze crackled merrily.
"There," he whispered into her ear, his arms dropping from her shoulders to wrap around her from behind. The heat felt wonderful against her icy skin, but the intimacy of the contact repelled her.
"Master...?"
"Give yourself to me, my Gwen," he breathed, his lips touching the skin where her shoulder met her throat.
"My Lord..." she pleaded, anguished.
"Let's unbind you..." His hands were warm, calloused and strong as they deftly began to untie the damp bindings that held her breasts. While she remained like a statue, unable to think what to do to stop this abominable behavior without overstepping her place, he walked around her, gently lifting her crossed arm away from her body so that he could unwrap the lengths of linen.
The warm air tingled against the tender skin as he let the last of the fabric fall to the floor.
"Don't," he said softly as she raised her hands to cover herself. "Oh, my beautiful Gwen... Whyever would you cover up such treasures?" His hands lifted to cradle the soft, plaint flesh, his thumbs smoothing over the painful ridges that the bindings had left. At her side, her hands clenched. The touch became stronger, and she gasped at the sensation, a deep-seated pleasure tinged with the frisson of tingling pain from her over-sensitized skin. It seemed that somehow her whole body was beginning to react, almost the way it had with the magic, the first time he'd taken it from her. Before her wickedness had turned it Dark.
Then he was once more behind her, his lips on her throat, his strong hands kneading both breasts, holding her against him, her head resting upon his shoulder. "Oh, Light," she gasped. "No. No, I cannot do this. Please, I am a holy Sister... Please..." She tried weakly to pull away.
"
Miroslav
," he murmured, one hand wrapping around her stomach to pull her back against him, the other dropping lower to untie her braises, "You promised that you would give yourself to me."
"That was the magic," she protested, tremblingly pushing his hand away from the knot. "I only meant the magic..."
"This will allow me greater access to the power; this will deepen my link with you. Yield to me, my beautiful slave."
"Please, Master...You said... that first night... that you wouldn't take me by force... Oh!"
The linen braises fell around her ankles, and she stood completely bare before him. She flinched as she felt his fine woolen tunic brush against her backside as he held her tightly.
