Lord Iton's Black Rose
The fortress was beyond a castle, dark grey and foreboding. Its oppressive dark grey walls cast a shadow across the road sending a chill through the bones of anyone who entered.
A child ran up to the prison wagon belonging to Lord Iton and looked in through the back grill. He saw a lone girl wearing a rough shawl, with long dark hair falling about her face. There was also a rough band of iron secured about her throat as well as manacles. A heavy chain connected the collar to the manacles and then ran to the floor where a large padlock secured it to a ring bolted to the wagon's floor.
The girl looked up and gave the child a nervous smile. A heavy spear slammed across the back of the wagon and the child yelped and ran away. The guard at the main gate laughed and waved the wagon through. Everyone near the wagon looked away and no one made eye contact with the warriors of Lord Iton as they made way for the heavy wagon. The king may have ruled the kingdom, but within his walls, Iton had the power of life and death. It was rumoured that Iton once boiled a trader alive because he sold him a pair of boots that were too small.
No one knew whether it was true but there were many head on spikes decorating the walls. The cawing of crows and other carrion birds was a constant sound echoing through the fortress. Unlike most of Iton's subjects, the crows were well fed.
The wagon stopped and the girl was unchained and dragged from the wagon. The guards fell into step with her and she was led into the keep. They stopped before a heavy door and knocked.
"Enter," a voice commanded.
She was led into a large room which was bare of any furnishings except for a large desk and an even larger chair behind it. A thin hawk faced man leaned against the table reading a scroll. He was thin and of medium height and dressed in fine silk, the yellow and black worked into his tunic in the latest fashion. He looked up from the parchment, his face creased with annoyance at the interruption.
He threw the scroll down and picked up a riding crop and pointed to the stone floor in front of him.
She fell to her knees hands outstretched in front of her in the position of submission, knees wide with forehead and breasts on the floor and hands outstretched before her. It was a position of complete surrender to a free man's authority. She studied her intently for long moments, the only sound heard in his apartment was the rapid breathing of the slave girl. While she may have been a little thin for Lord Iton's tastes, she was not displeasing to look at. The girl was at least in her twentieth year, that being the way of slavers and all slaves were referred to as girl, even the matriarchal ones. It was a reference to their status, not their age. The last steward who had brought a slave that was too young was thrown out a window and his bleached bones still decorated the rocks many hundreds of feet below the fortress walls. The steward always erred on the older side of twenty to make sure he did not also end up on the rocks.
"I gather this is the new slut for my lord's entertainment?" he asked without looking at her.
"It is my lord," one of the guards said as he handed the man a scroll.
He read the scroll and tossed it onto the table.
"I am Sulen, Steward to Lord Iton. It is my task to make sure that my lord is not displeased by you, otherwise you will meet a most unfortunate end; one which you will beg for death," Sulen said. "Do you understand?"
"Yes master," the girl said as she lowered her head.
"What is your name?" Sulen asked.
"I am known as Dynris Master," the girl said without looking up.
The crop whistled through the air and struck her across the small of her back leaving an angry red mark. The girl shrieked with pain and surprise as Sulen struck her four more time. There was no restraint as he lashed her, the girl's screams echoing throughout the chamber. He stopped and saw that she had not broken her position of submission throughout her discipline.
"You have no name except what we chose to give to you; you are property. And you spoke in the first person as if you are a human being... you are property and nothing more," Sulen snapped.
"Yes Master, this girl pleads for your forgiveness," the girl said.
He struck her three more times, her body quivering from the abuse inflicted on it.
"There is no forgiveness, no mercy for you here, but I will permit you to live," Sulen said. "If you fail to please the Lord, you will be given over to the guards for their use."
"Yes Master," the girl said, her body trembled in terror.
"Take her away," Sulen ordered.
As she was led away, she stole a glance at one of the guards, and committed his face to memory.
* * *
Her tongue moved slowly down Iton's back sending shivers through his being and groaned with pleasure as she nipped at the side of his body with her teeth. Sweat ran free down her face as their coupling had consumed the better part of the day.
Lord Iton was a ruthless brute with the temper of a bear, who had never been known to have given mercy. Many had died squirming on the impaling pole, or screaming as they were flayed alive or lowered slowly into boiling oil. But he knew the ways of women the day he first grew the hair of a man, and never grew tired of their dancing before his attentions.
Her pleasure seemed to go on forever and then his. He had taken her and released into her and each time he thought he was done. But each time, her skilled tongue, lips and teeth aroused him it started anew. He had lost track of time, and for once did not care. Let Sulen run the place, execute a few and tell the king to fuck himself; he had much more important activities to take care of.
"Please turn over master." She begged.
He saw the beginnings of teardrops as they formed in her eyes as she dug her fingernails deeper into his arms. He winced as she came closer to breaking the skin.
"She has need," he thought. "This is one of the best that my men have brought to me. I will see that they are handsomely rewarded for this."
He rolled over and allowed her access to the front of his body. He lay with his hands behind his head and his legs wide. She moved across his body and air hissed through his clenched teeth as pressure rose within him. She moved across the bed and grace he hadn't seen for a long time. Thoughts of a large cat sprang to mind.
"If ever there was such a thing as a natural slave, it would have to be this one," Iton thought.
They intertwined and rolled from one side of the bed to the other. But there was never a danger of falling off, as the bed was exceptionally large.
Iton grabbed her by the hair and pinned her to the bed as he forced himself upon her. The slave put up token resistance, as it was expected but dangerous. If there was too little resistance the girl would be beaten for being too lazy, and too much would get her beaten for defying the master's will. The end was always the same, displease the master and the leather would be applied. It would kiss and caress her exposed flesh while the slave screamed and the blood flowed.
She cried out as he started to use her. Iton varied the pace, as there were some times when she thought he was trying to drive her through the bed and other times when he would take over a minute to take her. Every time he thrust into her, her vagina clamped against his erect shaft. She was obviously well schooled in the ways of pleasure and could do to a man's penis with her sex what most women did with their hand. He started to think that she could bring the dead back to life.
He would then withdraw and apply himself to her pleasure before entering her again. The slave moaned and shuddered before the onslaught of his lovemaking. When he was ready he screamed as he consummated his need. They clawed and bit at each other in the dying moments of his mastery and collapsed in each other's arms.
Iton rolled over onto his stomach and spent a short time catching his breath before taking a bowl from his bedside table. Images of warriors hunting wild bear danced across the surface.
She held out her hand.
"Please master, let this slave feed you."
He laughed quietly.
"Very well my little black rose."
A puzzled expression crossed her face.
"A black rose? This one does not understand master."
"I call you a black rose because you are very beautiful and rare."
She smiled shyly and took the apple, which she began to polish its red and green surface with her long dark hair. When it had an almost mirror like sheen, she smiled.
"Master does this unworthy slave a great honour."
