The Bound Knight Ch 01

Count Alfred Belian Mevenmein III was in a foul mood, and all of his slaves knew it. As his carriage rattled through the woods beyond his estate, a slave girl eagerly sucking away between his legs, he stared out the window with undisguised disgust. The slave girl, 53, or 'Cock Kitten' as he called her when in better moods, desperately bobbed her head up and down, running her soft, wet tongue over and around his member. Her light brown curls brushing softly against his thighs. She was thin, with ample breasts, a testament to her breeding, and fit, a testament to the Viscount's trainers. She knelt between his knees on her own, keeping her legs spread and her arms straight behind her back. She wore simple slave attire -- black leather gloves that went up to her elbows and identical boots that reached to her thighs. Tall heels on the boots kept her form proper, even when she was on her knees. As she often was. A shiny silver collar around her neck, the rings through her nipples and clitoris, and the circular brand with the symbol of the Viscount's house upon her shaven mons pubis completed the attire. Though she herself never thought of any of those as 'attire.' They were simply part of her.

With each bump of the carriage she moved her head, cradling his cock with her tongue and warm breath. As she worked she stared up at him with large brown eyes, glistening with the hint of tears. She knew they were improper, but she couldn't hold them back, so desperate was her desire to avoid the Count's ire. But, as far as she could tell, she didn't exist in his world.

The Count wore black, his silver beard, recently trimmed, furrowed around a deep frown as he stared out the window. His cane rested next to him, and a flogger hung above the carriage door. However despite her apparent inability to please him, he reached for neither. The only command he had given her was to remain silent. And so she did, avoiding the slurps and moans the trainers had taught her to use and keeping her lower body as still as possible so as to avoid ringing the bell that hung from the ring through her clitoris. She didn't know if he wanted her to go fast or slow. If he wanted to cum, or for her to make it last. Not that it mattered, it was all she could do to keep him hard.

After a few minutes of this, the other woman, the one sitting across from the Viscount, politely coughed into her hand. 53 found the action so shocking she almost froze. She had known the woman was scandalous from the moment she first saw her, her clothes making that apparent. The woman wore a deep purple dress and a wide brimmed hat lined with red, blue, and white flowers over her braided blonde hair. The dress was long and flowing, with a large ribbon at the back. It had a low bust line, revealing and cradling her milky white breasts. However, shockingly, the hem went down to her ankles hiding her cunt and only revealing the very bottom of the heels she wore. She couldn't see the woman's ass to see if she bore a brand from one of the farms, like the one on 53, but she didn't need to to know that the woman was pureborn. But even pureborn women were still property. Yet she had never seen this strange woman before, so she couldn't belong to her master. And the guests wouldn't arrive until the evening.

53 pushed these thoughts down, taking her master's member down her throat quickly, hoping he didn't notice the slight pause in her affection. She felt him stir though, and it was only her extensive training that allowed her to keep the tears back, and her eyes locked on him. Thankfully though, he didn't reach for an implement to punish her, and instead simply said, "What?" in an annoyed tone. His eyes still locked onto the passing countryside.

The pureborn laughed, her soft, high-pitched voice almost bell like. She was a short woman, with a small nose on a pixie like face under hair so blonde it was almost white. 53's back was to her, but she could picture the look on the woman's face. The same look she had since 53 first saw her barely an hour before. Her lips, painted a bright red that contrasted so sharply with her pale skin, turned up at the corners in the slightest smile. That smile haunted 53. She had seen slaves forced to bear a wide grin at all times, and slaves never allowed to show the slightest emotion, but she had never seen a smile like that on a woman's face. That smile, combined with her sharp blue eyes, seemed to say she knew something about you. It seemed to say she had some power over you. That smile did not belong on the face of a woman, 53 knew.

"How long are you going to brood for Alfred?" the woman asked.

53 almost choked at the woman's casual use of her master name. She started to lean back, to give him room for the inevitable blow that he would deliver to her, but instead he simply raised his hand, and put it behind her hair, pushing her deeper onto his cock.

Still not looking at either of the women, he said, "As long as I want to cunt."

The woman simply laughed her tinkling, bell like laugh. Then, to 53's horror, she felt something brushing against her pussy lips. The carriage was small, and throughout the ride the pureborn had occasionally brushed against her with her foot. The pureborn wore pointed heels tipped with metal, and their cold silvery feel had sent shivers up her skin when they brushed against her buttocks, the slight point at their tip digging into her. Now though, the woman placed the point between her pussy lips, letting it penetrate her ever so slightly. It sat there, moving up and down with each bump in the road. She didn't move her foot, didn't tinkle the bell that hung between 53's legs, but even so 53 silently begged for her master to notice, begged for him to stop this infraction, to put this woman back in her place. But instead, he just continued staring out the window, anger evident on his face.

"So, the woman began, once again speaking without being spoken to first, "Any objections to my attending the duel?"

Her master scowled, and pulled 53 deeper onto him. She took him, gobbling him down her throat. It was oddly comforting. Her deep throat training kicking in, pushing her thoughts about the strange pureborn out of her mind, and distracting her from the cold metal point resting just inside her pussy.

Alfred sighed. "Why are you here? Why now?" Sharply, he turned his head to finally stare at her, and 53 had to glance away from the rage on his face. "Moldred will be here before the sun sets, ready to rub this damned duel in my face. The last thing I need is one of

your

kind."

"You've yet to nominate a champion, right?" she asked, laughing as she said 'champion.' As if it was some joke between the two of them. "Will you be able to find one in time?"

Her master glared at the woman, and a shiver went through 53 at the thought he might turn his ire upon her.

"How do you -- No, I shouldn't be surprised you know. If anyone in this cursed kingdom knew, it would be you and your lot." He looked as if he was about to say something else, and 53 could feel the muscles in his body tense. But, he just sighed, and looked back out the window.

"Well, you should know that I do pity you Alfred. I can tell how

hard

it must be for you." As the woman said this, 53 felt her drive the tip of her boot further into her. A bump in the road jostled her at the same moment, ringing the bell between her legs. This bump drove the boot into her and then out again, but it hid 53's shifting. It had been almost a month since her master had last let her cum, and the boot was starting to driver her crazy. Only her training kept her from grinding her hips.

Her master scowled. "It's too soon," he finally said. "You can't take her. Not yet. Not until I have an alternative."

53 had to wonder who 'her' was supposed to be. She desperately hoped it wasn't her. She knew she was only property, and would obediently go where she was ordered, but idea of being commanded by a cunt disgusted her. Especially this pureborn cunt, who teased her with her spiked shoes and talked like she had a cock.

The pureborn laughed again. "I'm not here for her Alfred. At least, not yet. As I said before, I simply wish to observe."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her master's mouth. "I could have you flogged. I could tear that dress off you, rape you, and any passersby would only remark on my form."

"You could certainly try," the pureborn said, "and we can both find out how big of a crater I can make."

"And if I demand a writ? Have you put under my domain?"

"You could certainly

try

," the pureborn answered, a hint of venom replacing her usual laughter. "And i

f

it is granted, I would be yours. But until that time --"

At this, the carriage started to warm up considerably. 53 couldn't see the woman behind her, but she could tell the warmth was coming from her. A bead of sweat slipped down her master's brow, and worse, the metal tip inside her started to warm as well. It was becoming hot, painfully so, like metal left in the sun. She dutifully continued lapping at her master's member, but if this didn't stop soon she knew she would be burned. Panic began to grip her, because she didn't know if she had the self-control to sit there and let her vagina be burned. She knew she would jump up, embarrassing her master and earning herself severe punishment.

Blessedly, after a few moments her master waved his hand and said, "Enough, it was a jest."

At this the heat disappeared instantly, almost as if it had never been there. Except, the heat from the metal tipped shoe inside her didn't completely cool. It stopped being painfully warm, but it retained a bit of heat. The warmth was uncomfortably pleasant, making it even harder to focus on her master.

"So Alfred, will I have a place prepared for me when we arrive? I place

other

than your dungeons?"

Her master's frown grew deeper, and without warning he grabbed the back of 53's head pinching her hair and pushing her down as far as she would go. Her nostrils filling with his pubic hair. He stood up slightly, and began to thrust in and out of her mouth, using both his hands to force her head up and down as well. All thought left her mind as she struggled to just breathe. Her earlier order to stay silent now impossible, she 'glugged' with every thrust, the bell between her lips ringing wildly. Spit and pre-cum poured from her mouth, and came up her nose until finally, her master froze. He unloaded into her, and she struggled to swallow quickly, desperate to avoid spilling any more. Finally, with a great sigh he released her and fell back into his seat. Obediently and with tears and spit running down her face she opened her mouth and waited.

"Swallow," he commanded offhandedly.

She obeyed, relishing the bitter, rank taste of his seed. He pushed her back to the side of the carriage. She dropped to a slave stance, on her knees with her legs spread wide and her arms crossed behind her back. Her head and eyes locked onto the floor. She remained still, but it was a struggle. The woman had pulled her foot out when her master grabbed her, and the lack of stimulation now caused her lower body to burn with need.

"Was all that necessary?" the pureborn asked.

"I needed a clear head," her master responded. Then, he added, "You will be treated as a guest. I know I don't have much of a choice, but I won't be forced into it."

"You always have a choice Alfred."

At this, the cart stopped. 53 scrambled to get her feet under her, opening the door and throwing herself off the cart. She positioned herself on her hands and knees directly under the now open door. As soon as she did this, she felt her master's foot on her back. She clenched her muscles as he stepped on her, using her as a footstool. He was heavy, and his boot cut into the bare skin of her back as he stepped down. His weight forcing her knees and palms onto the muddy ground below. The leather padding on her gloves and boots kept some of the pain off, but not all of it. A moment later, she felt a second foot. This one was lighter, but the heel at the back poked into her as the pureborn stepped onto her.

Once her master and his 'guest' were on the ground, 53, stood up closed the door behind them, then fell back to her knees -- assuming a waiting position by the doors. At the front of the car a team of six naked pony girls stood with perfect posture -- tightly gripping the bars that attached them to the front of the carriage. Their long, black plumes rustled gently in the wind as the posture collars that held their chins up and straight glinted in the sun. Whip marks, some fresh and red, some old and mostly healed, covered their backs and behinds. Behind them, at the front of the cart, sat another woman, naked except for a black suit jacket that clasped under her breasts and a black top hat. She held a long whip in one hand and a lead for the team of pony girls in another.

Before her loomed her master's estate. Slave girls, dressed in rags or nothing at all, moved hurriedly about the courtyard in a wave of activity. The mud and dirt caking their skin and hair marking them as laborers. Cleaner servant girls formed two lines leading up to the double, wooden doors of the manor. These ones bowed low, knees on the ground and foreheads pressed to the ground, their arms straight and crossed at the wrists. It had rained earlier in the day, so they pressed themselves into the mud, flanking the path for their master.

"We were only gone for a few hours," the pureborn remarked. "Do you have them do this every time?"

"Obedience," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If you let a cunt slack off once, they will expect to be able to do it again and again." He scoffed again, and turned to 53. Without a word he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. He led her to the back of the carriage.

Chained there by a collar around her neck was a young woman. She was thin and muscular, with shoulder length, crimson red hair tussled from the long walk. Sweat coated her bare skin, but she breathed lightly. She was taller than 53, taller even than Alfred, and both had to look up to her see her emerald eyes. Unlike 53, she was barefoot, though she made sure to remain on tiptoe. In fact, she was completely naked except for a black bow tied around her neck -- in place of a collar. Her legs were coated in mud from her bare cunt down. In her arms she held a stack of firewood. 53 could see the splinters of the rough wood biting into her arms. The muscles of her arms were tensed from carrying the weight the entire time, yet she still held it up. There was no brand on her. No rings or markings beyond mostly faded whip marks. She was Eve. Her master's spawn and another pureborn.

Wordlessly, her master unhooked the lead from Eve, and reattached this to the loop that hung at the front of 53's collar. Eve carefully placed the wood on the ground, before dropping to her knees, crawling behind him as he led her like a dog. 53 stood at attention, her legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed behind her back, and her eyes down. Her master and the woman talked for a bit more, but she could no longer hear them. Eventually she saw her master walking up the stairs, Eve behind him. The wood was left in place, and 53 wondered if she had only been carrying it as punishment for something.

The slaves began to file in after her master as she wondered this. The wood was still sitting on the ground when a whip cracked and the carriage began to move again. The driver marched the pony girls around to the back, 53 following along. They moved around the manor, behind the stables, other carriages and a near them. The warm sun shined down on her. She would have gone to her knees, with the padding it was better than standing at attention for hours, but the lead attaching her to the carriage was too short. The slave at the front of the carriage would get water for the pony girls, but 53 knew she would be intentionally ignored. She had stolen the carriage slave's, 23's, position, and she had never forgiven 53 for it.

So, 53 stood there, waiting. Other slaves came and took the pony girls away, but she was left alone. The carriage had been parked in a quiet corner of the grounds, behind the stables and away from almost everyone else. She needed to go to the bathroom, but she couldn't even do that. The enchantment in her brand gave her master complete control over body, including such basic functions. She did her best not to squirm. Knowing that, eventually, someone would come for her. In the life of a slave, waiting was the default.

But then, she saw something that made her skin go cold despite the warm sun. A woman dressed in purple was approaching her, a purple parasol over her head to block the sun. 53 said nothing as she approached, keeping her head down. Maybe she had simply forgotten something in the carriage.

But no, the woman walked right up to 53. She was short, her head barely above 53's breast. Perhaps 53's heels contributed something to that, but the painful mark on 53's back told her that the woman's heels couldn't have been much shorter than her own. "A long wait," the pureborn said. Her bright red painted lips seemed to dance as she spoke.

"Yes Mistress," 53 said, keeping her eyes down.

"What's your name?"

"This cunt is called 53, mistress."

"I didn't ask for your number. What's your name?"

53 swallowed. What did this interminable woman want with her? "Sometimes this cunt's master calls her Cock Kitten."

The pureborn wrinkled her nose at this. 53 wasn't sure why, but she felt bad. "Ugh, no that won't work. Let's just call you kitten." She smiled. "Hello kitten, my name is Josephine."

53 didn't respond, not sure how to act under this extreme breach of what was proper. Not to mention, what kind of name was 'Josephine?'

When it became clear 53 would say nothing, Josephine said, "Do you ever get bored kitten?"

Ah, now 53 understood. Josephine was testing her. "No mistress," she replied automatically. "This cunt delights in serving her master."

To her surprise Josephine reached down and ran fingers over 53's cunt. Gently, the pureborn rubbed three fingers over the outside, tracing along the ring and the bell that weighed painfully on her clit. 53 almost shivered at the touch, her arousal from earlier still strong. It didn't matter though. Nothing could happen. Cumming was one of those bodily functions her brand controlled.

Josephine let her parasol and hat fall to the ground, her braided blonde hair shining in the sun. 53 realized then that the pureborn was incredibly beautiful. She wondered why her master hadn't taken her.

I would have

, the forbidden thought entered her mind.

As if reading what 53 was thinking, Josephine pushed herself into the slave girl, their breasts squishing together. 53 almost gasped as Josephine gently put two fingers inside her. Tears rolling down her face, 53 opened her mouth. As much as she didn't want to, she had to stop this. "Mistress, please --" was all she managed though. Josephine put her small, slender finger to the slave girl's lips.

"Shhh," she whispered. "I still have some time till I need to go, and I feel bad for teasing you. But well, watching you there, that bastard's cock in your mouth. I couldn't help myself. Your carriage driver will be gone for a bit, so let me keep you company before I have to go."

Tears were now streaming down 53's face. She wanted it so badly. It had been so long. She couldn't though. It was physically impossible without her master's order. She opened her mouth to say this, but the only thing that came out was a whispered "Please."

Josephine smiled, and with the hand that wasn't inside 53, she reached down and rested it on the slave girl's mons pubis, on the brand that marked her as property of the Count. Then, a jolt went through her whole body. 53 almost screamed, but then she realized something had been changed. A block had been removed. She didn't know how, but she knew that whatever stopped her from cumming was now gone. Her hips began to move on their own.