The Bound Knight Ch 02

Eve burned with anger and shame. She crawled along the wooden floor of the manor-- her tired knees in agony. With every other step her father, Count Mevenmein, tugged at the lead that ran to the collar around her neck. Servants dressed in high heels and tiny, lace aprons that just barely failed to cover their cunts halted their work and lowed their eyes as they passed. She caught the lowly cunts glancing back at her though. She didn't miss the look in their eyes. A look that said she was finally getting what she deserved. She buried the fire inside her, dutifully crawling beside her master like the cunt she was. There would be hell to pay later.

She wanted to ask what was going on. Being chained behind a carriage and made to carry heavy logs for miles without rest or water was not the worst punishment she had ever received, but what was strange was the arbitrariness of it. True, she was a woman, and therefore her master's property, but she was also pureborn. More than that, her father was rarely so cruel to her without reason. He had allowed to her to learn to fight, ride, hunt, and other activities usually only allowed to men. He usually allowed her to clothe herself, as long as she didn't completely cover her nipples. He had even forbidden his men from raping her without his express permission.

Something had changed. She knew it had something to do with the challenge. Two weeks before a herald had arrived in her father's domain. A gorgeous young woman, skin painted in the blue and red of House Gyvain, announced that Moldred of House Gyvain challenged House Mevenmein, and the challenge had been approved by the king himself.

Her father had the herald flogged then raped by the men at arms before sending her back. But, not before branding her with his house seal -- a sign of his acceptance. Though he had little choice since the king had already approved the duel. It was well known that House Mevenmein had sired no true knights. The last had been her grandfather, Theholt Mevenmein, and his eldest son and heir. Both had perished in the last crusade, leaving her dutiful, but non-gifted father to run the estate.

They were wealthy though, thanks to controlling one of the largest infernum mines. All her life her father had simply paid off any challenge. But this Moldred had refused even the offer of payment. He seemed intent on bringing them low. Eve had heard her father spending many nights in his room -- raging at the injustice of it, and many days in his dungeon -- taking his ire out on his servants.

What she didn't know was what any of this had to do with her. She had three brothers, none of whom were knights and all of whom were worthless. How her father's ire had landed on her and not them was a mystery.

Eve crawled beside her father, eyes on his boots as she tried to keep up with his furious walk. They were in the main hallway of the east wing. White marble walls and floors shined in the light let in by the wide, arched windows. Outside she could see her father's fields being worked by slave women. The tallest of them walked between the rows with spiked whips, ready to crack them at any lazy cunts.

A carpet ran through the center of the hallway, and Eve felt a momentary happiness. Finally, something other than stone or wood. Her knees and palms were burning from trying to keep up with her father's quick pace. However, as she went to put a hand on the soft surface, she felt the side of a boot slam into her head.

"You're covered in mud," her father grunted.

Eve, despondent, crawled to the side of the hall, not pointing out that her father's boots weren't much better. His frustration wasn't focused solely on her though. As they walked through the hall they passed a servant girl. She was short, with a button nose and chestnut hair. Eve found her cute, kneeling by the wall with her eyes on the ground. Her servant outfit nothing more than white stockings, a frilly headdress, black heels, and a tiny, frilly apron that wrapped around her waist and went just low enough that you could only see the bottom of her cunt.

Her father paused in front of her, and Eve saw the young girl trying desperately, but failing, to not shake with fear. "Stand up cunt," he said. She rose to her feet gracefully, keeping her eyes on his feet and raising her apron to more clearly show her cunt, and the brand on her mons pubis.

His

brand. From her position on the ground, Eve could see tears in the girls brown eyes.

"Name?" he roared.

"Five-one-three," the slave squeaked.

Eve wondered why he bothered with this. He could clearly see her number tattooed between her breasts.

"Do you have a slave name?" he spat.

"This cunt does not, master."

Then, without warning, he slapped her. It was a loud, painful slap that knocked her off her feet and sent her sprawling to the ground beside Eve. Tears ran down her face as a bruise began to form. She quickly pulled her legs under her though, and moved to a deep bow, forehead touching the floor.

"This cunt is sorry master," she pleaded, again and again. "This cunt is sorry master. This cunt is sorry master."

Eve didn't even know what she had done.

"I saw a cobweb over the door above the library."

"This cunt is sorry master. She will clean it immediately."

Again, she was sent sprawling as Mevenmein kicked her. "Stupid cunt. You've already failed. Report this to your domina. She can have it cleaned. Then, you report to the dungeons. Tell them what you did, and beg for punishment."

Blood dripped down a cut just above her eyebrow, but 513 quickly moved back into her bow. "Yes master," 513 cried. "Thank you master. Thank you for punishing this lowly cunt."

"And clean up your mess before you go," he said, looking between the puddle of tears she left and the trickle of blood falling from her. "And if you get blood on my carpets, I'll have you sent to the mines."

Then, with a tug on her lead, Eve and her father moved farther down the hall. The sound of 513's sobbing behind them. Her father didn't bother to glance back to make sure his orders were followed. The brand on her would force her to carry out his word to the letter.

-

To her surprise, her father led her to the doors of the grand parlor. Her father had long ago decreed that women could only enter the room to clean it, and even then only very early in the morning. It was a place for her father and his men to get away from the servants. So, she began to crawl to the side of the door, but her father yanked her collar -- dragging her in after him.

It was a dark room with a plush carpet and dark wood floors. Eve, remembering what happened earlier, made sure to crawl over the wood. Soft armchairs sat around an empty fireplace, and paintings of hunts and battles covered the walls. Heads of stags and other beasts were mounted above the paintings. The room had a strong, musty scent that was not unpleasant, but was overwhelming. A long table with smooth, multi-colored balls sat in at one end of the room. Eve new it was some sort of game, but she had no idea on the rules. The room was lit by a large window along one wall. Through it, she could see down into the training yard, where some of the men-at-arms were lifting heavy stones or practicing hitting straw dummies.

Eve took the room in in silence as her father yanked her to her feet and removed her collar. She didn't need to be told her cross her arms behind her back, lower her eyes, and raise herself up on her tiptoes. Her father then tossed the collar into a corner and crossed the room to a chair by the fireplace. He all but threw himself into it.

Her father's attention no longer on her, Eve couldn't help but glance up at the mantle above the fireplace. There hung her families' Crests. Metal and in the shape of a shield, but each only slightly larger than her head, each of them softly glowed with the mark of her family. Each of the three were slightly different in design, but they all vaguely resembled a bird rising. It had been years since she last saw them. They used to hang in the grand hall, but after the death of her uncle, and with no one to wield them, her father had them moved here.

"Eve," he grunted. She quickly looked back at the ground, hoping he hadn't caught her staring. "Get me a cigar." He motioned towards a box by the wall.

Eve took a step towards it, then looked back to make sure it was alright for her to walk. Her father's eyes were closed though. His head resting on the back of the chair. She walked the rest of the way. She picked one out of a case and cut the end off with a knife on the table. She grabbed a firestick, and carried the cigar back. She placed it in his mouth, and snapped the short end of the firestick off. Instantly, the longer end burst into a small flame, which she used to light the cigar.

He puffed it a few times as she stood beside him on her tiptoes, one arm behind her back, one holding the lit firestick. This was an old game he like to play with her. She would hold the stick as it burned down, waiting for him to tell her what to do with it. Already, half of it had burned, and she could feel its heat on her fingers. He puffed some more, blowing a cloud of smoke out of his mouth. The stick was down to almost a nub now, and she could feel the fire on her fingers.

Finally, just before she was burned, he said, "left thigh." Eve quickly shoved the stick into her thigh, using her skin to put out the fire. It burned, but not so much that it would leave a scar. She returned both arms to behind her back, and waited for her father to finally tell her what was going on.

But instead, a voice came from the shadows of the room. "What an odd practice," a man said as he stepped into the light of the window. Eve hadn't even noticed him before, but now she wondered how that could have been possible. He was a tall man, taller even than her, with broad shoulders and curly salt and pepper hair and beard.

"Marshall," her father said, "how long have you been skulking in the shadows?"

Marshall Vassimir smiled. "I come up here sometimes. He nodded to the window. I like to see how the men train when I'm not there.

"And how do they?"

He shrugged. "Acceptable. I'll still probably find something to yell at them for though," he said with a laugh. Then, he turned to Eve and said, "Speaking of training, you missed our session this morning. I can't remember the last time that happened."

"Apologies, Master Vassimir, this one was with her master and father."

"Oooh, and so formal today." He winked at Alfred. "You must have done something wrong."

Her father said, "We were greeting a guest."

"He's already arrived?" Then, there was a pause, as Vassimir's face slowly changed to realization. "Ah, you mean the other

guest

. Well, you and I can speak about that later."

Eve knew who they were talking about. She had seen the strange blonde woman enter her father's carriage at the edge of his territory. The woman hadn't spoken to Eve, who had been collared to the back of the carriage and had just carried a stack of wood almost ten miles. Eve remembered the woman having piercing eyes, a contemptuous smile, and a pretty dress. She had seen her again briefly when they arrived back at the manor, but Eve had no idea where the woman had disappeared to.

Vassimir interrupted her thought by saying, "Well, next time we practice you'll do a double work out."

"Yes, Master Vassimir," she answered eagerly. The prospect of having to run twice as far and lift twice as many rocks didn't exactly excite her, but she would happily do them. She had no idea why her father let the old soldier train her to fight, but for the past five years training with him had been the highlight of her life.

"So, Vassimir," her father began as the marshal took the seat across from him, "how are things with the men."

And so, they began to talk as Eve stood there, listening, but not speaking. Eve wasn't sure why, but she felt a slight bit of anxiety standing before her father, completely naked. She knew it was absurd. She was, after all, his property, but it had been some time since she had been completely nude. Furthermore, she always felt a tiny bit of anxiety standing before any man, his attention focused on her -- the horrible things he could do to her running through her mind. She didn't have to worry about that with her father, she told herself. Incest -- a father having sex with his pureborn daughter -- was forbidden. That might not stop some men, she had heard the parables of the preachers, but her father was an honorable man. Besides, he had no interest in her. He had an entire harem of slaves, who, he frequently reminded her, were much prettier than her.

She felt no anxiety being in front of Vassimir. The man had more access to her than any other man, yet he had never even tried to touch her. He had barely glanced at her, and if he made any remarks on her appearance, it was simply to note how her musculature was developing.

After they had spoken for a few minutes, there was a strange silence between them, and Eve suddenly became aware that both men were looking at her. Her father sighed, smoke drifting through his lips with the action. "If you had a cock, you'd be worth something."

It wasn't the first time he had said it, but it still stung.

Vassimir said, "I think, you might be underestimating her talents. She had her hair cut short --"

"At your suggestion," her father interrupted.

Vassimir waved him aside. "True, but with that deep red color, when she does grow it out, it will be quite fetching."

Alfred scoffed. "She's taller than me. Almost as tall as my brother and he was a knight! What man wants some long-limbed freak in his bed? It would be like fucking a spider."

Vassimir chuckled. "I've heard, in some of the Northern provinces, they've started having the cunts be made taller. 'Taste' is a fickle thing."

"And do they have them so muscular in these Northern provinces? Do they like their cunts like they like their oxen?"

"The muscles have not hurt her figure. They are defined, but she is still lean. Even from a distance, no one would mistake her for a man. As to preference, I once knew a knight you would frequently say that the best fuck he'd ever had was a farm-slave with abs so solid you could have forged a blade on them. He was always sneaking off to fuck the pony-girls. And besides -- " Vassimir shrugged "- she has large tits, which for some men is all that's needed."

Eve kept her eyes down and hoped that the burning feeling in her face wasn't obvious. She wasn't sure what was worse, her father's clear disgust at her appearance, or Master Vassimir's cold, matter-of-fact praise. Both made her muscles tense and sent a strange, uncomfortable feeling fluttering through her gut.

Her father scoffed again. "Are you sure you don't want to fuck her, Vassimir?"

Both men laughed at this, though Eve wasn't entirely sure what the joke was.

"She's fresh," he continued. "Not a virgin, of course. I give her to one of the men if they do exemplary work, or any particularly prominent guests. But, she's not even a year over fucking age. Could probably count the number of time's she's been raped on two hands."

But Vassimir waved all of this off dismissively. "No my liege, you know my 'preferences.'"

"You mean the 'preferences' that caused one of the best marshals in the empire to have to hide out in the domain of a knightless count?" He laughed. "It's just the way you were talking made me think you might have come to your senses."

Vassimir smiled. "I'm simply speaking facts. You've often seemed blinded to your daughter's beauty." He paused, and glanced at Eve -- looking her up and down. "Perhaps distracted by her

other

talents."

Her father sighed, and stood up. Slowly, he walked over to the window that overlooked the training grounds. He stared out it, puffing his cigar. Eve stayed where she was, still standing on tip toe. Finally, without looking back at either of them, he said "Other talents indeed." He looked back at her, and for a moment Eve forgot herself and met his eyes. They looked strangely sad. "Things would be so much easier if you had a cock." She looked down again -- humbled. Her eyes burned, and had to fight to hold in the tears.

He turned back to stare out the window, and held his cigar out and to the side. Eve knew what it meant, and dropped to her knees and crawled beside him. She positioned herself under his outstretched cigar. Her arms straight behind her back, knees under her. As she did, she tilted her head straight up, mouth open wide, tongue stretched out over her chin. He tapped the cigar, the spent ash falling down into her waiting mouth. The bitter, acrid taste of ash filled her mouth as it landed on her tongue. Her body wanted to retch, but her training kept her still as her father finished dumping the ash into her mouth. Slowly, so as not to drop any ashes, she brought her tongue back inside her mouth. She swallowed. The dry, disgusting flakes scratching her throat as she forced them down. Then, ashes swallowed, she stuck her tongue back out to patiently wait for more.

More didn't come though, instead her father sighed again. Without a word he pushed the end of the cigar into the top of her left breast. Her eyes went wide and her body went rigid as her skin burned. He pushed it into her, turning it back and forth to extinguish the ashes on her skin. Even as her skin burned, she kept her mouth open. He might want to use her to dispose of the spent cigar. To her relief though, he opened the window, and threw it out.

Eve didn't dare look down at the painful circle above her breast. She knew exactly the sort of horrible scar she would see there. She would have to see the witch later to get it healed, a process she dreaded almost as much as the pain that caused it.

Her father continued to stare out the window, at the men in the training grounds. "Her training's going well?" he asked Vassimir.

The marshall shrugged. "As can be hoped."

Her father sighed. "Eve, go down there and challenge them to a duel. All of them, one at a time. Use a training rod. They may use whatever weapons and armor they wish. If even a single one of them draws blood on you, you are to prostate yourself before them, and beg them all to rape you." He looked down at her, "Understood?"

A horrible coldness washed over Eve. Whatever anger she had earlier in the day was now gone, replaced with the horrible cruelty of her life. She glanced over at Master Vassimir, but he was looking at her the way a merchant looked at cows or chickens. She didn't dare meet her father's eyes. If there was anger or coldness there, she would collapse. If there was that sadness from before she would break. There was nothing she could do.

"Yes master."