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?"
