Eve slept. Though even calling it sleep felt like a cruel joke. She closed her eyes and opened them, and maybe some time had passed. Suffering was an unreliable way to tell time. The muscles in her arms had given out long ago, but the ropes that bound her to the ceiling kept them raised. Her legs burned and cramped, but if she tried to relax and let the ropes around her wrists hold her up, the rod between her legs punched up into her cervix. The gag Moldred had stuffed into her mouth filled her jaw till it ached, forcing her to constantly relax her throat muscles, lest she retch and gag. Her nose was partly swollen from repeated slaps to her face, so every breath was a struggle. Her skin stung, itched, and ached as she felt her wounds slowly turn to bruises over the course of the night. She dreaded what she would see in the morning. If she looked anything like she felt, she would be a misshapen lump of purple and black. She could still feel the 'M' above her cunt. Her lips were cracked with thirst, her stomach ached with hunger, but worst of all was her head. The energy she gained from both the wake-up tea and whatever potion the blonde witch had given her were now both gone -- leaving a brain splitting ache in their absence. Every thought, every movement, every ache and pain was compounded with a feeling of spikes being driven into her skull.
It was a long night.
She must have slept though, because she dreamed. Images of the previous day moved through her tired brain, merging and repeating till they lost all meaning. She was fighting a hundred men with Moldred's body, but formless, shadowy faces. Her training rod was a giant dildo, and she swung it at them, but it passed through like they were mist. They surrounded her, morphing into thousands of hands that crawled over her like spiders. She was fucking a sword -- Bloody Ben's sword -- but it was the size of a man. She crawled at the sword man's feet, and she watched herself grow thin, emaciated, then skeletal. She and Moldred stood in a burning room. He was nude and small -- a third his real size, maybe less. He crawled at her feet, begging her not to hurt him. A whip was in her hand and she used it on him again and again. He pleaded with her to stop as blood flowed over his skin. It covered him like scales, until that was what it became. He was a dragon. He was the size of a house. Then, the size of her father's manor. And then, he opened his mouth, and thousands of teeth and fire surrounded her.
She was in a dark room, her arms tied to the ceiling, a rod jammed up her cunt. A man slept in a bed in front of her. There were four women in bed with him. He used one's tits like a pillow. Another was under the sheets. From the curve of the bed Eve guessed her mouth was around his cock, and had been all night long. The other two curled around his legs -- sharing his bed, his warmth.
Moldred Gavain -- Eve. The thought appeared in her tired mind and she couldn't push it away. What would it even mean? She had always known she would be sold someday. As a woman her duty was to please her master, but as a pureborn her duty was to have children. To be a factory that pumps out more pureborns, more men, more knights. The ancient Curse of Fay meant that only one in one hundred children survived to term, so it was necessary for pureborns to try to have as many children as possible. Farm slaves couldn't have children. It had to be women like her.
But, that had always seemed so distant. Her father always told her no man wanted to buy her, and most pureborns were already arranged to be purchased long before their eighteenth birthday. She was over a year past that, but still unpurchased. She had always assumed when she was purchased, it would be by some baron, or one of her father's aides.
But Moldred was a knight. A true knight. A dragon-killing, tournament-winning knight. He was cruel -- crueler than she would have preferred, but what man wasn't? She knew she should have been ecstatic, and chalked her lack of excitement up to her exhaustion. Sure, she would never be able to train with Vassimir again. Never feel the way she did when she won a duel. But, those were never going to last. They were fleeting feelings never meant for her. Instead, she could stand in the crowd and cheer for Moldred, and when he won she could fuck him like she had been trained to do, and when he lost he could take his anger out on her. Maybe age would temper his cruelty. Maybe she could even love him.
She didn't know if she loved Moldred. She was too exhausted, her brain hurt too much, for her to figure out
what
she felt, but it didn't seem like love. She knew she was supposed to love him. She had been granted to him. He was her master, possibly for life. He had beaten her, held her, complemented and insulted her until her mind spun. Maybe if enough time passed she would be so broken down, her mind so shattered, that she would feel something like love for him. Maybe that was what was taught in the portions of Alwynn's Bible slaves weren't allowed to read. Maybe that was what happened to Gash.
She shivered from more than just the nighttime chill. The thought of turning into that brilliant but empty woman terrified her. She knew it was wrong. She knew she was supposed to hope and pray for the day she could serve a cock the way the purple-eyed slave did, but she couldn't help but think about the day before. Before Moldred, before she was gangraped, when she had won a duel. Could being beaten and raped by Moldred ever let her feel that way again?
She wanted Moldred. She knew that. Looking at him made her body hot and her cunt wet. It was more than that though. It was the way he held himself. The way he talked about dragons and far-off lands so casually. And there was something else under it all that she couldn't place. She wanted something from him. Something other than his cock and his strong arms around her, and she had no words for what that thing was. But whatever it was, it wasn't love.
She blinked, and when she opened her eyes the sun was peeking through the windows. The sight of it made her want to throw up. She would have, if not for the gag in her mouth, and if there was anything in her other than cum and piss.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement -- someone crawling on the floor. She saw a flash of silver hair in the thin beams of early morning light, and ignored it. It was just Gash, likely getting ready to perform morning rites and wake her master. Eve dreaded him waking up and what he might do to her almost as much as she wanted him to wake up so he could finally order someone to let her down. She might even get fed. Maybe.
Her thoughts began to drift through her exhausted mind when a hand grabbed her hair and pulled her head up. Gash stood next to her, and she leaned into Eve's ear and whispered, "Good morning cunt. I hope you slept well." Gash moved in front of Eve, holding Eve's head up in both her hands. Gash leaned in so close their foreheads met and noses touched, though she had to stand on her tiptoes and pull Eve's head down to do it. Her strange, purple eyes staring into, and through, Eve's.
"Master has so many slaves, but this cunt has never seen him treat one the way he treats you." She licked Eve, running her tongue from the bottom of Eve's chin, over her lips and the gag between them, lapping up all the spittle that had dripped down over the night. "You don't taste any sweeter," she said, and Eve's heart almost broke as one of the saddest smile's she had ever seen formed on the slave's face. There was none of the mocking sweetness of Cum Puppy. She was completely serious. "I can't imagine how happy you must be to be treated that way by Master Moldred." She whispered his name even softer than the other words, so it was more breath than vocals.
Eve wanted to scream. This was either a jealous slave, come to torment her when master wasn't looking, or she was completely insane. Or both. Either way, she couldn't handle it. Not now.
"Mmmaha," she tried, as softly as she could manage. She hated when slaves tried to speak when they were gagged. It sounded disgusting and no one ever understood them anyways. But, she was desperate.
To her astonishment, Gash stroked her hair, and understood immediately. "You want water," she whispered, never breaking eye contact. The look in her eyes was hauntingly sad. She leaned closer, and kissed Eve's cheek. Then, she leaned even further, so her lips touched Eve's ear. Eve wondered what she would say, and almost yelped when she felt Gash suddenly squeeze her nipples between her fingernails.
"How dare you betray your master," Gash whispered in her ear. "What if he wants to piss on the floor, and watch you lap it up like a thirsty dog? What if he likes the way you look with dry, cracked lips?" She pinched Eve's tits harder, and she was so close she stood on Eve's feet for height. "You are a butterfly in a jar of needles. Your only purpose is to suffer as long, and as beautifully as you can." Gash let up on her tits, leaning back so they were face to face again. She was smiling that same, horribly sad smile. "And when he rips your wings off, you say 'thank you.'" She moved her hand down to Eve's cunt, rubbing her fingers over where the rod entered her. "That is why we have these holes."
