The Bound Knight Ch 08

Cum Kitten walked the halls of the manor, unsure what to do. She her orders. Half an hour after her master had left his bedroom he had barged back in, commanding every slave present to, "Find that witch cunt, the one with the purple dress, and have her meet me in the dungeon." Cum Kitten had left with all the rest of them, filing out in an obedient line, but there was a problem. A problem she had noticed the day before. When her master gave her an order, the irresistible desire to follow it was gone. His brand was still on her, but its power was broken.

She had no doubts about how it had happened. The 'witch cunt' -- Josephine (though she doubted anyone but herself even knew her name) -- had shattered it with a touch. Casually, just to watch her kitten cum, she had broken something Cum Kitten had known for most of her life.

She still, vividly, remembered when she first felt its effect. It was when she was still on the farm, before the manor, before she ever met her master. Farm slaves came out of the flesh vats eighteen in body and mind, but the world she was in was still a new, and painful, thing. Obedience was drilled into them from every second of every hour. Food was earned, sleep was earned, punishment was the norm and any reprieve a blessing. Any slave who dared step out of line would quickly wish she had never been created. And at the end of it all was the promise that, if they were obedient enough, if they suffered enough, they would earn their brand.

She still shuddered at the memory. Her life with Master Mevenmein was heaven compared to those days. The first time she saw him, the first time she felt his command, the skin over her pussy was still raw from the fire and magic that had marked her with the crest of a man she had never met. She stood in a row with all the other recently graduated slaves -- maybe a little over a hundred in all. They stood shoulder to shoulder, back and legs straight as boards. Heads and eyes down, always down. The air was filled with the overwhelming scent of flesh and all the other stinks of too many bodies pressed together, though at the time she hadn't noticed. That was just the way the air always smelled.

They stood in the mud. Mud and dirt were her constant companions in those days. It covered her body, matted her hair, and caked her like a second skin. There was no grass on the slave farm. The ground was too beaten down by naked feet, naked knees, and heavy boots. There were boards placed along the mud to walk on, but they were not for slaves. The women crawled or trudged through the dirty ground. The only bath was an enchanted torch held close to the skin and waved quickly over them. The magics on it killed any diseases and kept their skin soft, but it didn't clean, and was the opposite of soothing. If they wanted to be free of the mud, they used sweat, tears, or blood.

Like all the others, Cum Kitten had only worn a heavy collar, whip marks, and a scared face. Of course, she wasn't Cum Kitten then. She was just 53. A number that had been placed on her the day she came out of the flesh vats, still sticky with its amniotic juices. Sometimes, when she didn't think she was pleasing her master, she still thought of herself as 53. After being given the number, her head was shaved bald. "If you're not ready to graduate by the time it grows back," they had told her, "You never will."

But she had. She had survived, and that day was her graduation. She remembered the crack of a whip, and the order to bow. She remembered dropping to her knees, and pressing her face into the mud. Then another order to stand again, legs apart this time. She stood, and she saw him -- standing on a platform above them all, so different from every man she had ever seen before. The men at the farm wore metal masks with snarling, grotesque faces. She had never understood why. Too torment them? So they couldn't empathize with them? As she walked down the hall, she suddenly realized she did know why. It was so that the first male face they saw was his -- Master Mevenmein's.

What was his expression? Contempt, love, boredom? His face was so unique, so alien, she had nothing to compare it to but the faces of the women around her, but her training was complete by then. She knew that comparison was forbidden.

She would have stared and stared, if she had been allowed. But then, he spoke. He commanded them to stand still, and she felt it. She didn't just stop, she couldn't not. The very idea of moving was anathema. It wasn't like a force holding her still. She simply couldn't fathom ever moving, and knew she would do everything in her power to stay perfectly still.

They lit candles -- thick, hot ones made to light up a room by themselves. The men with their horrible masks took them, and walked along the rows. One by one, they tested the brand. They held the candles between a slave's legs, the flame just licking at the lips of her cunt. And the slaves stood still, letting the fire lap at them until the man before them was satisfied.

The man that stood before her wore a mask that seemed made of multiple, grinning mouths. The teeth were large, jagged, and crooked. He placed the candled between her thighs, and she instantly knew her brand was working. The air between her legs shimmered with heat and she felt's its touch on her most sensitive part. She wanted to scream, to jump, to howl in pain, but she would not.

And then the flame was gone, and the man with the smiling mask was moving onto the next slave in line. Later, after over an hour of not being able to move, they were taken to a room she had never been in before, and cleaned -- with water and soap. Their hair was brushed, their lips painted, and powder dabbed on their cheeks. Then, they were lined up again, and Cum Kitten was amazed to learn how different their skins looked without the mud and dirt. Mevenmein walked among them, studying them, judging them. With a word he decided their fates. "This one goes to my fields," he would say, and the slave in question was whisked away. 'This one can be a gift to so and so,' 'such and such needs more hands, send this one there.' 'To the mines with this one,' and the unfortunate soul would be taken away, and every girl would pray they got something better.

And then he went before her. He lifted her breast in one hand. Felt the curl of her hair. She wanted to straighten herself, to look better before his gaze, but she couldn't. Her form was already perfect. "This one's not bad. Send her to the manor."

If it had been allowed, she would have wept tears of joy. Not just because the manor would no doubt be an easier life than the fields or mines, but because she would be near him. Her master. The man who had plucked her from the farms, and given her a place in his home. She had soft pillows and warm baths, and sometimes he would run his hand through her hair and tell her what a good cunt she was. She would do anything,

anything

, to please him. Not that she had ever had to test that. His word was her command.

Except not anymore.

It shouldn't have been possible. She knew from church the magic behind the brand was created by The King himself. No witch should have able to remove it. But then again, what did she know about magic? She had never heard of a witch being able to heat the air like fire. And hadn't Josephine said something about a crater? What could she really do?

And now her master wanted her to find that same witch. But, Josephine was the one person she never,

ever

, wanted to see again. But, she could only disobey his order to find the witch, because of the witch. It was all too much.

Cum Kitten walked the halls aimlessly, her mind running in circles, her high heels clicking. The duel was today, and master had ordered her to wear something nice. She had picked a frilly, purple dress - completely open at the front, covering only her shoulders and back. It joined at her waist, before opening again with a skirt that covered her behind, but was light and short enough that every movement and gust of wind showed what was underneath. At the time she had thought it was cute, and would fit the season while also slightly standing out. Now, she realized the shade of purple was almost exactly the same as the one the witch had worn the day before.

She had taken the bell off the ring that went through her clit. She hated it, but she knew her master usually liked it. However, she also remembered the way he had looked last night when she led Eve into the hall. She didn't want to do anything to remind him of that.

Eve. She wondered what the pureborn was doing, and hoped the knight hadn't been too rough with her. The memory of him, slapping her away as he all but leapt onto the redhead was an easy distraction from the witch. She realized she should have told Eve about Josephine. There had even been a perfect moment. The girl had asked her about the carriage ride, but Cum Kitten had deflected and lied, scared of giving away too much.

She sighed. Eve had always been good to her. She had always found the tall redhead pretty, and would have been happy with being used by her, but Eve had never done it. She regretted not telling her. Eve was a pureborn, had lived almost two decades without a brand. She would have known what to do.

But she hadn't. The chance was gone, and she likely wouldn't see Eve until after the duel. A sinking feeling entered her. Could she last that long? How long until she came without permission? What about going to the bathroom? Her master had given her set times to go, and outside of those she needed his permission. There had certainly been days where, if not for her brand, she would have squatted down, and no amount of love and gratitude would have stopped her from disobeying him and relieving herself. She knew those times by heart, but without the brand would her body follow them?

She went out onto a balcony, hoping to clear her head. A slave was out there, sweeping. The slave bowed her head and quickly left. Cum Kitten ignored her. Normally she would have greeted the girl. Slut Puppy always made them kiss her cunt while she spat their number at them, reminding them that she had a name while they were lucky to get a broom or a mop instead of just their tongue. Cum Kitten preferred to kiss their lips before they could even fall to their knees. She couldn't talk to them much, but she could tell them they were doing a good job. Normally it made her feel a little better to see their timid smiles. Today, she barely noticed the girl leave.

She leaned on the railing. In the field beside the manor she could see the arena. A dirt oblong with rows of wooden seats and platforms on both sides of it. Carriages and baggage trains were already streaming in. The local barons and their families and slaves, come to watch the duel.

Cum Kitten knew she would have to be there, but she hoped her master would keep her on his cock the entire time so she didn't have to watch. She disliked violence. She could accept men hurting women, that was simply the way of the world, but men hurting other men -- or women hurting other women for that matter -- made her uncomfortable. She knew there was a rumor going around that yesterday Eve had fought with some of the men, but she didn't believe it. Partly because it was impossible, partly because the very idea of it was terrifying and wrong.

Beyond the arena she could see the distant fields and just barely make out the slaves toiling in them. They wouldn't get a break just because of the duel. If anything, her master would work them harder, eager to show off how strict he was to his guests.

She had always pitied them, forced to work long hours in the hot sun under a cruel lash. The lucky ones were raped by their overseers, the unlucky ones would never use the holes that defined them. Now, she envied them. Once she was found out she would get much worse. The slave farms would become a happy memory. The mines would be a blessing.

She sighed.

"Sighs don't really suit you, Kitten."

She didn't have to turn around to know whose voice it was. The sweet, mocking tone - so full of confidence. She could already see her smile.

She hadn't even heard the door behind her open, but somehow she wasn't surprised. She turned, put her arms behind her back, and lowered her eyes. "Mistriss, this cunt -- "

"Yes, yes. I know," Josephine interrupted, putting her finger over Cum Kitten's mouth. "Your master ordered you to find me and send me to his dark, dank dungeon." The sides of her smile curved up just a bit.

Cum Kitten stared at her. Her blonde curls, so light as to be almost white. Her small, perky tits and upturned nose. Her outfit today was more revealing, more proper, but no less gorgeous. A white corset clinched her waist and cradled her bare breasts. It was trimmed with gold lines that ran up it like ivy. She wore matching stockings and shoulder-length gloves. There was a white flower in her hair, and over her cunt was a plate of gold, ivy-like filigree -- matching the design on the rest of her clothes. It was easily see through, showing off the smooth, pale skin of her lower lips, but it also blocked easy access to the hole. She smelled like new flowers and sweet spices. As if someone had distilled softness and sprayed it over her. Briefly, Cum Kitten wondered where had gotten the clothes. But she realized the answer was almost certainly magic, or something equally beyond her.

"Don't fret. I already plan to go," she said. "I have business there. But first, I wanted to talk to my sweet little Kitten."

"Thank you Mistress," Cum Kitten said, speaking the words slowly. "This cunt is honored." There was a pause, while Josephine simply stared at her with that all-knowing, inscrutable smile. Cum Kitten realized that, if she was ever going to ask, it had to be now.

"Can you give it back?"

Josephine smiled wider. She knew exactly what Cum Kitten was talking about. "Is my kitten not enjoying her freedom?" she asked, stepping closer. She leaned forward, to kiss her, Cum Kitten let her. She felt Josephine's fingers tracing the marks of her brand.

"Please," she whispered.

Josephine kissed her, then again on her cheek, then her neck. She whispered into Cum Kitten's ear, "It's not such a simple thing. You can't just undo an undoing."

Cum Kitten's stomach sank. She would be found out, it was only a matter of time. She couldn't leave. Where would she go? How would she survive?

"But I can do it," she said, stepping back so their eyes met. "Provided you do something for me."

The whiplash of feelings made Cum Kitten head spin, but she understood. There was only one thing anyone would want from her. She dropped to her knees, and pressed her mouth to the metal that covered the pureborn's pussy. She licked it, tasting the cool metal, pushing her tongue through the gaps in the metal till it just brushed the flesh beyond.

Josephine reached down, undoing whatever thin straps held the metal up. Cum Kitten pressed her nose into Josephine's clit, tasting her with her tongue. Josephine stared down at her, her smile never changing as Cum Kitten began pleasuring her.

Josephine said, "That's nice. But not what I meant."

Cum Kitten began to pull back, but a small hand on the back of her head stopped her. "I didn't say stop." She put both hands on the sides of Cum Kitten's head, pushing her further into her. Cum Kitten licked faster as Josephine began grinding into her face. Cum Kitten continued licking faster and faster, running her tongue into her hole, feeling every crevice she could reach, then out and around her clit, before going back in. Josephine let out a small, almost mewling gasp of pleasure as she squeezed the slave's head between her thighs.

Finally, Josephine pushed Cum Kitten into her as hard as she could, holding the slave there as her body shivered. To Cum Kitten surprise, the pureborn peed as she came. She never would have expected the delicate witch to be a squirter. But, Cum Kitten held her face in place, continuing to lick as Josephine emptied herself onto her, shivering with pleasure all the while.

When Cum Kitten finally looked up, her face dripping with a mixture of her own saliva and the other woman's juices and pee, Josephine's strange, all-knowing smile was back. "Stand up," the pureborn told her.

She did, and Josephine once again began to trace the brand above Cum Kitten's mons pubis with her finger, tracing the lines of The House of Mevenmein that were imprinted onto her. "I don't know why you would," she said, "But if you want this back, I'll give it to you. I'll give you

whatever

you want," she whispered.

Cum Kitten stared into her eyes. "If you can, then please -- "

Again, Josephine silenced her -- putting her finger over the slave's lips.

"But I need you to do something for me first."

Cum Kitten closed her eyes. There was no mud, no stench of bodies, but she was back on the farm. She couldn't move, and she could feel the candle burning between her legs.

-

There was no light in the cunt closet. No sound except her breathing and whimpering. The massive invaders in Eve's pussy and ass combined with the growing cramps in her legs to fight off the sleep she so desperately needed. Blessedly, sleep and exhaustion won, but only briefly. She woke in the darkness, a crick in her neck. The closet was so small she had to keep her head turned to the side, and there was no room to move to relieve the tension. There was no way to tell the passage of time. No way to know if she had been locked up for minutes, hours, or days. All she could do was try to sleep. Sleep was an escape from the pain, and there wasn't much else to do besides.

She was thrown awake as light flooded the world. Someone had opened the door, and her corneas burned as they tried to adjust. A large, fuzzy man-shape moved outside, and she half-crawled half-fell out of the closet, mumbling a "This cunt is sorry master."

"By the King, Eve, you look like you had a night."

The voice was not Moldred's. The voice was frustrated. The voice was also, slightly, worried, and that tiny bit of empathy was enough for her to nearly break down in tears.

Then the shape came into focus, and she saw his face. "Vassimir," she said, and then she did start crying.

He stared at her, his eyes traveling over her bruised skin. Her tears grew heavier. What a pitiful, pathetic sight she must have made. "Hold on," he finally said. "Let me see if I can get this off you." He bent over her, fumbling at the iron chastity belt around her waist.

She didn't care that his large fingers moved it painfully. She held him as best she could, pushing her crying face into his hairy leg. She knew then she hadn't been in the closet for more than a few hours at most. The cramps in her arms and legs weren't so bad she couldn't move.

"This cunt is sorry," she cried. "This cunt is sorry." She didn't know what she was sorry for, but she knew she was.

"Shush girl," he said, trying one last time to fumble with the lock. Then he sighed. "I told Alfred this was a bad idea. I don't care how good that witch is. There's no way you can fight in this state."

Something in his words got through her exhausted mind. "Fight?" she asked, looking up from his legs, tears still falling down her cheeks. What did he mean? Were they going to force her do another bought like yesterday? Was that why her father had made her do it in the first place? To make sure it would be entertaining? Was she going to be an opening event to get everyone excited for the duel? She thought about all those men, surrounding her, forcing her to the ground, moving her body where they wanted it with slaps and shoves. Her spent holes being used over and over again. She shivered.

But she got not answers from him. "That's not for me to explain." He looked at the lock on the belt. "I need a hammer."