The night thus far had been a decidedly cruel mix of frustration, fear, and fury that had left Marissa on edge. After Isolde had so punished her and humiliated her, the young redheaded woman had not wished to stay one more second under the roof of that accursed manor. Even the squirming, pleading man still bound to her bed could do little to take her mind off of the night's events.
Indeed, the thought that she had no time to release her pent up frustrations on the stable hand only drove her fury to new heights. As she had slipped a fresh dress over her hastily stripped and cleaned form, she fixed her cruel gaze upon Thomas, watching as his muscles clenched, tugging at the bonds which had held him secure for hours now. She was impressed at his persistence, but disappointed when she saw his arousal had long since faded.
The young noble tried to make a show of dressing, though she didn't have the time as it was to make a proper job of it. Even as she rolled her new stockings up her legs one by one, and smoothed the simple, forest green dress she had tugged on over her generous curves, his manhood barely stirred. As she finished tugging the laces of her dress tight about her waist, her expression darkened.
In Thomas's eyes there was no desire, only terror.
"I will be damned," Marissa hissed as she stomped on a pair of soft soled boots, then stalked toward him, "If I will be rejected by a peon like you."
Hafred's obsession with Jenrea, the Prince's rejection, even the Squire's seeming dismissal of her feelings had her blood boiling with indignation. And now this servant, this peasant had the gall to not react to her beauty. She let out a growl of rage, then lashed out one hand toward the bound man.
"You will keep this ready for me at all times, or I will have you whipped and exiled." Her words were a sharp, venomous hiss as she gripped the man's cock.
It pulsed and grew under her hand, but rather than pleasure, a visage of pain twisted Thomas's features. His body arched up against the bonds that held him secure, as he screamed into his gag.
The stable hand's reaction had her releasing his manhood and backing off swiftly. She didn't think she'd been gripping him that hard, and while she certainly wanted to inflict pain, she knew he would be worthless to her if his body was trained to associate her with agony. She stared down at her hand, then went wide eyed. Little white-hot sparks danced from her fingertips, only to fade away as she watched.
Her jade eyes drifted to the rigid member of the stable hand. It was harder and longer than she remembered it ever being. Thicker too. He arched his hips up as if meeting some unknown lover, and whined into the gag. This time it was not in fear or agony, but rather raw desire. His eyes clouded over, and she could see little white sparks dancing here and there along his naked body, coursing over the commoner's flesh to center at the root of his shaft. The sparks soon faded, but the effects did not.
It was Marissa's turn to let a terrified squeak escape. With no idea what had happened, whether it was Thomas or something else bringing such unnatural effects into being, she did the only thing she could think of. She fled.
It was only through sheer luck that she had remembered to put the vial Isolde gave her into the pouch sewn into the waist of the dress she wore, for by the time Marissa's wits returned, she was outside. She leaned on the outer gates of her father's estate, chest heaving and out of breath. The cool night air did much to calm her racing heart, but not her fleeting mind.
What had happened? It seemed almost like magic.
Perhaps Thomas was some manner of warlock, but if he were, then surely he would have used his powers to take vengeance upon her long before that night. With a shake of her head, Marissa turned to step back away from the estate. For a moment, just a moment, she thought of running back to warn her father and Isolde.
Then she recalled the torment they had put her through, and decided against it. If he was a warlock bent on using his foul magic to bring the estate down, then she could only hope he took them with him. Or at least Isolde.
Instead, she squared her shoulders and made her way down the worn path toward the cluster of buildings that made up the center of the village. They wanted her to retrieve Jenrea, so she would retrieve the bubble headed bitch. It would keep her far away from any sort of magic, for at least an hour or so.
It was not yet midnight in the Village of Ingley, yet the dirt streets were already deserted, save for the distant twinkling of the lone watchman's torchlight. Marissa knew the way like the back of her hand, though, and feared no man nor bandit. None there would care to pick a fight with the Squire, certainly. She made her way past the shrub-strewn switchback where the path descended acutely, then off through the darkness toward the Tepid Toad.
So focused was she on her goal, that she did not notice the pit in the road until her foot was in it and her ankle twisted. With a shriek, Marissa pitched forward, and fell face first into the muck and grime. Pain lanced up through her ankle, and she immediately withdrew her foot from the sunken hole. As she sat up and rubbed her twisted ankle, she glared into the darkness in the direction of the hole. There was nothing but pain and rage, and no one she could immediately punish for such a thing.
For a moment, moonlight illuminated the hole. It wasn't large, just a deep rut from a wagon's wheel, which must have cut its way through during the last heavy rain. She was certain that if she wasn't so distracted by the misery everyone was heaping on her, she certainly would have noticed it.
Filthy, injured, and alone in the dark, for the first time Marissa felt uncertain. A quick pat down, however, informed her that the vial tucked away at her hip had not broken. She could still proceed with her task, however hobbled she might be. It was with some effort that she got to her feet, and every limping step was an agony, but she continued on her way. She focused all her rage and hatred and frustration together, letting it fuel her, fighting the pain with the red haze it called to mind.
As she limped along, things became easier to see. She wasn't certain whether it was because her eyes were finally adapting, or because somehow the dim shafts of light streaming from the Tepid Toad's windows were helping to illuminate things even at that great distance. It was enough, eventually, to make out a black cat she hadn't noticed before, pacing along beside her.
"Hsss, shoo!" She hissed and waved her hand, trying to frighten the thing off. It only managed to unbalance her on her one good foot, and almost send her down to the ground again.
The thing stared back to her with a strange intelligence, as if it were studying her, or judging her. It was enough to quiet her attempts to send it away. She felt as if she surely didn't wish to be found lacking by a mere cat, such would only complete her degradation that day. So she silently bore its company as she went into town.
By the time Marissa pushed her way into the common room of the Tepid Toad, things had quieted down substantially. Although some of the Prince's men still sat about drinking, there was no sign of the Prince, nor of Garn or Hafred. Fortunately, there was also no sign of that bastard knight that had been hovering about the Prince like a protective hen.
With a heavy sigh, she moved toward the bar with a heavy limp. As she passed, one of the soldiers pushed away from his table, and backed into her. With only one ankle still firm enough to make her way, Marissa began to fall face first again, this time toward an unyielding wooden floor.
She never hit the floor. Instead, something soft and warm muffled her shriek of surprise. Arms slipped about her frame to steady her, and Marissa clung to the slender shoulders of the one who had caught her. When the noblewoman lifted her eyes from that bountiful cleavage, her worst fears were confirmed.
"Are you alright, Lady Marissa?" The concern in Jenrea's voice was validated by the genuine worry in her eyes.
