This Is Not a Collar

This is a standalone story that features some of my recurring characters. This one is just a huge chunk of gentle, teasing femdom.

Harmen.

Urstad was a small castle, but scenic: its dark walls sprang from a low, wooded mountaintop, fastened down with plentiful ivy. An elevated courtyard in its southeastern corner had been an important military overlook, but only really served as a viewing terrace nowadays -- for the mighty Kingdom of Harmen had enjoyed peace within its borders for many decades. You could sit down on a lichen-covered stone bench, among the lichen-covered statues and lichen-covered arches and lichen-covered trees, and watch the great river flow idly through the plain far below.

The young Lady Eularia -- the castle lord's daughter -- was doing precisely that, with no ulterior motive whatsoever, when suddenly the peace of the courtyard was disturbed by quick steps and a frantic rustle of a gown. Eularia barely had the time to scowl before her sister, Adalina, leapt over the bench from behind and plopped down by her side.

"You're seeing him, yeah?" Ada asked, short of breath. Eularia's scowl increased in severity.

"Seeing who?"

"Jaspar, genius. You know he'll need to walk past here after Father is done dining him."

The two were strikingly similar in appearance. Two same heads with same curling black locks, four same thin long-fingered hands, two same skinny frames, one leaning forward, one stiffening up.

"If you are insinuating that I am trying to ensnare our noble guest—"

"Yeah yeah, whatever!" Ada sliced the air with her hand. "But if you two just happen to talk, squeeze all the news out of him!"

"What news?" The shoulder thwack which Eularia received at that did nothing to improve her attitude.

"He's ridden here straight from Behem! He might know what really happened with Princess Gabrielle!"

"Ada, it would be unseemly for me as a lady, and for Sir Jaspar as a knight, to engage in vulgar gossip. I will most certainly not bring up that... scandal. And even if I did, I don't see why he should reply."

"He fancies you you twerp, he'll tell you anything you want!"

"Whaaughhuack!" replied Eularia (approximately), and managed to stiffen up even more. At this moment, footsteps sounded on the flagstones behind the courtyard's left gate.

"Okay, he's coming!" Ada jumped up and pointed her finger at Eularia. "Drag it out of him, I need to know everything!"

And just as she fluttered out to the right, from the left entered a young man, in velvet noble's gown, with long hair and a sparse beard. On seeing Eularia he bowed.

"My lady," he said.

"Sir Jaspar."

At once, a previously unseen lady in waiting tore herself from the courtyard's back wall, slid through the grass like a rook through chessboard, and placed herself two benches over. Proper chaperoning thus ensured, it was acceptable for the knight to approach the lady and sit down by her side (at an arm's length). They exchanged pleasantries about his way here, about her father, about the weather, about the view. If the author of this piece neglected to reproduce this entire dialogue here, it is because it was too beautifully eloquent to give it justice, and not because it was boring as shit.

"Do you ride on, then, to Redona?"

"Yes. In a few days. I am proud to bring our King's wrath upon the heathens."

She replied with a vehement nod. This was right and good. Men who brought destruction on enemies of the holy fatherland were proper and righteous. A man who saw strength in another and did nothing to control it was no man at all.

Harmen enjoyed so much peace within its borders that it had decided to export it abroad, by subjugating two of its problematic neighbours (for happiness sometimes needs to be forced upon the ignorant). Its armies had marched north, into the forests of wild, untamed Kontaria, and south, into the hills and vineyards of proud Redona. In retrospect, maybe it should have taken them one at a time. The war in Kontaria was now already over; the invaders skulked away from the ancient woodland, gored and traumatized, nothing gained from the adventure.

"You ride from Behem, I understand." He had passed through there, yes. "How fares the Lady of Behem?"

"The Lady fares well, that upright and saintly woman." He took a breath, and hesitated. They both waited a moment, watching the distant river. Overhead, birds chirped in the sycamores. "Except... her heart is burdened by... a delicate situation... which arose..."

"A... delicate situation?"

"A... situation of delicacy." He paused. "It is... it is not my place to divulge of it, of course."

"You are absolutely right," she said, gritting her teeth. "One should never... indulge in base rumours..."

"Yes."

"Yes."

They both sighed, dejected. Sir Jaspar drummed his fingers on the stone.

"But I suppose..." he started. "I suppose, my lady, that it would not be too much of a transgression to share these tidings with a person of your integrity. You are, after all, too wise to believe in them, and too honourable to repeat them to anyone..."

"Oh, yes, naturally!" she squealed, and scurried closer to him. Two benches over, the chaperone quietly got up and glided one bench over, looking away towards the river and definitely not eavesdropping. On the wall a guard, feet planted firmly in place, leaned back at an improbable angle and turned his ear towards them. In the topiary, the gardener's shears fell silent.

"Alright, so," Sir Jaspar's hands were suddenly animated, "You know Princess Gabrielle of Lhamedos, right? She was staying at Behem these past few months, right? Her family had sent her away from the Capital because—uh, the rumoured reasons are of course too unseemly to believe..." Eularia nodded, impatiently. "Anyway the Kontaria business starts soon afterwards, and one day they bring to Behem a Kontarian prisoner of war... just a young guy around her age, right, and they dump him in the dungeon..." Eularia nodded, eagerly. "So, nobody really knows how, but she somehow managed to start sneaking around and talking to him, and eventually she broke him out and ran away with him!"

"No!" Eularia's hands poignantly fell on her shocked breastbone.

"Yes! One morning they go down to his cell and he's gone, and she's gone, and two horses are gone from the stable!" Eularia gave an incredulous little gasp. "And all this happened for sure, because the whole castle is telling this same story! Then it gets murky. Many say that she killed herself when she realised the pursuit was closing in. But," he lowered his voice, "listen to this!" Eularia, the chaperone, the guard, and the gardener all leaned in close, huddled together. "I talked to one of the knights in Duke Oren's entourage... He told me in secret that when the Duke went down to Kontaria to negotiate the peace some weeks later, that they all saw Princess Gabrielle there, alive among the savages!"

He let his words hang in the air for a moment, watching his wide-eyed audience. Then he blinked and looked around, confused. The chaperone, the guard, and the gardener looked around as well, cleared their throats, and slunk away.

"Shouldn't someone go and retrieve her?" Eularia ventured.

"To Kontaria?" If Sir Jaspar hadn't been so valiant, Eularia would have thought that he shuddered just then. "I mean, a whole fine army of ours just went there, and, well." He waved his hand. "Besides, Duke Oren made it very clear that if anyone tries to antagonize Kontaria anytime soon, he'll nail their guts to a tree and make them run around it."

"Oh." Well, that made sense. She sat motionless and processed all of this, and even forgot to swoon at that last image.

She'd met with this Princess Gabrielle several times, back at the Capital. A daughter of the House of Lhamedos, blood of a particularly fine shade of blue, sprung from the seed that King Theodoric himself, in his wisdom, saw it fit to issue from his blessed loins some century and a half ago. Eularia had formed the worst opinion about her. A princess should be a shining example of virtue, and yet that skank was even worse than Ada -- spirited, impious, completely uncaring about those great virtues of modesty and obedience that had made their Kingdom so great. But Eularia hadn't suspected that she could also be this stupid.

Run away! From Harmen, where her security and respectability as a noble member of the weaker sex were assured by stern order and steadfast moral values! To Kontaria! A misty forest, full of savages! Fierce, uncontrollable people, whose orgiastic, bloody customs could not even be discussed in polite society! A land is so poor, it's said they can't even use nails to build their wretched houses, for want of iron!

And Gabrielle was now among them. Oh, this was too delicious. See how she fares now, among enemies who hold no regard for her noble blood. She was now probably on her knees in some dismal dank hut, begging her brutish lover to let her go back to civilization. But these people know no mercy, no. Good. The Princess had never held anything sacred, and respected no rules. Let her learn respect the hard way. Let her find her comeuppance in a whole land of people just like her.

The smile on Eularia's face was not one of satisfaction, of course. That wouldn't be decorous. No, she was just happy that the gods' justice was being effected.

To be completely honest though, she wouldn't mind watching as the barbarians put Gabrielle in her rightful place.

Kontaria

.

In the half-light, Vidar stirred.

Voices were coming from the outside, disturbing his rest. With a cranky grunt he got up, his huge muscular bulk like a great black shadow at the wall. The voices were getting nearer. Sounded like an argument. He inclined his head, and strands of unkempt dark hair fell over his eyes. He tried to guess what the argument could be about, but at once grew bored with the mental effort.

Vidar had a great big head, but he disliked thinking. His kind did not appreciate thinking. It did not care for finer things. His kind was coarse and straightforward. His kind valued strength. His kind valued gall. His kind valued grit! His kind valued apples.

Vidar was a stately, full-blooded Kontarian horse.

The stable door flung open and in went two humans, two horses, and bright afternoon sunlight. Vidar acknowledged his two stablemates with a glance. The two arguing humans were more interesting, and to them he turned his attention, ears pointed forward. He wondered if they'd kick or bite. He always wanted to see a human bite.

"I'm not even listening to you," the male human continued, "because we both know that this didn't count!"

"We both know that the moment you took me up, you made it count!" the female human replied.

They two were quite young (they had both been foaled about nineteen years prior, but this would mean nothing to Vidar, who could on a good day count to five). Vidar knew the male quite well. His name was Aerin, and he was alright -- good-natured, caring, and decent with a brush. He was tall for a human, slim, with a ruffled auburn mane and light blue eyes. A while ago he disappeared for some weeks, and when he came back, he brought this newcomer with him.

She had a light yellow mane that had been shorn above her withers, eyes as dark-blue as his were light, and she was very graceful (for a human): long hocks and a fine figure and everything -- the linen sundress she was wearing highlighted that well. She seemed kind but used to giving commands, a likeable, sure rider. In addition, Aerin clearly liked her very much; and whoever was cool with Aerin, was also cool with Vidar.

They kept arguing as they unsaddled their horses; they kept arguing as they attended to their after-ride care. But Vidar had to be disappointed. There was too much smirking and quipping going on. This was clearly play-fighting, unlikely to result in any bites.

Turns out that if two people get to know each other at the lowest points of their lives, escape the might of a powerful kingdom together, and risk death for each other in the process, they tend to develop a deep and honest bond that is not very conducive to biting. It sure doesn't prevent them from messing with each other, though.

"It most definitely did not count," Aerin insisted for the thirtieth time, and turned to lead the horses to their stalls. Gabrielle sneered, lunged their saddles onto the rack, and looked up.

The stable was a large building: a row of stalls, a hay loft above, steep roof supported by tall square columns. It was similar to the royal stables of Harmen -- except it was all wooden. Even gaps between the beams above threw stripes of sunlight onto the floor. Iron was scarce in Kontaria, and so instead of nails all was held up by those intriguing, complex woodworking joints. The Kontarians had a natural way of overcoming any challenges with careful thought and fine craft. These people took a lot of joy and pride in their creativity.

But first of all, they took a lot of joy and pride in their skill as riders. Which is why Aerin was so deliciously irked with this day's mischief.

"If you didn't think it counted, you wouldn't be so riled up right now!" she said.

He flailed his arms. "I'm not riled up!" That thing he'd been wearing around his neck since yesterday tilted a little. Her eyes darted towards it, and lingered.

Apparently, those were called torcs. She'd only ever seen them before in illustrations. It was a stiff circular band, finely crafted of twisting bronze. Its ornate tips almost met at the pit of his neck.

He'd won it yesterday, at the Elk Meadow Two-Mile (Scouts' Race), part of the celebrations for the end of the war. He'd always wanted to win an award like that at an area-wide contest. He imagined he'd look very cool later in the evening, talking to girls at the Long Hall, pretending not to notice the metal's triumphant weight. It was just his luck to finally succeed now, when the only girl he cared to impress didn't even know what an Elk Meadow Two-Mile (Scouts' Race) was; hell, one who only had a very vague notion what a torc was.

Well, at least he got to be "the guy who won the race" rather than "the guy that got captured and escaped" in the village for now. Some normalcy was returning to the upheaved world. The bruises had faded on his wrists and ankles. He could now forget his time in the dark place.

Almost.

Matter of fact, she did in fact develop a pretty good notion what the torc meant. It was something like a wreath, a commemorative distinction. It was probably quite precious, as all metal things were in this land. Most importantly, him wearing it meant that his pride was pleasantly tickled, that he was feeling puffed-up, vain even. And that was so beastly adorable that it made her guts knot.

"Oh, don't take it so hard," she said brightly, as he closed the stalls. "No shame in losing to the best. You're still a very good rider and a very good horse breaker!"

"Horse breaker," he spat out. "Typical Harmeni phrase." He leaned against Vidar's stall. "Vidar, did you know that in Harmen they tame stallions by just forcing them into submission?" Vidar had no idea what was being said, but understood that a derisive snort was required of him. "Exactly. How can you build a horse's obedience against his will? Ride without harmony? No wonder their knights were so shit against our warband!"

"Now, now. Some of the Harmeni know how to deal with horses, and are good riders. As you've just found out yourself!"

He made a face and walked past her, to the low table by the door. He helped himself to the water from the barrel. He was sweaty with all this exercise; he flung his shirt off himself and sighed. Sunshine poured over his glossy skin.

Aww, no. Her boy was beleaguered with teasing. Someone better console him. She hurried over, hugged him from behind, and dug her chin into his shoulder blade. (She'd still instinctively check around before showing physical affection. But nobody ever watched, nobody ever minded. The nearest chaperone was a hundred miles away).

"What's the matter, boy? Was that vile girl Gabrielle mean to you again?"

"Yes!"

"Aw. What did she do?"

"Beat me in a horse race she made up, from the lake to the Ritual Field. And that bastard Leapfrog saw it happen, and I'll have to listen to his shit banter for a month!"

"Oh no! Outridden, on home turf!" Slowly, her hands slid down his chest. He rolled his eyes. Did she think she would get away with all this?

"Look, the moment she screamed we're having this race, she was on horseback and starting, and I was standing knee-deep in the lake!"

"Outridden AND outwitted! You poor thing!"

His arms, he realised, were now gently but deliberately pinned to his sides by hers. He realised, too, that this filled him with a sense of delightful well-being, which warmed his insides and weakened his knees. Oh, fuck. She'll

so

get away with all this. He blew a strand of his hair out of his face and hit a petulant tone.

"And she's not even finished with me."

"She's not?"

"No. She's bested me in a rigged contest, she's got her hands on me, and now she'll want to dominate me sexually, too."

She grinned. "What! Right here?"

"Yeah, she's like that. Right in front of my own horse."

She pressed her mouth to his skin, to stifle laughter. No wonder the people of Harmen were so suspicious of Kontarians. This openness and playfulness could crack the hardest shell, goad you out of your comfort zone, and make you end up gods knows where. It could even make you exchange the grandeur of a Harmen princess for an ordinary life among them. And they liked being goaded out of their comfort zones in turn. She rubbed the muscles of his chest with encouragement.

"Don't worry. You're pretty strong. I'm sure you'll fight her off."

He licked his lips. "Nah... I'll let her do it. Because... because I feel like being nice."

His deep blush, his lip-biting smile, they were so joyous and wretched at the same time. He was eager, but after an entire afternoon's worth of banter he couldn't just give in without a fight. Her mouth watered. Nothing more delightful than to take a boy with an attitude and tease him into submission, feel his resistance weaken as he embraces it, watch him open up like a flower does in the sun's morning warmth -- until his tender, vulnerable core is exposed, for her to hug and hearten. What a great day this was shaping up to be.

"I'm glad that you're only doing this for her. Because imagine being strong enough to dunk someone who's annoying you in that water barrel, but instead just letting them take your body, because

you

wanted to." She stroked him under his chin and finished with a whisper. "Can't even imagine how completely overpowered that would make me feel." The warmth inside him flared to a heated thrill. He turned around and faced her.

"Hey, Gabrielle?"

She stepped back.

"Yes?"

"'Yes?' Can you stop talking and just fuck me already!"

She stepped further back, until she met with one of the wooden columns. She gave him a critical look.

"Are you asking, or..."

"If I have to!"

She crossed her arms, and her face set into a blank, formal expression. "You know, back in Harmen, if you wanted to beg a high-born you had to kneel..."

He sighed, walked up to her, and slumped to his knees.

"Happy?"

"Boy, this is the worst kneel I've ever seen. You're not supposed to sit on your heels."

"How could I know?! Fairly sure I'm the first Kontarian to do this since the Gebra Empire collapsed, fucking fuck..." She grabbed his head, pressed it to her underbelly, and patted him.

"There, there. Don't be sad, I forgive you. Your intentions are good."

"You're a louse, Gabrielle," he muttered. He rubbed his cheek against her, like an affectionate pet. "You are the most awful person in the whole world."