Monica's Travels 12
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica's Travels 11)
Chapter Twelve – Prisoners of Carreg Cennen – Jillian’s Story
We had watched Monica battle bravely on our behalf, in a one-sided fight against Jade Wong, finally overcoming her and getting away on horseback. For a brief time it seemed to be a possible lifeline, that Monica would escape and fetch help. When the Land Rover returned with her tied up in the open tray at the back, our hearts sank. She was again placed in the bilboes and her wrists bound to the stake above her head, before Jade Wong appeared, clearly intent on exacting revenge for the ignominious defeat Monica had inflicted on her.
It was a terrible flogging, with Monica, still gagged under the steel helmet, only able to utter muffled cries of pain as the flogger smacked across her exposed back. Every so often her assailant would flick it around under her armpits and catch Monica’s unprotected breasts. I tried not to watch, instead staring at the ground beneath me, or casting glances at Emma, sitting on the horse a few metres away, and Leila in the stocks beyond her.
The time we had been trapped in these torture devices was taking its toll. Standing leaning slightly forward with my wrists trapped in stocks in front of my face, my ankles similarly locked and forcing me on to my toes, with a large dildo jammed up my backside to prevent any relaxation, was starting to make me tremble all over. My muscles were slowly going into spasm as I struggled to stay focussed.
On my right Emma was making a low keening noise into her gag as she squirmed painfully on the horse, where the ridge of the saddle must have been cutting deeply into her sex. Her head was down, but this body language was not just because of the awkward way her arms were lifted and tied behind her to the wooden tail of the horse. We were all beaten, both physically and mentally. Our morale was shattered in the face of the uncertainty of our future. After the uncomfortable night in the cells, locked into iron yokes, we now faced these latest torments and could not bring ourselves to look further than their cessation.
Leila, too, impaled on a dildo in her version of the stocks, had her head down, lost in her own painful world. None of us could bring ourselves to look at Monica’s suffering , tied to the post out on the combat field. Our own torments were too real, and we could only deal with them in our own ways, calling on all our training and control to get through the misery we were now undergoing.
Time always ceases to have meaning in those situations. The pain merges with time and stretches out unendingly. I don’t know whether I had been there half an hour or two hours, when Warren and Pearson turned up to untie Leila from the rear post and release her ankles from the stocks. They lifted her off the big prong that had been embedded inside her and I could hear her rapid panting and groaning as she came free and was allowed to bend her limbs again.
At last the end of this session was in sight, and despite the uncertainty of what might come next, I had reached the point where anything was considered acceptable to the present agony that was turning my muscles to jelly.
Contrary to my expectation, Emma was not the next to be released from her confinement – I was. Emma’s distress at this apparent oversight was understandable, as she mmphed into her gag as the two men opened the boards around my ankles. I took a couple of small steps forward, so relieved at finally being able to get off the balls of my feet and change the aching of my knees and the trembling of my thigh muscles. I raised myself on the front board and slowly eased myself upwards, until the base of the pole holding the dildo in place came out of it’s socket in the rear ankle board. Once this happened I could work the uncomfortable intruder out of my own accord. It dropped with a faint thump on to the ground.
As the pillory boards were separated from around my wrists, I stumbled and nearly fell. Warren grabbed me by one arm and I made no resistance as my wrists were handcuffed behind me, before I was led back into the Hall. Again it was down to the cellars, and again into a small cellar with a roof so low that a person could not stand erect. Not that this mattered. Leila was already there, seated naked on the straw-covered floor, her gagged, tear-streaked face looking exhausted in the light of a portable fluorescent lamp. Her knees were under her chin and her wrists were down on the outside of her ankles, locked in bilboes whose four U-shaped manacles encircled wrists and ankles, locking them to a single bar running across the back of the ankles.
Clearly this was to be my fate as well, for there was a second set of bilboes on the floor beside Leila, and two minutes later my wrists had been released from the steel of the handcuffs, only to be locked in the bilboes. Warren removed both our gags and allowed us a long drink from a bottle of water, before closing the heavy wooden door and leaving us in darkness.
* * *
The bilboes were tolerable for a short while, but they were unyielding, and even trying to worm my way to get my back against the wall was difficult. They chafed at wrist and ankle and the danger of falling over sideways was real, since the bar was only half a metre long – just long enough to extend through all the cuffs side by side. If I tipped over, there would be no way to get back and the stresses would become intolerable. But at least Leila and I were not gagged, and we could talk, could shed a few tears, though wiping them away was impossible. The darkness and the echoes off the close walls added to the feeling of claustrophobia, and after a while we lapsed into silence. We were both worried about Emma, and why she had been left until last. The thought of splitting us up was scary, and something we did not like to talk about.
Maybe a couple of hours passed before there were footsteps outside the door, and when it opened it was again Warren outside. He was wearing a black padded leather outfit that looked like it should have armour over the top. It suited him, adding to his dominant appearance, matching his black moustache and hair, albeit with the tinge of grey in it. He unlocked the bilboes and roughly pulled out the bar, hauling me out of the cell in a flurry of pieces of iron.
Once again it was wrists cuffed behind my back and the door slammed and bolted on Leila, looking bereft and forlorn in the tiny cell.
Warren prodded me along the passage and up the stairs, then along a corridor and into a big bathroom. Here he took a chain connected to what looked like a shower curtain rail, above the big bath, and locked the cold steel around my neck.
“Where’s Emma?” I demanded, “And Monica?”
Warren stepped up close to me and put one hand under my chin, squeezing my jaw and lifting it so that I was forced to look into the blackness that dwelt in his eyes.
“They’re going on a journey,” said Warren smoothly. “They’re being accompanied by Jade Wong, who is travelling in rather more style that they are.” He smiled. “Your friends are travelling box class. Overseas. You won’t be seeing them again. Monica has pissed off people once too often.”
“You bastard! What have you done to her?”
“Relaaax Jill.” While the one hand held my jaw, the other gripped my right nipple and twisted it savagely. I gasped and cried out, remembering my vulnerability and deciding making a scene was not in my best interests. With difficulty I held my tongue and tried to stare him down, but the strength in his eyes was too much for me, and I gave way.
“Jill, you and I and Leila and the Earl are going to go away for a little while as well. We think your friends may possibly be sniffing around, so we have to make some alternative plans. As it happens, we’re all going riding through the country and you’re going to a fairytale castle as princesses with knights in shining armour. Haven’t you always dreamed about that since you were a little girl?”
I said nothing still. I would rather he kept talking and I maintained the option to, instead of saying something out of turn and ending up gagged again.
“I have other things to do now. In the meantime you may use the facilities here. There are some sandwiches in the Tupperware container, and some clothes over there. Now turn round.” I did so, and he unlocked the handcuffs, then strode to the door. “Ten minutes. You’d better be ready.” The door slammed behind him, echoing off the cold tiled walls.
I tested the chain, but it was solidly anchored to the rail above. It was just long enough so that I could go to the loo, then wash myself as best I could. There was a towel, which was already damp. I wondered if Monica and Emma had been through here while we had languished in the tiny cell.
The clothes were strange. There were two outfits, and I selected a dark red floor length dress with long sleeves. It was made of a sort of velvet, with any real similarity to a medieval garment disappearing with the zipper fastening down the back, which in fact only reached from neck to buttocks, with a slit open from there down. There were also buttons up the front, from crotch to the top of a low-cut neckline that revealed plenty of cleavage. The front also had a similar slit up the front from hem to crotch, but the skirt fell in folds that made the opening less pronounced than it might otherwise have been. You didn’t have to be too bright to realise the garment would allow east access to all the parts a maiden might want to protect The other outfit was a loose peasant’s blouse and a full, dark blue skirt, which I suspected Leila would be wearing very shortly.
Warren was back a few minutes later, carrying two sinister-looking devices made of curved iron. He smiled as he looked at me.
“Jill, you look lovely. Red shows off your blonde hair so nicely Now, I remind you again to cooperate. The keys to your chain are on the other side of the room. Any funny business and you will still be unable to get free, so let’s be civilised about this, shall we? Put your hands out in front.”
I did so, and he pulled a cord from his pocket and wrapped it several times around my wrists, finishing it with a cinch that pulled them tightly together.
“Good.” He picked up one of the devices where he’d left them on the floor. It seemed to comprise a circular band with another at right angles, and I recognised it for what it was. Warren saw the look in my eyes. “Aha, you know what this is. Yes, it’s a scold’s bridle. A brank. It’s a replica of the original, with a small concession to your comfort in the form of a foam strip under this top iron band, and a few pads, but that’s about all. Still the steel tongue depressor, still the heavy padlock, still very uncomfortable.
He moved behind me with the brank, opening the horizontal band at hinges on each side. “Open wide,” he said. I caught a brief look at the thing that he held in front of my mouth. Protruding from the inside of the horizontal iron band was a flat plate, roughly oval, about the size of a large egg. He slid it between my teeth and immediately the cold hard gag was compressing my tongue as he folded the two halves of the band around my head. The vertical band was connected at mouth level by two strips that fitted either side of my nose and joined at my forehead, before running back along the crown of my head to somehow mate with the horizontal band at the back of my neck. There was a further extension from the horizontal band, running from one cheek under my chin to join at the other cheek. It was very snug and heavy, and I decided I didn’t like it at all. I raised my bound hands to try to adjust it or look for a weak spot, but I only found the lock dangling at the back and knew it was hopeless.
“Be grateful we’ve put those little foam pads on the inside,” Warren said casually. “Imagine what it would have been like as a talkative woman in a village, forced to wear it in public with nothing between you and hard iron. I was conscious of the pads under my chin, at my forehead and on the top and back of my head, and I realised the truth of what he was saying. However the pads also made it tighter, giving the captor more scope to take up any slack in the device.
“Tell me you love me, Jill,” said Warren, with a tender look that might have melted my heart under any other circumstances, and had I not known the falseness of it.
“Furff urff!” I said through teeth and lips clamped on the iron intrusion.
“Yes, it does fit well,” he mused. “Good. Now the chastity belt.”
Chastity belt? I should have expected it, I suppose, and in a way I suppose it gave me some comfort as to what was not immediately about to befall me. He bent me over the bath and lifted the long skirts into a bunch, which he thrust into my hands, exposing my body below the waist. I felt the another cold sensation as a heavy iron belt was locked about my waist. It was tight and unyielding, like a waist cincher, and had a chains dangling from slightly behind each hip. These pressed against my buttocks and joined in my crotch, where they were attached to a curved iron plate that would cover my pussy. This allowed clear access for ablutions, but would protect my virginity, though it was a bit late for that now, I thought ironically. I was waiting for Warren to pull the front plate tight and lock it, but he was not quite finished with me, as I felt the head of a dildo nudging my labia.
“Legs wider, please,” he directed. I did as I was told. The dong was big – wide, rather than excessively long – but filling and certainly enough to make my breathing rate increase as it slid slowly inside, making me let out a long “hmmmn”. Only then was the plate pulled up to the belt. Warren straightened me up while he locked two padlocks where the top corners of the plate overlapped with the belt.
He stood on the edge of the bath and unlocked the top of the chain, before towing me across the room and locking it to a towel rail.
“I’ll be back shortly with your friend.”
* * *
I slumped disconsolately to the floor, conscious of the heavy brank scraping against the wall tiles. But at least my ankles were not fettered and I had relatively free use of my limbs. After what I had been through to this point, this was a small luxury to be savoured.
Leila appeared a few minutes later, like I had been initially, naked and handcuffed. She, too, wound up chained to the ceiling rail before the cuffs were removed and we were left to her own devices. Leila was at once concerned for me, in her semi-free state, but we soon discovered that the extent of our respective chains would not allow us to meet within the big bathroom. Leila looked close to tears of frustration, but I mmphed to her to use the loo and clean herself up before putting on the clothes. She did so reluctantly, and was only just doing up the buttons of the blouse when Warren returned. Her outfit was similar mine, except the blouse had short sleeves, but still with plenty of cleavage and access to all her girl parts.
Soon Leila was also wearing a brank locked on her head, the black iron standing out against her blonde hair, and she was not happy about its constriction and silencing properties. Warren only laughed at her attempts to enunciate past the metal tongue, before he bent her over the bath to receive the chastity belt. She bucked and squirmed as he worked the big dildo inside her, uttering a few garbled exclamations before the curved front plate was locked in place.
At this point both our chains were unlocked from their rails and we were led from the bathroom, along a corridor and into what was obviously a newly added garage. We carried on through this, but not before I had had a chance to quickly take in the pile of sand and several large metal boxes stacked against one wall. I couldn’t make any sense of this, and the significance of it escaped me until later. I was too stunned by the big room beyond the garage. It was about the same size as the garage, which could easily take four cars, but the second room contained an electric forge and half a dozen suits of armour in various states of disrepair. This was obviously a workshop, with welding and cutting gear and all manner of chains and strips of steel for shaping into appropriate devices.
Leila’s chain was locked to the big electric furnace at one end of the workshop, and mine was secured to the welding machine.
“Ladies, I should make it plain at this point that you will be residing here in service for some time – as long as it suits his lordship. Possibly at some point in the future you may be on-sold, but provided your performance is up to standard, that may not be for quite a while, and in the meantime you may become accustomed to the lifestyle of Symonds Yat Hall.” I looked across at Leila. Her eyes were wide in shock at the words.
“In order to properly understand your position, you will need to be collared, so that you will always be aware of your place. His lordship prefers that such a collar is a permanent attachment, hence I am now obliged to fit them to you. Jill, you’re first.” He picked up a black hinged collar that must have been three centimetres wide by half a centimetre thick, and looked heavy and extremely permanent.
This time I did struggle. This was getting too extreme, and I knew once fitted I would never be able to remove what would become a symbol of my imprisonment. I had served doms before, had been collared before, but always it had been voluntary. I did not know how I would take forced subjection in the long term. The Stockholm Syndrome was ever in the back of my mind, and I did not know if I could ultimately withstand the presence and charisma of a strong and dominant personality over time.
My struggles were brief, as he secured my already bound hands to the base of the welding machine and held my bridled head on a large chopping block.
“Jill,” he said seriously. “I’m going to use an arc welder here. I’m going to use it whether you like it or not. Either you hold still and accept it, or you run the risk of a serious burn. I would suggest that you hold very, very still for me. Will you do that?” There was an edge to his voice that could almost have been concern. Reluctantly, recognising the fact that I really had no choice, I mmphed acceptance. He unlocked the chain from around my neck and re-locked it to a ring welded to the front of the collar.
“Good girl.” He placed some sort of fire blanket on the back of my neck as I knelt with my head on the block of wood. I felt the cold iron collar close snugly around my throat and there was suddenly the harsh crackle and burning smell of the welding electrode. Moments later I felt the trickle of water on my shoulders and the hiss of quenching steel as Warren cooled down the weld he had just created. “Now your wrists – not welded, just locked.”
He lifted my head and the weight of the collar made me feel stiff and awkward. After untying the ropes around my wrists, he locked two solid iron cuffs on them, linked by a chain a handspan wide. The cuffs were smaller versions of my collar, hinged on the inside and locked with a cylindrical key on the outside running parallel with my arm. It was a modern lock, I noticed, unlike the manacles themselves, which looked as though they could have been hundreds of years old.
Ten minutes later Leila was also collared and manacled, and we had been led out the back again and chained to the stocks where Leila had previously been imprisoned. Nearby there were four horses tethered to the whipping post where Monica had suffered. We had seen no sign of either her or Emma and that was something that unnerved me more than anything.
The sun had dipped behind the Hall, leaving us in shadow, when Warren and Pearson appeared together. They both wore full suits of armour, including helmets with raised visors. It seemed even Warren was getting into this medieval thing in a big way. This time he led a fifth horse loaded with what looked like provisions. We stood as the pair approached, and the Earl looked us up and down appraisingly.
“Excellent, excellent,” he enthused. “Warren, we have two captive wenches worthy of our title, that may be considered spoils of war. It think we should repair to the castle with our prisoners and teach them their new roles. What say you?”
“A worthy idea, sir,” agreed Warren.
Leila and I allowed ourselves to be hoisted aboard two of the horses, whose bridles were attached by ropes to the mounts of the two men. Clearly there was no reality of escape in this next stage of our captivity, and we had no choice but to go along with it.
For the next half hour we rode at a gentle pace across some open fields and heath, then through a small forest, and all the while I understood why Warren had inserted those dildos under the chastity belts. With each vertical motion of the horse the dong moved in rhythm, and soon I realised that the insidious arousal would be something I could not fight. I noticed Leila using her hands to try to cushion the insistent probing that was taking place in her crotch. She looked across at me, a flush to her cheeks under the iron frame of the brank, her eyes half closed as the dildo relentlessly pushed her towards a climax.
I was no better off, and I could see Warren watching me with a sly smirk. He knew exactly what was going on and seemed to take inordinate pride in having initiated it. I was trying to stay focussed but my attempt failed the moment he and the Earl broke into a trot and the rhythm suddenly increased in rapidity and penetration. I felt the abrupt warmth spreading outwards from my loins, rising in a sudden surge that I couldn’t fight. I leaned forward on the horse and let the storm rear up from between my legs, barely aware that Leila was gasping and panting alongside me. I ground my teeth on the metal tongue jammed in my mouth and I found myself making unintelligible grunts as the horses ploughed on, oblivious to their riders’ climaxes.
By the time we emerged from the forest I was drained by two orgasms that left me wanting to lie down and sleep, but that was when I saw the dark silhouetted bulk of Carreg Cennen on the rise ahead.
From what I knew about English history, I reckoned this was a remnant of the fourteenth or fifteenth century. A square central keep reared up above the battered rectangular perimeter ramparts, where the remains of a tower dominated each corner. The whole structure was on a crag, the eastern side overlooking the Wye Valley and the other three sides protected by a wide moat carved out of solid rock. The whole place looked daunting, but its partially ruined state was possibly testament to the development of heavy siege cannon to replace the traditional mechanical assault weapons.
We were on a narrow path leading to a stone platform, beyond which a heavy planked drawbridge was raised. A large official-looking sign bearing the logo of a security company forbade entry, identifying that the structure was private property and was currently under repair. Without warning the drawbridge started to descend, and I looked across to see Pearson with a remote control in his hand, like that for a garage door. When I thought about it, the comparison was perfect.
The outer edge of the bridge was connected by heavy – and obviously new – chains, leading up through slits in the wall of the castle. After the bridge landed with a thump in the stone rebate before us, we trotted across, the sound of our hooves echoing against the castle walls as we entered the gatehouse beyond.
The gatehouse was dark and narrow and perhaps ten metres deep, passing through the thickest part of the wall to where a heavy wooden portcullis barred our way. With another touch of the remote control, the portcullis rose upwards into an overhead slot with the smoothness of a garage door. Obviously this was the first area that had been upgraded, and in so doing it created security for what seemed to be the only apparent means of entering the place. As we had ridden over the moat, I had noted its daunting width and the fact that the inner face was cliff-like for anyone making it that far in the first place. The same rationale would apply to anybody trying to escape.
Once through the gatehouse, the inner space around the keep was overgrown and attractive. It had probably once been level and paved, but over the centuries trees and ferns had grown in the crumbing ruins and nature had built up a layer of earth and grass over the humps of bricks and stone that had fallen from the ramparts. In the centre of this, stood two square tents with heraldic pennants on top, barely stirring in the faint breeze. Nearby was a burnt area of grass with what looked like a cooking spit across it, and a pile of split firewood stacked neatly beyond.
The men dismounted, removed their helmets and helped us down. Pearson spoke briefly to Warren and then announced that Leila would have cooking duty for this first evening. He led her to the area of the fire and showed her a well nearby. Manacled and bridled, Leila slowly set about unloading the pack horse under the supervision of Pearson. I made to go and help her, but Warren took me by the arm.
“Leave her, Jill. You and I are going to take in a little romance on the ramparts.” I followed him as he clattered up an external staircase on to the top of the wall between two of the towers. We walked along this, climbing over piles of rubble until we reached one of the corner towers. The top of this had been destroyed at some point, and it was now a small flat overgrown area with a stunning view over the valley below. The sun was setting behind us, and the area below the crag was in deep shadow, with the haze of early evening settling down over the still country beyond.
While the view was magnificent, I was disconcerted by what looked like two parallel bars on posts in the ground. The bars, like the posts supporting them, were made from four-inch logs set about waist height. To an innocent eye, they might have been some sort of rudimentary seat, but they looked too new for that, the posts being set in recently poured concrete and with the bar further from us having a small U-bar poking an inch or so above the top of it. Warren appeared to ignore the bars, and his armoured hand pulled me close to his side.
“Can’t you imagine what this was like five hundred years ago?” he said. I didn’t reply. “People probably stood right here on just such evenings.”
He pulled off a gauntlet and turned me to face him. I felt powerless in front of him, my head locked in an iron bridle and my wrists bearing the manacles of a slave girl. Warren looked as though he wanted to kiss me, but contented himself with undoing the top buttons of my dress sufficiently to expose my breasts, caressing and kissing these instead. I could do little to resist, and secretly I didn’t want to. I had experienced Warren’s prowess a number of times at Bilboes, when he was just another paying customer, and while he could be imaginative and cruel, his ability to satisfy a woman was no secret. This was part of the reason Monica had kept him to herself, we reckoned, except that his kinkiness was sometimes matched by his unpredictability and his occasional lapse to excess.
These memories disappeared into the furthest depths of my brain as the glowing feeling left in my pussy from the horse ride reignited and my nipples became hard and erect. He sucked them and teased with his teeth, while I had small intakes of breath with each hard touch on them. I was on edge when he then turned me to face the view and bent me over the first bar, then forcing my neck over the second bar. In a trice a lock clicked and secured my collar to the U-bar, and I was his for the taking. Somewhere at this point, facing the landscape from the top of a castle, my mind somehow slipped back to the Middle Ages, and what it might have been like as a captured slave, the spoils of some raid on a neighbouring fiefdom, where a peasant girl became something to be used by the victorious knight. Now, bridled and chained, I awaited the treatment that was customary, albeit as an individual variation on a theme.
My chastity belt was still locked in place, trapping the big dildo inside me, and exposed as I now was, I knew what my fate was to be, for I knew that Warren frequently had a propensity for screwing girls in the arse, when the mood took him. Right then I did not care. My labia were swollen from the stimulation of the steel plate and the dildo that I could not reach, let alone remove, and Warren’s work on my nipples had almost caused me to come right then. Now I was trapped over two bars, expectant, waiting for the main event.
“Before I deal to you, Jill, let me explain something. After I have had my way with you - which, I might add, I will greatly enjoy, as I always have done where you have been a participant – his Lordship will also visit you. However, his tastes are somewhat more ascetic and Spartan than mine. He will no doubt whip your cute arse very painfully, but I doubt it will go beyond that. His preference appears to be the control of young women, rather than my own hedonistic preferences which you know well. Rumour has it that he is either impotent, or has a major chip on his shoulder from some past event – or both, of course. I haven’t known him long enough to understand if this relates to the whole of the female gender. To be fair, he gets on well enough with Jade, and they seem to share many common passions. I tell you this just to warn you to be very careful in your behaviour around him. He can be particularly cruel if he sets his mind to it. What you’ve experienced so far is relatively mild compared to what he can produce. I hear he has been Grand Master as a certain B & D society in London for many years, and is well known in such circles, so you should bear that in mind, and be very respectful in his presence. Do you understand?”
“Eff,” I grunted. I understood only too well.
I felt the material of the skirt separated behind me, and the two halves of my skirt flipped over the bar, to leave my buttocks exposed to the man behind me. I didn’t know how easy it would be for Warren to perform in a suit of armour, but with my collar lashed to the front bar I could not tell what was going on behind me anyway.
The cold touch of armoured thigh plates pressed against my naked buttocks and I knew that whatever he needed to do, he had done it, as his dick poked imperiously at my butt hole. There was the feel of more steel plate against my flesh and then he was pushing harder, working his way inside me. I groaned around the gag, as Warren pushed in up to the hilt. Then he was pumping away, stirring the dildo in my front passage, his hands gripping my breasts as he thrust in and out. For a moment I was the captured maiden, ravished by a knight for whom I was just another part of the plunder of war.
Then that momentary fantasy was gone in a final frenetic frenzy that saw me panting and groaning in an ecstatic climax that somewhere in my guilty conscience I felt I had no right to have, much less enjoy. I mmphed and jerked as Warren shot forth inside my arse while the dildo did its magic in front.
By the time my breathing had come close to normal and I opened my eyes, it was almost dark. Warren had withdrawn and I was alone on the battlements, still a prisoner in the castle of Carreg Cennen. I was conscious of footsteps behind me, and all around began to be illuminated by the dancing light of a flaming torch.
“Ahh, what a delightful sight,” came Pearson’s voice. I was unable to turn around, locked as I was to the bar, and thanks to Warren I now had a fair idea what was going to happen to me. The man’s hands gripped my buttocks, then groped my thighs as he pushed my legs further apart, in the manner of a noble inspecting a piece of livestock. The pain, when it came, was sudden, in the form of some sort of multi-tailed flogger that curled around my inner thigh and made me cry out around the metal gag. I jerked again with the next blow, curling expertly in around the other thigh. The hurt was such that I instinctively brought my legs together, which evidently was not the done thing for peasant girls in the presence of their lord. I wound up with my ankles pulled wider and tied to the posts supporting the bar, while I grunted in protest.
There followed a systematic flogging that left me feeling like I had the worst case of sunburn I had ever known, from my ankles to my waist. My arms were free beneath me, albeit chained at the wrists, and I was flapping them around as one does in trying to get away from such a beating, all, of course, to no avail whatsoever. Pearson was obviously enjoying himself, but appeared to have no interest in taking advantage of my vulnerable parts other than to beat the crap out of them. In this instance, I was finally grateful for the chastity belt, despite the stimulation it had caused by retaining the big dildo, for now it served to protect my engorged labia from the wicked snap of the lash between my legs.
I was sweating and straining against the ropes and lock at my throat by the time Pearson had finished. My muscles were tensed up through the whole of my body, dreading the next strike, and I was making increasingly loud stifled cries with the landing of each stroke. It took me five minutes to slowly relax after the beating stopped and he disappeared with the flaming torch. I was surprised that he actually lowered my skirts and arranged them with the propriety of a supervising fashion designer. I decided Pearson had a particular brand of weirdness that I had not experienced before, and I resolved to treat him with the utmost caution, and to ensure Leila did the same. There was something about this guy that was not quite right, and I had the feeling he was living in a field which was not only left of centre, but in a time zone way out of synch with the rest of the world.
* * *
I probably remained there, bent over in the darkness, for another hour. In the distance I could see occasional pinpoints of lights from farm cottages in the valley below, as the burning on my legs and buttocks slowly subsided to a warm glow. I could make out the murmur of voices that were Warren and Pearson, and the absence of any female voice told me Leila was still wearing the iron gag, as I was. The delicious smell of roasting meat drifted up to the battlements, and I found myself salivating and sucking on the metal tongue of my own bridle, wondering if and when I would be fed. Just how were captured slaves treated in these medieval times?
Warren finally appeared with a burning torch and freed my neck and ankles.
“Are you warmed up?” he asked slyly, giving my bottom a pat that made me wince. “Yes, I see that you are,” he chuckled. “His Lordship’s pretty good with a flogger. Many a maiden has suffered at his hands, so I understand.” I’ll bet, I thought.
Warren led the way back to the overgrown central courtyard where Leila was kneeling at the fire. I had been right – she was still gagged and chained, and was turning the handle of a spit, on which a forequarter of lamb was rotating. Pearson was sitting in a director’s chair, still wearing most of his armour, watching Leila with a proprietary air.
Warren pointed to two blankets on the ground beside one of the tents.
“You two will be sleeping there,” he said. “I suggest you go and gather some bracken to make your bed just a little more comfortable.”
I did as I was told, stumbling about within the limit of the illumination from the fire and four other flaming torches on iron poles. I exchanged looks with Leila, but could not read her expression as she put her head down again and stirred the fire with a poker.
By the time I had done my best to make which might pass for soft-ish beds of bracken, Leila had curtseyed to the two seated knights and mimed that dinner was ready. I decided to be proactive and serve them and their egos myself, and I waited while Leila dug out the roasting vegetables from the embers of the fire and carved off some juicy slices of lamb, placing them on plates before motioning to me. I did not trust myself to carry two plates at once with the short chain between the iron cuffs on my wrists, and made two trips from the fire to the small camping table that was set up between the two men. I served Pearson first, then returned with Warren’s plate, before pouring what Warren told me was mead, into pewter flasks.
Warren waved me back to the fire, where I knelt beside Leila, watching the pair eat their meal with obvious relish. Leila had done a good job – perhaps too good, and I wondered when we were going to get the wretched gags off so that we could partake. This did not happen until they had received second helpings, and washed it all down with port and coffee. Only when they were both into their cigars did Warren motion us over and have us kneel again to allow the locks at the back of the branks to be undone. I removed the metal device slowly, feeling the weight lifted from my head, before placing it on the ground beside Warren’s chair as he directed. Then we were waved away to feed ourselves and clean up while the men continued talking in low tones that we could not follow.
An hour later we had made things as tidy as we could, and had put the remains of the food away in very un-medieval cooler bins with frozen ice bags. We were seated on our blankets when Warren came across.
“Time for all good serving girls to be in bed,” he said. “And Jill, you were good tonight.” He grinned at me. “And Leila, too. It was an excellent meal. You’re both very talented. Now, if you want to use the privy, it’s beyond that pile of rubble. One at a time. And I must remind you that there will be no talking, unless you fancy sleeping in those bridles. Would you like that, Leila?”
“No, my Lord,” said Leila submissively. I was pleased to see she was using her wits to play along with the charade and keep our captors placated.
I tried out the privy, which turned out to be a scary long-drop built out over the side of the castle. It must have been the original, for the stonework seemed an integral part of the structure, though the floor with the hole in it had recently been repaired or replaced.
I washed my face and hands in a bowl of water Leila had warmed up over the embers, and gave her a silent hug as we rolled up next to each other in our blankets. My mind was racing and I was seriously thinking that with only our wrists chained, there would be a definite chance for escape during the night. Unfortunately the thought appeared to have crossed Warren’s mind as well, for as we lay there, he appeared with something in his hands, and squatted at the foot of my blanket. I was dismayed when he seized my bare right foot and I felt the cold ratchet of steel around my big toe, then my left big toe, as they were secured in steel toe cuffs. Moments later there was a further clicking sound as Leila’s toes were similarly secured, before Warren retired to his tent after smirking at me in the last glow of a dying torch.
I started to lift my feet up to inspect this new restraint, only to be pulled up short as I discovered that both pairs of cuffs were linked by a short chain, and that Leila and I were not just immobilised, but attached to each other for the night. I despaired again, for the men had been one step ahead of us at every turn. They treated us very carefully, never allowing the opportunity to surprise them.
I heard a stifled sob from Leila and opened my blanket to cuddle her, making soothing noises as best I could. We ended up with Leila snuggled in behind me, sharing each other’s blankets as the flicker of the torch finally died and we lay chained on the ground in the ruins of the castle.
* * *
I did not fall asleep at once. I was conscious of my body aching from the treatment it had received in the last twenty four hours. I had been caned, flogged, stretched, chained, impaled and screwed very thoroughly. Monica and Emma had disappeared and Leila and I seemed to be facing some sort of undefined future of servitude. Sooner or later I figured Warren would return to Australia, and then what would happen to us. Warren at least was a known quantity. We had experienced his capricious temperament before, but he was a link with home. I thought about Debra looking after Bilboes, and could only conjecture whether Warren still had designs on ownership there. His mind was so devious that I figured anything was possible. This whole mess seemed to be the beginning of some sort of Grand Plan hatched between he and Jade Wong – a kind of master-minded payback for the ignominy and humiliation we had heaped on them. I wondered what had happened to Steven and the others, but could see no way that they might be able to find us, trapped as we were in a Welsh Border time warp.
All this thinking and staring at the stars above left me thoroughly depressed, and it was all I could do not to shed some tears myself, but the warm body of Leila next to me made me determined to tough it out as best I could, until the time for escape arose.
I had almost drifted off to sleep when I was jerked awake by the clank of chains as the drawbridge began to rise. There was a stirring from the tents and Warren and Pearson appeared, wearing their leather undergarments but no armour.
“Looks like we have visitors,” Warren said to us as they walked briskly towards the entrance to the castle, stopping briefly to pick up a backpack from where it lay near where the horses were tethered. This time the men had fallen back on modern technology and both carried flashlights.
There came the sound of voices – male and female - and some minutes later there was the sound of the portcullis being raised. Leila and I sat side by side, hoping that this diversion somehow represented salvation for us, but it was not to be. Instead, our spirits sank further, as Warren and Pearson returned along the worn pathway, pushing two figures with their hands secured behind their backs.
“Shawnee! Mary!” Leila exclaimed. “How did ?”
“We got trapped by the drawbridge – there’s some sort of detector and we couldn’t get out and then we were made to put the cuffs on before they would open the gate thing and –“
“Shawnee!” snapped Mary. “Shut up!”
Mary looked decidedly peeved at the whole situation, and well she might, for we were now four people trapped in this castle. Leila looked about to burst forth with more questions, but I elbowed her and held my finger to my lips as the men reached us and Warren switched on a portable fluorescent camping light.
“What a jolly party this is turning into,” said Pearson, full of bonhomie, despite being woken from his bed. “I say, talk about building a better mouse trap – or girl trap in this case!” He turned to the apprehensive-looking Shawnee and the glowering Mary. “I’m awfully sorry, ladies, but all the best beds are taken. However I’m sure we can find some space for you downstairs, though it will be a little uncomfortable. Please follow me.”
The four crossed in single file to what seemed to be a doorway in the ruins, then disappeared from sight. Leila burst in to tears and I did my best to console her.
“Look, it’s not as bad as it seems. If Mary and Shawnee can find us, that means Steven and Trish must be nearby. They must know where we are! Just finding us is brilliant!”
“But we’re all prisoners,” Leila sniffled, unwilling to see the bright side.
“Don’t worry,” I said, with more confidence than I thought the situation really warranted. “We’ll get out of here.” I put my chained arms around her and held her tightly while we waited for the reappearance of our captors.
* * *
Warren appeared briefly, then disappeared back into the black hole, bearing the two iron bridles that we had worn all day. I felt desperately sorry for Mary and Shawnee, but I was to feel sorrier very shortly. Ten minutes later Warren and Pearson came back and unlocked our toe cuffs.
“I’d like you ladies to pay a brief visit to your friends,” Pearson said cheerfully. “Firstly, I’d like you to have a little peek at the downstairs apartments, and to see how good you have things up here. It’s a kind of incentive not to end up down there. Think of it as a heaven and hell analogy. Secondly, and most regrettably, of course, it does underline what happens to people who disobey or simply interfere with us. Please follow me,”
I did so with deep trepidation, picking my way over the uneven grassy mounds towards the opening in the structure that gaped like a black mouth, a blacker hole against a black surrounding at the base of the keep. The torch Warren held and Pearson’s fluorescent lamp cast jumpy shadows on a flight of steps leading down into the darkness. This was really scary, but I knew we had to make contact with Mary and Shawnee. The stairs twisted towards the outer wall and merged into a gloomy stone passage, passing through a big wooden door then ending abruptly in a solid iron grille stretching across a hole that looked out over the valley. For a moment I wondered where Mary and Shawnee were, until Warren shone his torch on the distorted features of Mary’s face trapped beneath the scold’s bridle. But it was only when Pearson came up behind Leila and myself, with the fluorescent light that I saw the full horror of what they had done to my friends.
The pair sat side by side on a low stone bench below the grille, facing us. Each was locked in an identical device which held her body bent forward, knees close to chest. I looked closely and saw that the contraption began with what was like a pair of bilboes trapping the ankles. Four iron strips rose from the bilbo bar, two on either side of each leg, to meet at the throat where an iron collar encircled the throat, making the victim unable to straighten up. The wrists were trapped below the breasts, roughly palm to palm, anchored between the vertical bars.
“Interesting device, isn’t it,” Pearson said, like a guide. “It’s called the Scavenger’s Daughter. A corruption on the name Skivington – the chap who invented it. Very uncomfortable after a few hours - just about impossible to move.”
“And you’ve put the branks on them as well! You’re inhuman!” This from Leila - an outburst which worried me, for we were not in a particularly good negotiating position.
“Sssh,” I whispered, touching her arm in the semi-darkness. Mary and Shawnee’s heads, trapped in the bridles, lifted as much as they were able, and stared pleadingly at us. Shawnee uttered a few distorted sounds that didn’t make direct sense, but their message was plain enough.
“Oh, but there’s more,” Pearson said proudly. “Obviously we don’t want them falling over. You’ll see there’s an iron plate that they’re sitting on? There are two rather big dildos welded to this plate, upon which these ladies are currently impaled.” Pearson moved the light closer and I saw that Mary’s and Shawnee’s skirts were rucked up to their waists. Their blouses were also undone, and their nipples were pinched between what looked like large iron tweezers, held closed by a ring that slid from the narrow to the wide end. Shawnee’s hands fluttered and twisted in the grip of the iron clamps, trying to reach the clamps on her nipples, but the rigidity of the whole contraption meant she could not get the right angle or reach the clamps with her fingers. She made a pitiful whimpering sound.
I sensed Leila about to go a bit crazy, and gripped her arm, pulling her back. She was beside herself with fury, but was too hot headed to suppress it. I dragged her away, following Warren back up the stairs while Leila protested and swore blue murder at the two men. Warren laughed as we emerged into the open and were shortly toe-cuffed to each other again. Warren produced a ball gag which he jammed in a struggling Leila’s mouth, locking it behind her neck. Now Leila’s anger turned to tears and she struggled to give vent to her feelings around the ball, before finally snuggling, sniffling, against my chest, until eventually we both fell asleep.
* * *
It was a fitful night, not cold, but punctuated by awakenings as our toe cuffs and wrist chains restricted us and our minds did weird things in the small hours. The big dildo still locked inside me made itself felt at one stage, and I confess as my mind wandered I squeezed my fingers behind the steel plate and managed to sneaked in a small but satisfying little orgasm, clenching my teeth and letting out a small squeak or two that appeared not to wake Leila.
It got light early, and the sun was rising over the valley when Warren appeared, yawning. He unlocked our toe cuffs and Leila’s gag, then gave us directions for breakfast, with the added instruction that we were to eat first, and that one foot out of line would bring dire consequences on the two prisoners locked in the dungeon.
We performed our ablutions, all the time wondering when the steel chastity belts would be removed and the frustrating dildos finally taken out. When we had a brief moment without being watched, Leila accused me:
“You got yourself off this morning!” I felt myself blush. “How could you, when Mary and Shawnee are suffering in the dungeon?”
“I couldn’t help it,” I said defensively. “This damned dildo is driving me mad. A girl has to do what a girl has to do,” I ended lamely.
We set about starting a fire to prepare breakfast. There was fruit and bread and all the trappings of a good cholesterol-filled English breakfast. Warren had given us their orders, but neither Leila nor I had a desire for a big meal, contenting ourselves with some fruit and toast. However we had no sooner demolished this when Warren and Pearson emerged from their tents carrying some curious pieces of wood. We were commanded to kneel, and with the men standing behind us, we found two semi-circles of two-inch-thick timber being bolted together around our necks. They fitted closely around the iron collars already in place and were immediately heavy and cumbersome.
“What’re these for?” I demanded, forgetting myself momentarily.
“You were both disobedient last night, failing to keep quiet and carrying on after you’d been warned,” Pearson said, as one might to a child. “When that sort of thing happens, you must expect to be punished. In this case you will carry the weight of your actions around with you as you perform your duties.”
“That’s unfair!” Leila exclaimed. “How can we be expected to work like this?”
Pearson arched an eyebrow and tut-tutted.
“Dear me, Leila. I can see you are going to be a troublesome child. Jillian, I thought as a more mature person you might have exercised a little more influence over your friend, but regrettably you have failed just as badly as she. You will both be gagged for the rest of the day, and depending on how you perform otherwise, you will wear the wooden collars until further notice.
Leila opened her mouth to protest again, but wound up having a ball forced into it and strapped in place, with a padlock securing it. Moments later I was likewise having to open wide and accept a red rubber ball, as Warren locked the strap behind my own head. I tried to adjust the strap, but quickly discovered that that the wooden collar prevented me from reaching my head, since the radius of it was marginally more than the length of my upper arm.
“Your first task will be to feed the prisoners,” Warren said. He handed me a key. “This will undo the locks on the ankle stirrups. You may bring the prisoners up to enjoy this wonderful morning.”
Leila and I stood up awkwardly under the weight of the wooden yokes. Our plight only seemed to be worsening, and the knights appeared to have new tortures awaiting us at every turn. Leila picked up the fluorescent camping light and we trudged off to the steps leading under the keep.
This time there was more illumination both from the stair opening and the barred grille above where poor Mary and Shawnee sat, hunched over and immobile. The bridled heads looked up as we came into view. The girls’ faces were dusty and tear-streaked, and at the sight of us wearing our yokes clearly told them that nothing had changed on the outside world.
All four of us were gagged, of course, and we could do little to convey our solidarity, for the yokes prevented any form of embrace. I contented myself with holding hands with first Mary and then Shawnee, as Leila unlocked their ankle stirrups. Shawnee stood up, uttering a long drawn out groan as she was initially able to straighten up for the first time in eight hours, and a further series of rapid grunts as she gingerly eased herself up from the iron dong penetrating her arse. As she did so, Leila smoothed Shawnee’s skirt down and steadied her. Shawnee made plaintive little noises and motioned as best she could to the iron pincers still dangling from her nipples. Leila shook her head and grunted in the negative, but Shawnee was so insistent that Leila reluctantly eased the tightening ring back a fraction. Shawnee made a long “uhhmnn” sound that usually meant a painful return of blood supply.
As Leila assisted Shawnee along the passage and up the stairs, I went through the same process with Mary, helping her first to straighten from her bent over position, and then to extract herself from the iron dildo. Mary closed her eyes as she slowly freed herself from the impaler, and was momentarily wobbly on her feet. I pointed to the nipple tweezers and grunted interrogatively. She nodded, and I released some of the tension, but not so much that they’d fall off. Mary hmmed gratefully, squeezing my hand in hers.
I straightened up her blouse and skirt and together we ascended the stairs into the brightness of an English summer morning, to the soft clank of the loose bars of the Scavenger’s Daughter.
Warren appeared with the key to the branks, and removed the iron monstrosities from Mary and Shawnee. It was pretty obvious to us all now that one step out of line would result in punishment of who knew what severity, so even Shawnee was quiet. Leila and I had to feed our friends, for even with the main vertical bars of their restraints now detached from their ankles, they could still not reach their mouths with their hands.
All through this process we were watched by Warren and Pearson who were lounging in their director chairs. While Leila and I cleaned up the plates, Pearson stood up, disappeared into his tent and reappeared with two odd-looking wooden contraptions that on first glance almost looked like violins. Oh God, I thought, something more for us to bear.
“Mary and Shawnee,” he said. Their heads lifted at their names, but they said nothing. “Did you enjoy your night in the company of the Scavenger’s Daughters?”
“No sir,” said Shawnee.
“You will address your knight captors as ‘my lord’. And you Mary?”
“No my lord,” said Mary stiffly, the difficulty with the title clear in her tone.
“Shawnee, tell me what was the worst part.”
Oh dear, I thought. This man clearly doesn’t know the talkative ability of Shawnee, and may regret asking the question.
“It makes your back hurt,” Shawnee complained. “Then it starts cramping up all your joints and especially your neck, which was worse because of that metal gag thing, which is really heavy, by the way, especially when you have to keep your head down. And having to sit on those big dicks was really uncomfortable, because we couldn’t stand up to get off them, and – “
“So you would not like to go through that again?”
“Oh no!”
“Good. I hope everybody has listened to that wheedling little explanation and considers it a warning to you all. Disobedience will be punished, and the Daughter is but one such way of breaking you. Am I being clear?” Leila and I grunted in the affirmative, while Mary and Shawnee murmured their acknowledgement.
“I am going to remove those devices, but they will be replaced with something called a Shrews Fiddle.” He raised one of the wooden objects, and I saw that my first impression had indeed not been far off the mark, in that the thing was shaped like a violin – or fiddle – and was split down the length of it. There was a large hole at the widest end, and two smaller holes further along, as the width became less.
I soon saw how it worked as Shawnee was released from the remainder of the Scavenger’s daughter, but then had the fiddle closed around her neck, with her wrists in front of her, one in front of the other. It looked very awkward, not least through having to keep either one’s arms raised to keep the fiddle level and resting squarely on one’s shoulders, or else one had to bend forward, and maybe rest the fiddle on one’s knees, while seated, but this would mean staring at the ground.
Shawnee soon found out that it was not designed for comfort, along with the fact that she could do nothing with her hands. But disaster struck as Warren was fitting the fiddle to Mary, when one of the nipple clamps became dislodged and dropped off. Warren said nothing but finished fastening the locks on the fiddle. He picked up the tweezer clamp and looked directly at me.
“Somehow I don’t think that Mary could have done this, nor do I think it dropped off of it’s own accord. When I put these in place, they tend to stay there,” he said grimly. “Methinks Miss Jillian has been meddling.” He gave a sharp tug at the clamp on Mary’s other nipple. She gasped and cried out, but the clamp came free relatively easily. Shawnee was the next target, her full breasts half hidden by her bent arms locked in the fiddle, but two quick pulls saw the clamps detach, a cry from Shawnee, and an accusing look at Leila from Warren.
As Mary and Shawnee sat on a big chunk of stone unhappily resting their elbows on their knees, Pearson and Warren exchanged glances and dragged Leila and me over to a large oak tree that had grown up out of the ruins. It took them only a moment to lock a chain to an eyebolt that protruded from the front of my wooden yoke, slip it between my chained wrists, toss it over a branch above my head and reverse the process with Leila. We stood there for a couple of minutes while the men further immobilised Mary and Shawnee with the toe clamps I had experienced during the night. Then Pearson was inspecting Leila and I again, with a wicked looking stockwhip in his hand and a gleam in his eye.
With great deliberation he unzipped the back of my dress and opened it up to expose my bare back. He ran the thong of the whip over my bare skin and I shuddered, then he unzipped Leila’s blouse and exposed her back. Leila moaned with fear as he stroked her skin and flourished the whip in front of her. She rolled her eyes at me and tugged vainly at the chain anchoring her yoke but all that did was jerk mine upwards. I tried to calm her but the mmphing sounds I made were predictably ineffective.
Pearson stepped back and cracked the whip. It was a couple of metres long and the tip sizzled through the air with a frightening snap. We both jerked away from the sound but our movement was limited.
“I really do wish you ladies would learn proper behaviour,” Pearson sighed dramatically. “I had no idea training you would be so difficult.”
I cast a fearful glance backwards and saw a sudden puzzled look appear on Pearson’s face. It was as though he was listening to something. I held my breath and above the blood pounding in my ears, I heard the music, carried clearly to us on the morning breeze.
It was Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries”
* * *
20.04.04
story continues in Monica's Travels 13
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