Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop

#Dungeon Crawl — 05/21/14

May 20, 2014 By Trent Evans

Greetings fellow travelers in depravity:)

I’ll pick up where I left off last week in my WIP, a sci-fi bit of dark erotica called Bristol’s Rebellion.

The fetching maid Olivia has received a late-night summons from the Master. When she arrives, she finds it’s not just the handsome Master awaiting her…

* * *

“Come closer, dear,” her Master said, a nod of his head beckoning.

Olivia complied, reluctantly, moving to stand just to the right and behind the kneeling contafina. She was distinctly uncomfortable being so close to the pair, but at the same time she felt an electricity between the two that could not be denied, and it made Olivia’s pulse quicken. She wasn’t sure where to look, so she kept her gaze up deferentially.

“Olivia, look at her. She’s beautiful, is she not? She’s my ward, and as such she’s here to be admired,” he said, smiling. “Don’t be afraid.”

The contafina’s fingers fluttered at the small of her back.

Olivia allowed herself a look at the slave, her gaze traveling down the pale, narrow back to the slim corset-trained waist, the restless fingers of the slave’s bound hands continuing their dance. The waist, adorned with two dimples than any woman would envy, swelled out dramatically, the hips emphasized by the slave’s submissive position. The broad, fleshy buttocks bloomed above the kneeling slave’s bare heels, her bottom’s considerable breadth a pleasing contrast to so petite a waist. The round contours of the slave’s buttocks were enhance by the darkness of the deep cleft. The girl’s bottom was almost a uniform deep pink, with what looked like telltale handprints in a darker red at the edges of the hips and toward the top of the crevice of her buttocks. Standing out in stark relief from the pink cheeks, were two tramlines, their deep, swollen lengths interrupted by the cleft. The strokes, evidently from a cane, were spread evenly at the top of the buttock cheeks, just below the bewitching dimples.

Olivia tried to show an impassive face, but couldn’t help clenching her own ass cheeks sympathetically, knowing the pain the slave must have been feeling at so harsh a punishment.

The Master watched the maid take the sight in, his smile broad, a mischievous glee dancing in his eyes.

“As you can see, there is something amiss, my dear Olivia. I was in the midst of administering a nice thorough evening caning to my ward here, “ he said, smacking Malina’s cheek with his cock before laying it back down upon her proffered tongue. “I decided that since she’d not been seen to all day, that a salutary caning might be rather nice.”

He rubbed the head of his cock against the corner of the slave’s open mouth. The girl kissed the head lovingly, caressing it with her plump rose lips. He allowed the slave this for a moment, gazing fondly down upon her, before looking back up at Olivia, continuing.

“Well, as you may have noticed, two strokes does hardly a caning make. It’s merely a tickle, really.”

He looked down again, pulling his swollen member away from the slave’s devoted lips. “That’s enough, girl. Let’s have that tongue out again.” He gave a slight twist to the fisftul of her hair he clenched in his hand. His ward winced, complying at once.

“Farther, girl. That’s it,” he said, satisfied, his cock once more tapping the tongue stud.

The abject obedience of the girl to his whims, stunned Olivia anew.

“On the second stroke, I noticed a different sound. It wasn’t as solid as usual, and I’ve caned this girl’s big bottom enough times to know how it’s supposed to sound.”

Olivia swallowed. The two strokes the slave had received were now a livid purple, well laid on, and stinging hot no doubt.

“Are you listening, Olivia?” An edge had crept into the tone of his voice.

“Yes, Master. Sorry, Sir,” she said, her gaze snapping back to his.

“As I was saying, the sound wasn’t right. So I checked the cane, and I found it to be cracked. Cracked!”

Olivia blanched, sure of what was to come.

“Now, Olivia. What would I do if the cane were to actually break while servicing the lovely nates of this girl? Why it might splinter. She could be cut to the blood, by God!”

Though Olivia was truly frightened now, she could not help but recall the piercing of the slave’s nipples. While the girl had sobbed away, he’d calmly collected several drops of her blood on his fingers, licking them off as if they were a delicacy.

He’d not seemed particularly concerned with shedding her blood that day!

“Olivia, you’ve been with us what, eight months? Long enough to know how my house is run, no?”

Her mouth had suddenly become dry as a desert, her heart racing.

“So it pains me to find that someone who has been with us so much longer would let something like this happen,” he said, with a resigned shake of his head.

“Victoria was assigned to polish the canes last week. She should have spotted the crack, if she were doing her job correctly.” His expression darkened. “There is no excuse.”

He looked down at his ward once more. “Just the head now, girl. Let’s give your little tongue a rest.”

The slave began a slow kissing of the plum colored head of his penis, the swollen, crimson lips bestowing soft kisses, and mouthing the hard crown. Since she did not have use of her hands, the Master held his cock to her lips for her, allowing the obedient slave to express her devotion to the broad head of his penis.

“Nothing for it tonight, I’m afraid Olivia. It is getting rather late. But I want you to tell Victoria that I wish to see her blonde head in my study tomorrow evening at seven. You shall need her help preparing for our guest, so I won’t tie her up until later.”

Olivia, with a chill, wondered if the Master’s pun was intentional.

He gazed intently at his slave, murmuring to her. At his urging, she clamped her plump lips around the head of his penis and slowly sank down the thick, veined length of the shaft.

“We’ll just add the remaining tally of tonight’s strokes to tomorrow’s whipping. A few more strokes than usual won’t be too much for Malina here to take,” he said, glancing up at Olivia again, a wry grin on his rugged face. “You may leave now, girl. Go back to your duties.”

Olivia, her heart soaring, redemption at hand, curtsied thankfully, barely aware and beyond caring that her sex again flashed into view from below the brief shift. She walked to the door, opening it.

“Olivia, I shall require you to accompany Miss Victoria in my study tomorrow evening,” the Master’s voice intoned from behind her.

“Y-yes, Sir,” she said, her voice tremulous, so crushing was the realization of what was to come for the miserable maid.

A visit to the Master’s study never boded well for any girl.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this little snippet from the story. Perhaps I’ll post more next week?

In the meantime, please visit the other stops on this week’s hop. Thanks for reading!

Trent

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#Dungeon Crawl — 05/14/14

May 13, 2014 By Trent Evans

Hello Fellow Pervs!

This week, I decided to take a break from A Lady and a Maid, and instead share an excerpt from a work in progress, a sci-fi dark erotica novel with a working title of Bristol’s Rebellion. This thing is all over the place thus far, and I haven’t been able to contain it, nor have I been able to nail down even the central theme — yet.

What I do know is that it’s: 1) Dark; 2) Depraved; 3) A sci-fi setting.

Really narrowed it down, haven’t I?

This is rough, so please forgive the lack of major editing. It is a WIP, after all. Hope you enjoy:)

This excerpt works as is, so I don’t think I really need to introduce it. Here goes…

* * * *

Bristol’s Rebellion

by

Trent Evans

Prologue

A Midnight Summons

The white clad figure cut a shimmering path through the shadowed hall, the guttering candles spraying dim light along the walls. The scullery maid Olivia hurried to her Master’s call, her fitful slumber interrupted by the harsh peal of the summons bell.

The ring of the bell meant the Master wished her presence, and woe betide the maid who did not respond with alacrity. So, up and out of her miserable quarters, a cell really, and down the long passage she had come to know and dread — for sometimes she was not summoned to perform a task, but to have the Master perform on her. Several times, she had returned back down that very same hall, stumbling and weeping, sure that this time she could endure no more.

But endure she did.

Olivia paused at her Master’s door, aghast anew at the light absorbing blackness of the wood. She trembled, tucking a stray black curl behind her ear, her other hand tugging at the hem of her shift. Though thankful for the covering — she had more than once been deprived of even its meager protection — the way it exposed her pale thighs still galled her. The shift she wore, a tight form-fitting wrap of gray cotton, was all that was allowed a lowly servant such as herself.

The shift ended shamefully high up her legs, just below the level of her pubis. Indeed, the tight uniform had managed to ride up during her long journey down the hall, and she pulled down at it in a vain attempt to preserve a shred of modesty. As a maid she was not allowed knickers of any sort, such extravagances reserved for higher beings than mere servants.

So, before knocking at the door, Olivia made sure her shift at least covered her sex, yanking it down in front. It worked, barely, but in doing so ensured the undercurves of her buttocks hung below the shift in back. There was nothing for it though, and Olivia rapped a timid knock on the jet wood.

“Enter”, said the low voice of the Master, the sound muffled through the solid wood.

Olivia pushed the door open and slipped inside. The chamber was lit by numerous candles, placed about the room, supplemented by the brightness of the crackling flames from the fireplace. Compared to the dim, somber corridor outside, the place was decorated rather comfortably, rich browns and dark reds lending warmth to the room.

The space was dominated by a large, sturdy four poster bed, a wide padded bolster at its foot. Opposite the bed, was the the fireplace, the healthy fire playing warm, orange light across the varnished planes of the bed’s frame. A rich, overstuffed chair with a matching ottoman angled to one side of the fireplace, turned slightly toward the door where the maid stood. She shuddered at the memory of past trials at that chair. A traitorous trickle of moisture between her thighs reminded her that though her mind rebelled at her treatment, the flesh never lied.

Directly opposite Olivia, against the far wall, stood what to an untrained eye would appear to be some type of bench, the black leather sloped downward at a gentle angle from its padded apex, roughly the height of her waist. A black table topped with a gray marble stood to either side of the strange bench. The heavy curtains of the only two windows were fully drawn, the maroon fabric dominating most of the far wall from nearly floor to ceiling.

To a casual observer, the space appeared to be a comfortably appointed bedroom for a rather well to do man. More careful observation revealed something else. Sturdy rings of iron were discretely placed on the walls, most at a height of about seven feet. Steel rings, their polished sheen reflecting firelight, were set high and low on the posts at the foot of the bed. An ornate basket of wrought iron and dark wood sat to one side of the chair. As one would expect, the basket contained an assortment of thin leather whips, but in addition there could also be seen the braided handle of a riding crop, and the polished handle of a thin rattan cane. If an observer were to take an even closer look at that padded and inclined bench, he would notice the sides positively dripping with dark straps of various lengths, their gleaming blackness adorned here and there with buckles of burnished steel.

Olivia was of course very aware of all this, and had first hand experience with some of it. She felt the lump in her throat, and tried to swallow it away.

But what had grabbed the maid’s eye was not the sinister meaning of these fixtures, but the occupants of the room.

Her Master, his tall angular frame half reclining, sat on the padded bolster of the bed, his muscular thighs spread in a languid pose. He was naked from the waist down, and his contafina, his ward Malina, was kneeling between his legs. She was entirely nude, save for her leather collar, and the cuffs which bound her hands at the small of her back. The contafina’s wrist cuffs which bound her hands were connected to a light chain that stretched up the creamy white of her back to a D ring embedded in the back of her collar.

From the angle where Olivia stood, the pair were nearly profiled to her, with the contafina’s back turned slightly toward her. The Master’s right hand grasped a fistful of Malina’s dark hair near the top of her head, the black tresses flowing up out of his fist like a pommel. With his other hand he held the base of his long erect penis, directing it almost parallel to the floor.

Olivia gulped again, fear still gripping her even as her traitorous arousal awakened. The sight of his penis never ceased to awe her, and that fact shamed her. She bit her lower lip, strangely jealous — if only for an instant — of the slave. At the manor, the slaves may have had hard lives, but they certainly received more than enough cock.

The slave in question, Malina, had her mouth open, the blood red lips wide, her glistening tongue outstretched to the fullest. The Master was lightly tapping the sensitive frenum of his penis on the steel stud that pierced the girl’s tongue. He evidently had been making the girl keep the appendage outstretched for some time while he bounced the wide purple head on her tongue, for a string of saliva could be seen lengthening from her lower lip toward the carpeting.

The Master’s expression was fond as he looked upon his slave, but his steel gray eyes were intent. His slave knelt, completely still, her eyes not leaving her Master’s face as the cock continued it’s easy tapping of her tongue.

Olivia stood stock still, exhaling as quietly as she could, her hands in a demure clasp over her sex. She knew better than to move, but she felt almost like she was intruding on a private moment. It was an absurd thought of course (she had been summoned to the chamber after all), but as she stood, silent, watching the scene before her, she felt her face warm with a blush.

The string of saliva had lengthened further, sparkling in the firelight as it swayed between the slave’s generous, round breasts. Olivia marveled that despite the warmth of the room, the slave’s deep brown nipples were achingly hard, their prominent lengths adorned with thick golden rings that shone in the firelight. The rings pierced cruelly deep into the base of the nipples, almost into the wide brown areolae themselves.

For several minutes, the maid stood, watching, the only sounds in the room the crackling of the fire and the very faint, wet sound of the penis tapping the girl’s tongue. Occasionally, the Master would murmur something to his slave, though Olivia couldn’t make it out, and Malina would nod her head as much as her Master’s firm grip allowed. Then his stony expression broke into a smile after her nodding acquiescence to something he’d said.

Olivia allowed herself a small smile, in spite of her fear, for though her Master could be cruel and kind in equal measure, his brilliant smile, however fleeting, lit up a room and lifted her spirits.

He apparently lifted his slave’s spirits as well, for Olivia thought she heard a faint sigh from the prostrate girl, and a slight but noticeable sway of the girl’s heavy breasts.

The Master’s smile brightened further at this, and, leaving his hard penis resting on the slave’s obedient tongue like a bridge of flesh, he reached down to play with those hard, erect nipples. The slave’s eyes closed slowly at this for a moment, and she bit her lower lip between neat, straight teeth. The Master took hold of one of her gold rings, twisting it gently in his fingers. Then he finally looked over at his visitor.

Olivia, startled, barely stifled a yelp, so lost had she been in watching the pair. Yet, she was still on pins and needles wondering why she’d been summoned. Surely it wasn’t so she could watch the Master be fellated by his beloved contafina.

“Ah, Olivia, my dear,” he said, resuming the tapping of his cock on the slave’s tongue ring. The girl’s tongue, which had dropped a bit during his attentions to her nipples, extended again eagerly.

“Master.” Olivia curtsied self-consciously, feeling the shift ride up again at the movement. She dared not tug at the shift though she felt the warm air of the room on her bare sex.

As of to confirm this, her cheeks coloring deeply, the Master dropped his gaze to her sex, then looked up again, his gray eyes sparkling. “That’s an attractive bush, girl. It’s a shame I haven’t seen more of it.”

Olivia’s face colored to the roots of her black tresses.

“In due time, I suppose,” he said, glancing down at her sex again, before meeting her gaze once more. “Well, I did call you here to discuss a few things, though your bewitching pubic curls weren’t one of them. We’ll have to address that later. Pull your shift down, girl.”

She obeyed with rush of relief that momentarily caused her to forget about why she might have been summoned. He quickly brought her back to earth.

“Now, tomorrow evening we will be receiving a guest, Olivia. I shall need you to prepare a room for him. The usual. In addition, you shall attend to his needs — whatever his needs.” The Master’s jaw clenched, a flintiness creeping into his gaze. “He is a very important guest, and he will be reporting your performance to me, so don’t let me down, girl.”

Olivia gulped, wondering who the guest might be. Other than the periodic visits from his various wards, and the occasional landowners meetings, they had very few outside visits on the isolated estate. She very much wanted to ask him more, but thought better of it. She allowed herself some hope that she has only been called here this night to discuss the need of this strange guest, so she decided silence was the surest course to safety.

“But I also called you here to discuss a problem,” he said, peering at her under his brow, his keen eyes searching, pinning her motionless under his sharp gaze.

Her heart sank.

I’m for it now!

“Come closer, dear,” her Master said, a nod of his head beckoning…

* * * *

Perhaps I’ll post more next week, if there’s any interest. Thanks for reading!

Now, it’s time to go visit the other dark, lurid stops on this week’s Crawl:)

Trent

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Tani’s intimate examination… #Dungeon Crawl — 05/07/14

May 6, 2014 By Trent Evans

Welcome Crawlers:)

This week we continue with more from my twisted epic fantasy erotica novel, A Lady and a Maid. In a dusty field, the sun beating down mercilessly, Sophie watches her captor, Miriam, examine a very special sort of … creature. At House Westwood slave girls don’t just attend their Ladies — sometimes they plow the fields, too. It’s in the dawning of this realization where Sophie learns that, despite her ordeal thus far, things could be much, much worse for her…

* * *

Lady Westwood leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing Tani’s ear. “What do you say to that my bound beauty? You may speak.”

“If it pleases you, Mistress.”

Sophie was surprised at the soft, but rich voice.

The Lady planted a gentle kiss on Tani’s moist cheek. “It does, Tani, it most certainly does.”

Arnaud cleared his throat. “With two, we could have them plow your gardens rather than having it done by the farmhands. Would free them up to help with the harvest.”

The Lady nodded, glancing down once more. “Escott, you seem to have been rather free with the paddle here.” She crouched, and Tani flinched as the Lady’s fingers felt the welts. “This big bottom is rather well-cooked.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Escott said, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that works.”

The Lady stood once more, and moved back around Tani. She tucked the crop under her arm, peeling off her riding gloves. “Turn Tani. Stop there.” The woman now faced away from the group and Sophie suppressed a gasp.

The woman had a strong, trim back, cinched cruelly by the broad leather girth around her midsection. Her hindquarters were very well muscled, but still retained soft feminine curves. The bottom half of both cheeks were furnace red, overlaid with darker welts in places. She could see a rivulet of sweat break from the bottom of the girth to meander down a welted cheek. She wondered if it stung the sorely tested flesh. She felt a sudden urge to run her hand over those broad buttocks, soothing the scorched skin.

What was happening to her! She shook her head and looked away.

“Sophie,” Arnaud growled. “Is there something else more interesting to you?”

She shook her head, and turned her gaze reluctantly back to the poor woman.

“Bend over, Tani,” the Lady said. “No. At the waist. Put your hands on your knees.”

Tani turned her head. “But Mistress, the belt—”

“Just do it, girl.” The Lady took her crop in hand, whisking it through the air.

“Yes, Mistress.” Tani bent over, and Sophie could see the stiff belt dig painfully into the firm belly. Tani gasped as the leather creaked.

“That’s better, girl. You know the penalty for questioning me though.”

The crop whistled down, snapping across the center of both proffered cheeks. The flesh bounced, and Tani whimpered, clenching at the smart. The cleft shrank to a thin line, then yawned open, the strong thighs shaking.

“What’s all this trembling? This is a mere tickle compared to what your devoted driver has given you.” The Lady glanced up at Escott, winking.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. It—” Tani swallowed a sob.”—it hurts.”

“As well it should, Tani.” The Lady traced the darkening welt with her fingers. “We can’t let you go soft on us, can we?”

“No, Mistress.”

Escott leaned close to the miserable woman’s ear, his voice a whisper. “What do you say, Tani?”

Sophie could hear the poor woman sniffling. “Th – thank you, Mistress.”

“My pleasure, girl.”

Sophie wanted to look at anything but the abuse of the poor woman, but she felt Arnaud’s hard gaze upon her. Her eyes moved to the pommel on the Lady’s horse. Did the rope look like it had loosened?

“Such cheeks,” the Lady breathed, palming both of Tani’s buttocks, caressing the burning flesh. “I wonder what Lucien would do with these if you were to go up for a term?”

Tani began shaking all over, her thighs working together. “Oh Mistress, please no! I’ll do anything. Please!”

“Tani!” Escott laid a hand on her back. “Be still.”

“Relax, girl.” The Lady stroked a palm over the curve of Tani’s hip. “Your services are too valuable to let you go to the intake. Lucien has more than enough bottoms to ply his trade on as it is.”

Arnaud turned his horse, bringing it over to stand in front of the bent-over Tani. “Farrier says he’s got four women for Lucien’s intake this fall.” His lips turned up at the corners of his mouth.

Tani sighed as the Lady eased the broad buttocks apart, exposing the dusky bottom hole to the sun. “Four is it? Who’s being sent up, I wonder?”

Arnaud lifted a hand from the reins. “I believe Lord Galdan’s daughter-in-law is one of them.”

The Lady smiled, shaking her head. “I knew she’d be sent up, eventually. Galdan says she gives his son nothing but fits. She’s been recalcitrant with providing him an heir, as well! Even Galdan’s patience has limits.”

Arnaud shook his head, scowling. Sophie looked away again as the Lady played fingers through the humid cleft of Tani’s buttocks, the nails lightly scratching at the shrinking anus.

The rope was definitely loosening from around the pommel. Her eyes darted to Arnaud then back again. She thought she might just be able to do it. Sophie took a small step toward the Lady’s horse.

“Easy, Tani,” the Lady lilted, her tone soothing. “Just a little something for your troubles now.”

Sophie winced as the Lady’s long-nailed fingers stroked through the dark split of Tani’s sex, her fingers glistening as she spread the moisture up on to the anus.

“Stay still, girl,” Escott murmured, his hand rubbing lazy circles on Tani’s tense back.

“You know.” The tip of the Lady’s finger circled the moisture into the delicate skin of Tani’s anus. “Sandra was rather disapproving of Farrier’s man, Lucien. I still wonder why. I find him delightful.”

“He has that effect on some, Mistress.” Arnaud inclined his head.

“She agreed to accompany us on the trip in the fall. I can’t wait.” The Lady’s finger nosed into the anus and Tani jerked, her hips twisting. “Mm, very tight.”

Sophie gulped, wanting to look away, but her eyes refused to budge from the sight before her.

“Ah, ah! Oh!” Tani panted.

“There girl, push back now. That’s it.” The Lady looked up at Escott. “Never use her here, do you?”

Escott shook his head, his eyes glued to the finger slowly disappearing into Tani.

“No, no, don’t tighten, dove. Bear down.” The Lady’s other hand moved between Tani’s thighs, rubbing the woman’s clit in slow circles. “There we are! Good girl, just let me in now.”

When the Lady’s finger was fully bedded, all the way to the last knuckle, she began a slow twisting.

“Very tight here, Escott. I haven’t the faintest idea why you don’t avail yourself of this luscious ass, but you should at least start using the saddle strap.”

Escott smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Arnaud, you should loan him that nice one with the good stout plug built in.” The Lady craned her head from around a curved hip, her finger still moving within the writhing Tani. “Hop down and give me a hand here, Arnaud. I think we should give Escott some pointers for his next stable block visit with this lass.”

* * *

I hope you liked this week’s excerpt. If you can’t wait for more, A Lady and a Maid, is available at all major retailers. For those who’ve asked, a sequel is tentatively scheduled for publication Q4 2014.

Please take a few minutes to crawl around to the other depraved blogs on this week’s hop. You’ll be glad you did:)

Trent

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A Pony Is Inspected #DungeonCrawl — 04/30/14

April 29, 2014 By Trent Evans

Hello my fellow pervs,

This week I’m back with more from my epic fantasy erotic novel, A Lady and a Maid. Sophie’s predicament gets worse by the day at Westwood Manor, and as we rejoin the story, Sophie watches as Lady Miriam inspects the draft animal plowing the field. Only the lovely creature pulling the plow is no animal…

* * * *

Arnaud hailed the farmhand Escott, telling him to bring Tani over to them.

The Lady lightly flicked the flapper of her crop against Sophie’s right breast, fire burning into her skin. The Lady pulled the horse around again to return to Arnaud’s side.

Sophie watched as Escott unchained the woman’s wrists from the shafts. He spoke to her in hushed tones as he did so, the woman’s head hanging low, but Sophie was too far away to make out the words.

“Kind of you to come visit us, Mistress,” Escott said, bowing his head. He held a chain in one hand, the links attached to Tani’s bound together wrists. The woman held her hands in front of her naked sex, her eyes lowered. Sweat continued to pour off of her, mixing with the tears on her cheeks. Escott brushed a strand of hair out of Tani’s eyes, and stroked her chin.

Sophie was confused by his seemingly caring gesture; moments before she’d watched him pitilessly paddle the woman as if she were but a dumb farm animal. With palpable dread, Sophie glanced at the plow, now bereft of its beast. She shuddered.

“How’s she been working today, Escott?” The Lady slid from her saddle, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her jacket.

“Arnaud tells me you’re actually seeing some progress with her.”

Escott smiled, looking upon his harnessed charge with fondness. “She has her good and bad days, Mistress.” He held up the flexible paddle. “But this makes sure she gets her quota done.”

Arnaud nodded, clearly approving of the farmhand’s methods. Tani swallowed, her head hanging.

The Lady looked over at Sophie with a glint in her eye. “Amazing the results one gets from such … encouragement.”

Sophie firmed her jaw. She wouldn’t make things easy for the sadistic noble. Prisoner or not, Sophie still had her dignity.

For now.

The Lady strolled over to Tani, raising her chin with the shaft of the crop. “Does she perform satisfactorily in other ways as well, hmm?”

Escott flicked a glance up at Arnaud. “Mistress — I’m not sure—”
“Oh come now, man,” the Lady said, stroking the crop across Tani’s breasts, stirring the little bells clamped to the nipples. “I know you don’t spend that long in her stall simply to feed her.”

Escott dropped his gaze, flushing. “No, Mistress.”

“Well then,” the Lady said, smiling at the farmhand. “How so? Does she fuck well? Is she obedient?”

“She found it difficult in the stables at first,” Escott said, his hand caressing Tani’s shoulder. “But she adjusted soon enough.”

The Lady tapped the shaft of her crop under a harnessed breast. “Quite a bit more enjoyable stabling this one than one of the horses, eh Escott?”

Arnaud’s laugh rumbled, and the farmhand smiled. Tani whimpered, shifting her weight, her hands twisting in her cuffs.

“Shh now,” the Lady said, stroking the upper slopes of Tani’s breasts. “Don’t fuss, girl. I’m sure your Escott takes very good care of you doesn’t he?”

Sophie could see the deep blush suffusing the bound woman’s face even as she lowered her head, nodding.

“There is one thing, Mistress,” Escott said, his expression turning serious. “We could use more help.”

“Oh?” The Lady walked around to the rear of Tani, looking down.

Sophie hated the Lady being behind her; it almost always resulted in pain. “Yes, we — well — with only one of her, it just takes too long to plow. The oxen are three times faster, and pull a stouter blade.”

The Lady glanced over Tani’s shoulder at Sophie. “Well, when Lord Westwood returns after harvest, we’ll be visiting my friend Farrier. His man Lucien trains women of this sort.” The Lady reached around chucking Tani under a breast, sending the globe bouncing. Tani hung her head lower, but stayed very still.

“Mistress, if you’d like to bring … another.” Escott licked his bottom lip. “Then we could make much better time. More than double the quota Tani manages.”

Lady Westwood leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing Tani’s ear. “What do you say to that my bound beauty?

* * * *

There’ll be more to come next week:) Until then, please have a look at the depravity on display at the other blogs this week. Go ahead. I dare you.

Trent

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A slave’s stroll in the fields… #Dungeon Crawl — 04/09/14

April 8, 2014 By Trent Evans

Hello my fellow pervs,

This week I’m returning to more from my epic fantasy erotic novel, A Lady and a Maid. Sophie’s predicament gets worse by the day at Westwood Manor , and as we join the story, her miserable day is just beginning…

* * * *

House Westwood

Sophie awoke to the sound of the lock turning.

She never in her wildest dreams imagined such an innocuous thing would elicit such dread — and something else. She could hear it as if time had slowed to a crawl: the tumblers moving, the barely audible scree of metal on metal. Then the air pressure in the dark cell that passed for her sleeping quarters changed; a rush of cooler, fresh air to mix with the humid closeness that had surrounded her all night.

“Up, girl. We’ve work to do today.”

She’d come to hate his voice, the overseer. She hated his whip more, but his voice every morning was the first confirmation to her that this really wasn’t just a nightmare.

This existence, this horror, was actually happening.

He kicked at her bunk. “I said, up. Don’t make me get you up.”

How she’d like to claw out his eyes, shove that hated whip down his throat.

She stumbled out onto the cold stone floor, her toes curling. Her wrists were sweaty and itchy under the leather of the cuffs, and she tried in vain to scratch under them, even with her wrists bound together in front of her. The overseer grabbed her by her bare upper arm, and marched her down the narrow central corridor of the servant’s quarters. She could hear some of the other servants still sleeping soundly through the barred windows of their cell doors.

It was early. It was always early.

Arnaud, the overseer, seemed to take great delight in rousing her first, so that Sophie would know the others still slept peacefully while she began her daily toil.

He dragged her through the common dining area and out into the chill morning air of the yard. She felt her breasts moving under the threadbare mockery of her sleeveless shift as he dragged her stumbling form along at a brisk pace. She was thankful she’d not been hobbled, which would have made keeping up with his long strides all but impossible.

She shuddered at the bite of the cold, and he chuckled. “Buck up, girl, you’ll have something to warm you up soon.” His grin was crooked, cruel eyes peering at her from dark, sunken hollows, his black hair was cropped close to his skull. She thought he might once have been a handsome man, but the ravages of time and the corruption of his soul seemed to her to have twisted his features; it had wrung out any warmth, leaving only cold, hard edges.

Peering up at the battlements above, she could see the occasional guard leaning over the stone of the inner rampart, looking down upon them. The sun had only just risen, the grass of the inner courtyard still laced with tendrils of smoky mists. She heard the neighing and grunting of the horses from the stable block, wondering who could be stirring them this early.

Arnaud stopped by the well, pointed to the trough set out nearby. “Get in, girl. Mistress wants you cleaned up.” He unlocked her hands but left the leather cuffs on her wrists. The rectangular trough, constructed of rough-hewn timber was half-filled with water.
He didn’t really expect her to …

“Come on, get on with it. Mistress will be ready in a few minutes. Don’t make her wait.” He shoved at her shoulder, his other hand fingering the leather tail of his whip.

“Sir — it’s too cold.” She looked up pointedly, lowering her voice. “Everyone will — see.”

Arnaud burst out in a peal of laughter so hardy she heard it echo off the interior courtyard walls. “Girl, we’ve seen all you have to offer before. You’re really still bashful about this?” His eyebrows were raised, the mockery and satisfaction in his gaze all too evident.

Cheeks flushing, she lowered her eyes. He stood close to her, the handle of his whip raising her chin so that he could gaze into her eyes. “If you aren’t in that tub in the next ten seconds, you’ll find yourself going in with a tight dozen. Which is it to be, girl?”
Her fingers flew to the buttons of her shift, and she shed the garment, trying to ignore the murmuring she heard from the watchers above as her erect nipples were exposed to the morning light.

She would get through this, as she’d gotten through every other day in this horrid place. One day, one minute, one second at a time.
Thoughts of Owen helped her during the darkest times. She wondering what he was doing at that very moment, wondering if he thought of her, longed for her as she did for him. She thought about how he’d see her now though. Would he see her as damaged, defiled even? Would he still desire her after the hell she’d been put through in this nest of perversion?

But there was more than that wasn’t there? More than she wanted to contemplate. It had to be the influence of this place; her demonic Mistress and her depraved friend the Countess. It had changed her somehow, perhaps in much the same way she thought Arnaud had been changed.

She yelped, violently shaking as she lowered her naked form into the frigid water. She washed herself as fast as she could, the cold seeping deeper into her with every second, stabbing into her skin like daggers. She stood to wash between her legs, her nipples so hard they ached, the icy water running in chilling rivulets down her skin. She flushed crimson at the clapping she heard from the soldiers on the wall. It sounded like there were more of them now, but she didn’t have the heart to look up at them.

Arnaud paced just a few feet from the trough, watching her the whole time. The cold of the water was soon too much, and she scrambled out of the trough, the water sloshing over the side to splash her ankles. She clutched her arms over her breasts, bent over in an effort to preserve what warmth was left in her blood.

Arnaud merely looked down on her a moment, pleasure in his gaze. She couldn’t fathom how he found such joy in her misery, how a soul could be deadened to such an extent? She wanted to feel pity for him, knew she should, but instead, she nursed a burning rage, held tightly in check. Sophie wanted to make him pay for her humiliation, even if he was just a pawn in Lady Westwood’s games. Arnaud was her daily torment, the source of the now routine humiliations that had almost numbed her. He may have only been following orders, but he didn’t need to take such pleasure in doing it. He didn’t need to relish her degradation.

“Please, Sir. I — n-need … ”

He threw a cloth at her. It was merely a swatch of thick cotton, really, but it would have to do. She vigorously scrubbed the icy water from her skin, trying to ignore the fact that she stood naked in a courtyard in broad daylight, the avid gaze of dozens of men upon her. She would cry her shame out later, alone. Now though, she wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

As she bent to dry her legs, Arnaud laid her shift over her shoulder, flicking a dripping nipple as he did so. “Meet me in the stables, girl,” he said, walking away, twirling the deadly length of his whip.

Dread uncoiled in her insides; nothing good happened in the dark stable block. She had enough memories of her torment there to last a lifetime. Still, she knew she’d be the worse for it if she didn’t obey. She’d learned it paid to be obedient; it meant less pain, less humiliation.

So Sophie righted her shift as best she could, her eyes downcast to avoid meeting the gaze of the guards, and made her way to the gloom of the stable block.

As a young girl, she’d loved horses, the atmosphere of stables always engendering feelings of excitement and adventure in her. What could be better than bounding onto your strong steed to fly like the wind across the countryside?

Now, she fought the sick dread that sank in her belly that merely setting foot in the stable elicited. She walked down the dim corridor that ran down the center of the building, looking into each stall as she passed. She found Arnaud in the large open room that served as the tack and harnessing area for the draft horses.

She froze when she realized he wasn’t alone.

“Ah, there is our charge,” Lady Westwood said, just climbing up onto the saddle of her favored horse, Osiric. “Care to take a stroll this fine morning, my dear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Sophie whispered, every ounce of her being wanting something, anything, other than that.

“Splendid! Unfortunately, your new admirer the Countess won’t be joining us. She asked me to bid you a fond goodbye though.” The Lady turned to Arnaud. “The Countess — and Sophie — will be accompanying us on the fall retreat to Farrier’s stead, though. They will have a happy reunion then, I’m sure.”

Arnaud grinned, enjoying Sophie’s discomfiture.

Sophie dared a glance up at the Lady. The noblewoman was dressed in a deep tan colored jacket, the collar lined with fur. The jacket buttoned up to the base of her slender throat, and was attractively form fitting, highlighting the elegant curves of the woman’s body. Her ivory jodhpurs, tucked into the gleaming black leather of riding boots, seemed nearly skin tight. Her rich chocolate tresses were tied back into a thick braid. As was the case the first time Sophie had encountered her, the Lady was armed with a short sword, the elaborately decorated scabbard crossing her hip. She held the reins in one gloved hand, the terrifying length of a riding crop in the other. Her brilliant smile, on any other person, would have been dazzling. Sophie found it chillingly predatory; the cat finally spying her chosen victim.

Arnaud approached her with a coil of rope in his hand, and Sophie’s heart began to gallop. He manacled her wrist cuffs together, affixing the rope to the cuffs in several knots. He finished by using the rope to yank hard on her wrists, ensuring she was securely bound. He smiled at her, patting her cheek. She suppressed the urge to bite his hand.

Arnaud handed the length of rope attached to Sophie up to the Lady. She wrapped the rope around the pommel of her saddle, pulling on it to seat it well. Arnaud made sure the Lady’s saddle was secure, then climbed up on his own horse, a black brute that dwarfed the Lady’s swift-footed steed.

“Let’s have a walk,” the Lady said, winking at Sophie and shaking the reins. “I’ve something to show you.”

The horse moved out of the stables, the rope hauling on Sophie’s arms. The leather of the cuffs bit into her wrists harshly, and she chewed into her cheek to prevent crying out. In order to keep up she was nearly running, walking just wasn’t fast enough. Determined not to be a victim — or at the very least not appear to be a victim — Sophie raised her chin, intent on preserving what little dignity she had left. She consoled herself with the fact they’d at least allowed her clothing!

The two riders moved out across the now bright courtyard, and passed through the main gate. Sophie kept her chin firm, but couldn’t help but lower her eyes as she passed some of the guards. She felt their heated gazes crawling all over her, especially her traitorous bouncing under her shift. The cursed rope raised her arms too high to allow her to shield the globes, and now their languid movement was there for all to admire. The injustice of her treatment, as it had countless times before, galled her, and she had to swallow down the bilious unfairness of it all. She wasn’t sure how things could get worse for her, dragged along behind a horse like some mangy dog.

She soon found out how wrong she was.

The Lady and Arnaud moved their horses to a slow trot, and Sophie had no choice but to run after them, terrified she might her footing and be dragged through the dirt by the merciless rope. Soon her lungs were burning, and she was breathing hard, sweat pouring from her body under the early morning sun. The riders took to one of the dirt tracks that led out from the central manor like spokes on a wheel. Cropland stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Here and there were the simple, thatched or sod-roofed huts that the bonded farmers lived in. Pens for various livestock were attached to the huts, and occasionally she saw farmhands, wearing their distinctive broad straw hats.

She remembered the times she’d worked alongside the hands at her father’s farm, sharing a much needed drink from their canteens. Owen had always managed to get himself placed nearby, even if it was a broad field being planted by dozens of hands. Soon, she realized it hadn’t been coincidence that kept him near. Eventually, she realized, she wouldn’t have had it any other way, even if she’d never tell him.

How stupid she’d been!

She stumbled, and the rope went taught, pulling on her arms with an aching twinge of pain. A yank much harder than that, and she feared she’d find herself with a dislocated shoulder.

“Pay attention, girl,” Lady Westwood said, twisting around in her seat and smacking a hand onto the taut rope. “Look to your left.”
Arnaud’s chuckle was just audible above the clop of hooves.

Sophie scanned the field to her left. There was nothing planted yet, and she wondered if it might be fallow. Then she spotted something. She tilted her head, ignoring the cruel hauling on her wrists.

“What … ” she whispered.

The riders left turned on to a smaller track that passed between individual plots, drawing her closer to the confusing sight in the field. The Lady and Arnaud slowed their mounts to an ambling walk. Sophie would have been grateful for the comparative respite for her exhausted legs and burning lungs, but what greeted her in the field beyond banished those thoughts from her confused, fearful mind.

There was a woman and a man in that field. The woman was naked, her flesh fair pouring with sweat.

No, she wasn’t entirely naked.

As Sophie drew nearer, she could see that the woman had some sort of harness about her, black leather clasping her tightly round her waist and hips. Her very long, rather pretty hair was tied back with a ribbon of white, the bright color striking against her tanned, sweat-slicked skin and silky black of her hair.

Lady Westwood and Arnaud pulled their horses to a halt, Osiris shaking his head side to side. Sophie lowered her arms as the rope grew slack, sighing with the relaxed tension in her limbs. But the two figures in the field commanded her attention.

Sophie blinked, not quite believing what she was seeing, the mortified shock (and if she were honest with herself, the fascination) making it hard for her to get her mind around what she saw.

The woman was pulling a plow.

Attached to her hips were metal shafts that reached down to a stout length of wood, itself banded in what looked like iron or rusted steel. Three heavy metal wedges encrusted with soil dug into the ground directly behind her, leaving shallow, uneven furrows in her wake. Straps from the woman’s harness ran up and across her torso, framing and squeezing full breasts. Her generous, muscular buttocks flexed and bunched behind her as she struggled with the heavy burden. Her hands gripped the bars tightly, her wrists wrapped in thick cuffs that were chained to the shafts. The slim muscles of her forearms stood out in tense relief against the strain of pulling the plow. Thin leather straps wrapped like snakes around and down the woman’s powerful thighs. Heavy boots covered her feet, ending just below the well defined, bunching calves. A thick black leather collar wrapped around the throat, forcing the woman to keep her chin up. A faint chiming could be heard on the warm breeze.

Sophie swallowed in sympathy when she realized were the sound was coming from. Small shiny bells were clipped neatly to the turgid nipples; the constriction of the clips had turned the tender flesh a dusky, inflamed red.

A deeply tanned man, his arms corded with sinew walked alongside the struggling female, speaking to her in soft tones. He was at least a head taller than the woman, his faded indigo shirt plastered to a broad, sweaty back. The wide straw hat shrouded his face in shadow under the high mid-morning sun.

Arnaud raised a hand. “Escott, come—”

“No, Arnaud,” the Lady said in a low voice. She extended her crop toward Sophie. “Look at the girl. She can’t take her eyes off them.”

Averting her gaze from the toiling woman, Sophie chanced a glance at her cruel Lady. The noblewoman was beaming, mirth dancing in her eyes. Arnaud watched Sophie too, a finger tracing the braided leather of his whip.

Sophie looked back at the farmhand and the harnessed woman, unable to stand the cold regard of her Lady and the hated overseer.
The woman was struggling, bending over almost double, the blades of the plow unmoving in the dirt. She jerked forward once, twice, her buttocks squeezing mightily, but the blades appeared to be stuck fast.

“Ach, girl,” her tall companion said, unclipping a broad piece of flexible leather from his waist. He clasped the girl by her upper arm, his tight grip turning her bronzed flesh white, and stooped down slightly. He tapped the leather against her protuberant buttocks. A warning.

Sophie noticed that the lower half of the woman’s broad buttocks shone a congested red, unlike the rest of her sun-kissed skin.
The woman strained harder, grunting. Her lips pulled back, exposing the white of clenched teeth. Still, the plow refused to budge.
The leather cracked against the woman’s buttocks, a shiver passing across the flesh of her haunches. She yelped and the cords of her hamstrings stood out starkly as she continued to struggle.

“Come on, Tani. You can do it now” The man’s voice was low, urgent. “Pull.”

“Please,” the girl grunted.

Sophie could see a tear track down the girl’s cheek to catch at the corner of her mouth.

The paddle slashed up again, the sound echoing like a shot across the empty field, lifting the dense flesh of the bottom in its agonizing embrace. The woman keened, her voice gurgling as she threw her head back. Her buttocks clenched tight, loosened, then tightened once more.

Lady Westwood’s white steed blocked her view of the woman and Sophie looked up, squinting against the sun.

“Interest you does it, Sophie? Would you like a term in the fields with our trusty Escott?”

Arnaud laughed, reaching out to stroke his horse’s neck

“No, Mistress,” Sophie whispered, trembling at the very thought of it.

“Then you will listen and obey, won’t you?” She could hear the threat in her Lady’s smooth voice. “But there is something else isn’t there, girl?”

Oh no, please.

The Lady leaned down, her crop stroking Sophie’s cheek, the leather cold and menacing. “If I were to run my fingers through that juicy cunt of yours, I might find a veritable lake there, wouldn’t I?”

Sophie gasped. “No.”

The Lady smiled, the flat end of the crop playing over the tips of Sophie’s breasts. She held her breath, trembling. She felt so helpless with her arms bound to the horse. If she could just get the rope free somehow, she could run. But where would she run to? Home? She didn’t even know where home was. When Miriam had taken her, Sophie had been lashed securely to the rear of her Lady’s saddle as if she were so much cargo, blindfolded and gagged, then hauled away from her beloved farm to the hellish manor. She’d only known in the most general sense where Westwood Manor actually was — but she hadn’t a clue how to get back home from there.

* * * *

There’ll be more to come next week:) Until then, please have a look at the depravity on display at the other blogs this week. Go ahead. I dare you.

Trent

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A maidservant renders … service — #Dungeon Crawl — 04/02/14

April 1, 2014 By Trent Evans

Greetings Dungeon Crawlers,

This week I decided to return to my fantasy erotic novel, A Lady and a Maid. In this week’s clip, we move to the Frontier and the Palace of Peace where we find Lord Andrus Westwood, his Captain, Lawrence, and their unfortunate companion, the servant, Ryndra…

* * * *

The Frontier

Lord Andrus Westwood dropped his looking glass, reclined back into the worn oaken seat ensconced in the alcove high atop the observation tower. It was probably unnecessary to use the glass in the pitch black of the night, but he thought it at least set a good example for the men on duty in the other three watchtowers. He didn’t need to be up there in the windswept heights above the sprawling Palace of Peace; any number of his men would gladly have taken watch duty for him. Something was bothering him though. It was an unease, a nagging doubt that kept him on watch — despite the fact that he outranked every soldier in the Palace.

It was his job to protect the Frontier, and until his unsettling foreboding abated, he’d do it personally.

The palace itself was the size of a small city, but from the soaring viewpoint of the tower, it was just so much scenery; a cacophony of light, sound, and smell that had no concrete form, a mass of humanity, far below. The palace was the largest of the three main hubs of the Frontier. It was constructed in response to a previous Incursion that nearly wiped out humanity. The humans that remained resolved to never again be caught unawares, undefended, and the Frontier fortifications were the result.

Standing, he stretched his tall, lanky frame, a grimace crossing his features as he worked the stiffness from his muscular legs. A gust of wind played between the four watchtowers, washing over his face, the dark whiskers of his bearded chin stirring. His deep brown eyes squinted at the cold bite of the breeze. It was time to warm up.

He picked up the hooded torch that provided his only illumination there high above the palace, using the leather hood to signal to the other towers that he was going off watch. The other towers would scan his side of the palace until his return. Every minute of warning of an impending incursion was a minute that would save lives. He knew it better than most, but all the men assigned watch duty took it extremely seriously — it was after all their families too in harm’s way below, along with everyone else.

Making his way down the dimly lit staircase that spiraled up within each of the stone watchtowers, Andrus was grateful for the shelter from the chill night breeze. He opened the door to the warm, candlelit watch quarters, his Captain, Lawrence kneeling on one of the bunks.

“Finish up with her and join me, Lawrence,” Andrus said, his lips curved in a weary smile.

“Yes, Sir,” Lawrence said, his voice labored. The captain was bent over the crouching form of a naked girl. Ryndra, the maidservant they’d brought with them to the Frontier had caught the roving eye of his captain. Plucked from her normal scullery position at Westwood, her new duties were comprised mainly of helping Andrus and his captain make their long hours on the Frontier seem a little less lonely.

Andrus appreciated the servant’s firm breasts, agile tongue and warm, soft body. Judging by the vigorous thrusting of his hips and the heavy panting of the prostrate girl, Captain Lawrence appeared to be appreciating her attributes even more.

Stripping off the studded leather armor, Andrus dropped the gleaming steel leg greaves on the floor next to the fire. He slumped into a deep, stuffed chair, his one concession to comfort that no normal soldier would be allowed. Across the room, the girl’s breathless cries rose, interspersed with groaned curses from the rutting captain.

Andrus hated his time off duty. The watch gave him something to occupy his mind, a way to stave off the melancholy that threatened to shroud him in suffocating darkness. He knew he should be concerned about the preternatural quiet all along the Frontier. Quiet was never good. But alone —or nearly so, the nearby copulating couple notwithstanding — his mind invariably went to his wife.

Miriam.

He feared she was lost to him, in spirit, if not in body. She’d changed. The vivacious, adventurous woman he’d wooed and wed as a young man, had somehow transformed herself. She was just as beautiful as she’d been then, perhaps more so, but that wasn’t what pained him. Her spirit, or more specifically, her lack of spirit was his worry. She’d grown twisted and sadistic over the years, and in that time a cold gulf had developed between husband and wife. Andrus had no quarrel with sadism — when exercised with some restraint. He enjoyed the sight of a bound woman in his bed, her ass raised high for the agony of a tight twenty with the cane. He understood well the appeal of exercising sexual dominance over another person.

But what Miriam indulged in … was something else. He had to keep close eye on her, more than a Lord should need to. She was constantly pushing limits, chafing under the limitations of his dictates. He’d even had to take a husband’s prerogative, and spank her himself a time or two. Afterward, she’d seemed more malleable, more willing to see things his way. However, all too soon, she would drift off course again, succumbing to her obsessions. He despaired that there was no going back to the Miriam he still loved, but no longer recognized. He knew that things would come to some sort of resolution upon his return to Westwood in four weeks time. He only hoped that his fears were unfounded.

The rider that had arrived with news two nights ago didn’t encourage him though. As he’d suspected, she was continuing with her unhealthy obsession with tormenting the commoner farmer, Clayton McClearn. He didn’t understand the fixation she had on him. He’d attempted to draw it out of her before his departure for the Frontier, but she’d demurred, saying his concerns were misplaced. He had offered to have McClearn summoned to Westwood for a meeting with them both, but she’d laughed off the suggestion as foolish. Frustrated, he’d left with strict instructions to her to leave the man and his family in peace. He’d have to deal with her disobedience upon his return

Lawrence, his shoulder-length blond hair swinging at his back, walked by Andrus’ chair, sitting in his own on the other side of the fire. He crossed his legs, his shirt only partially buttoned, sweat gleaming on a well-muscled chest.

“Had enough of her for now, Captain? You’ve been doing more fucking than soldiering on this trip.”

Lawrence stiffened, sitting straighter in his chair. “Milord, I—”

“Carry on,” Andrus said, waving a calming hand. “I’d rather you get it out of your system now, before something happens. I need you on the line fresh if, Gods forbid, the nocturne decide to move. And that’s another thing — it’s ‘Andrus’, out here. Ballocks to titles.”

Lawrence sat back in his chair, finishing the buttons on his shirt. “Thank you, Milord — Andrus. You know you have me, whatever comes.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Captain.” Andrus nodded, a hand extended toward the girl. “So, did she restore you?”

Lawrence smiled, his prominent canines gleamed in the candlelight, lending him the look of a satisfied wolf. “That she did.”

The girl knelt in a compact posture on the bed, a thin white cotton top her only covering. Her gleaming eyes dominated her pretty face, the orbs reflecting the flicker of the firelight.

“Come here, girl,” Andrus said, turning in his chair, beckoning her to him.

She hesitated a moment, no doubt trying to ascertain what her Lord had in mind.

“You’ve nothing to fear, girl. Come, sit with me.”

She moved to his side, her hands clasped before her, the strong smell of Lawrence’s semen mingling with the alluring musk of her sex. He drew her down upon his lap, tucking her head under his chin, a broad hand clasping the curve of her naked hip. her body was tense, her hands twisting together.

Andrus looked down upon her, a smile on his lips. “You’ve been hard used, Ryndra. You’ve naught to fear from me. Take your ease, dove.” He held her tighter to his broad chest, nuzzling the girl’s straw colored hair.

Relaxing, she sighed, laying a hand upon his breast. “Thank you, Milord.”

He held her for a few minutes, the intent gaze of Lawrence upon Ryndra the entire time. Perhaps his randy Captain was not quite as sated as he’d initially seemed? Andrus tucked the hair back behind Ryndra’s delicate ear, his rough fingers stroking the tender flesh of her earlobe.

“Do you need me to take watch, Sir?” Lawrence sat forward as if to rise, a deliberate nod of his head toward Ryndra.

Andrus shook his head, his lowered hand signaling the Captain to stay.

Lawrence sat back once more, his long fingers drumming the handle of his chair. “Anything new on the towers?”
Andrus shrugged, his hand caressing the breathtakingly soft cheek of the girl in his lap. She was a lovely girl indeed, and not for the first time, he was glad his Captain had pressed her to come along on the trip. His cock began to stir, and despite the fact that Ryndra was nearly half his age, he didn’t feel like fighting the rise of his desire. It was a way not to think. It meant he hadn’t succumbed to his melancholy.

Yet.

“Turn, girl. No, facing your Captain.”

Her limbs were tense, but she obeyed, allowing Andrus to splay her thighs open upon his. Her sex was fully exposed, something not lost on Lawrence, whose possessive gaze took in the lovely sight.

“What did I miss while I was up in the clouds freezing my balls off, Lawrence?”

The captain’s gaze rose, but just for a moment. “Laird’s patrol is late.”

Andrus snorted. “So, in other words, the usual.”

Lawrence nodded, sitting forward, his elbows braced on his thighs, his gaze focused once more on the girl’s displayed pussy.

“Maybe not so usual, Andrus. He’s two days late.”

That was something else entirely. “Did he take the northern leg?”

“Aye.”

Andrus slipped a broad hand down over the girl’s sex, the seething heat of her flesh hot against his palm. She stiffened in his clutch as he ground the heel of his hand against her clit.

“She likes that,” Lawrence said, smiling.

“So she does,” Andrus murmured. He kissed the girl’s ear, and she turned her head toward his lips.

“I’ve a retrieval party out looking for them,” Lawrence said, his posture straight, his flies straining against a now obvious erection. “But the last time any patrol was more than a day overdue, they never returned.”

“Did his route take him as far as The Ford?” The girl inhaled sharply as Andrus slipped a finger into the soft sheath of her pussy.

“It was supposed to, but we’ve had riders arrive from there saying they never laid eyes on him.”

“If I know Laird, he’s probably passed out drunk, knee deep in slave girls. Isn’t there a House Nightshade at The Ford?”

“Aye, but I doubt that’s where he hides. We’d have heard something. That man is as subtle as a storm. Somebody would have talked.”

Andrus thrust a second finger into Ryndra’s clenching sex, the girl moaning at the stretching. She was so petite that he had little doubt her narrow passage was sore tested by the width of his thick questing digits. The wet sound of his fingers plundering her increased in volume as he thrust faster, the girl shifting in his lap, her hand clasped around his corded forearm.

“Do I need to bind you?” His voice rumbled against her hair. “You know better.”

She shook her head, dropping her hand from his arm.

“Good girl. I think I have a better use for those hands of yours. Lift your shirt.”

She turned her head to look at him, her blue eyes uncertain, the corners of her pretty lips turned down.

“Do as I say, Ryndra. I shouldn’t have to ask twice.”

Her hands flew to the snug hem of the cotton, lifting it slowly.

“All the way now, let your Captain see those breasts of yours. Perhaps he’ll want to suckle them? You’ll let him if he does.”

She turned her face from Lawrence, nuzzling her head under Andrus’ bearded chin, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

“Good”, Andrus said, making sure the fabric was clear above the swells of her youthful bosom. Her high breasts were not large, but were perfectly suited to her petite frame. The nipples were a deep pink, the areolas crinkled. He stroked the tender flesh with a finger, watching the nipple draw tight.

“Andrus … ” Lawrence moved to stand, his hands moving at his flies.

“Go to him, dove,” Andrus whispered into her ear. “Serve him well. I’ll be watching.”

She slipped from his lap to kneel before the Captain. Her hands went between his legs, and Andrus watched her slowly move her head as she took Lawrence into her mouth. Her round little bottom swayed as her movements became urgent, the clutch of the Captain’s hands in her long hair growing more insistent.

Andrus could wait no longer, his cock painfully twisted in his trousers. He stood, opening his flies and moved to stand close behind the girl, gazing upon her as she serviced the Captain. Her lips were stretched tight around Lawrence’s cock as she bobbed up and down the stiff shaft, gleaming saliva leaking from the corners of her mouth. Andrus lay a hand against her hollowed cheek, caressing her, and she moaned around the hard shaft. Lawrence gritted his teeth, his hands clasping her hair in two fists.

Andrus nodded to Lawrence, and the Captain used her hair to pull her off of his cock. She peered up at him, confused.

“My Lord, what can I—”

Lawrence sat down again, drawing her between his thighs, his fist entwined in her blonde tresses. His long, wet cock bobbed as he shifted forward, and she bent over him. The posture threw out her lovely soft bottom, beckoning Andrus. He dropped to his knees behind her, and laid the throbbing shaft of his penis across her buttock. She froze.

“Keep going, Ryndra. I didn’t tell you to stop,” Lawrence said, his voice thick. He pulled her further downward onto his cock, and she gagged as it struck the back of her throat.

Andrus ran his hands over the girl’s bottom, savoring the silky smoothness of her flesh. She had surprisingly generous buttocks for so slight a girl. He squeezed one of the globes, enjoying the feel of its soft weight in his hand. She wriggled her hips at him, and he slapped her bottom in response. The muscles of her trim thighs clenched at the sting, and she murmured around the Captain’s cock.

Andrus placed a palm on each of her cheeks and yawned them apart, fully exposing her charms to his gaze. The cleft was still slick with oil, her dainty rosette an inflamed, swollen red, still gaping open slightly. The Captain’s semen leaked down from the well-used opening, her perineum wet with his seed.

Andrus chuckled, glancing up at Lawrence. “No wonder she was making so much noise.”

Lawrence grinned, the cords of muscle standing out on his neck, his face flushed.

Andrus moved his hard cock down, the broad head leaving a sticky trail across her buttock. His cock brushed her cleft, the meatus just kissing the girl’s sore bottom hole, and she tightened.

“Easy, dove,” Andrus said, his hand stroking the curve of her hip. “Your Captain has served you well there already. I want something different.”

He drew the head of his cock through the soft folds of Ryndra’s pussy, up, then down. She moaned around the Captain, who growled at her to keep sucking.

Andrus eased forward until his cock was bedded fully, his hard legs tight against her trembling thighs. She shuddered against him, the sounds of her sucking the Captain’s cock filling the room.

“Gods! This cunt is tight.” He thrust languidly, gazing at his shaft glistening with her juices as it pistoned in and out of her sex. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes, inhaling deeply of her scent.

Lawrence grunted, thrusting his hips quickly, Ryndra gagging again as he drove deep. Andrus grasped her around her incredibly narrow waist, pulling her more fully onto him. The two men pounded into her, rocking her slight body between them.

The first to break, Lawrence held her face down upon him as he groaned out his climax. She coughed and sputtered when he finally let her up off of his spent cock, the brisk thrusting of Andrus continuing to jostle her.

Andrus held out little longer than the Captain. The Lord groaned, his balls tingling as he poured his seed into her. He kneaded the girl’s buttocks as he knelt over her, panting.

Taking a handful of Ryndra’s long blonde hair, Lawrence used it to clean his flaccid cock, leaving her with a pat on her flushed cheek. She hung her head, trembling, waiting for Andrus to catch his breath. He finally released her with a gentle smack to her bottom, and he stood, tucking himself back into his flies. He watched her pull her shirt back down over her breasts, glancing up at him as she did so.

He smiled at her, nodding his head. She inclined her head in reply, and retreated to the bunk she’d come from, curling up on her side to rest, the swollen lips of her pussy glistening with his semen.

Andrus slumped back into his chair, taking a deep drag of mead from the cup Lawrence offered. He stared into the dancing orange hues of the popping fire, wondering again what to do with his Miriam. What was she up to? Why did he feel guilty for using the servant girl, when he had a very good idea of what Miriam got up to with the servants in his absence?

Lastly, he wondered where in God’s name that idiot Laird had gone…

* * * *

I just realized that there is very little actual BDSM in this clip … which is quite unlike me. Hmm. Hopefully, you’ll excuse me for being off my perv game this week. (I’m sure nobody actually read this far anyway, but if you did, thank you:)

Now, please take a few minutes to visit the other blogs sharing their depravity with us this week.

Happy Crawling!

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#Dungeon Crawl — 05/21/14

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Bristol’s Rebellion

by

Trent Evans

Tani’s intimate examination… #Dungeon Crawl — 05/07/14

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Trent Evans

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