Master/slave — Page 2

#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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Saturday Spankings — 04/26/14

April 25, 2014 By Trent Evans

Hello Spankos,

I’m continuing with with more from the upcoming full-length D/s novel “The Change”.

Kiehl is watching, shocked, as his friend Tom demonstrates his caning technique … on his own wife.

Yes, Kiehl knows this is wrong. But if loving this is wrong, Kiehl doesn’t want to be right… (+100 pts for anyone who can name the 80’s Eddie Murphy comedy that’s paraphrased from)

* * * *

The cane tapped again, lower this time, across the tender junction of thigh and buttock. Sharon jerked as the rattan snapped in once more.

“Felt that one,” Tom murmured. “Stay still now.”

Sharon froze as the third stroke landed, harder this time, lacing a rapidly pinkening line of hurt between the first two. The earlier strokes had left swollen tramlines, no doubt throbbing and painful, crossing the breadth of Sharon’s round bottom.

Kiehl was amazed that such a slight instrument, wielded so lightly, was capable of causing such a reaction in the prostrate woman.

The next stroke was laid across the upper thighs, and Sharon cried out, her voice jarringly loud in the quiet room. Tom lowered the cane and fingered the weals, running a fingertip along the most swollen tramline. “Very nice. You should feel these for a few days, dear.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sharon said, voice quavering.

* * * *

I hope you liked this week’s installment! Wow, this week’s was … rather mean. To the shock of absolutely nobody, I wasn’t quite able to keep it at eight lines.

Before you go, please take some time to visit the other stops in this week’s hop. More hotness just waiting to be perused. Enjoy!

More to come next week:)

Trent

“Sophie’s Ordeal Continues…” — Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop

March 11, 2014 By Trent Evans

Hello Dungeon Crawlers,

This week, I’m continuing with more from the depravity filled epic-fantasy erotica title A Lady And A Maid. The two noblewomen from last week, Lady Miriam and her friend Countess Sandra, have just pulled Miriam’s plaything from her cage…

* * * *

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“Discipline on Display” — Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop!

February 25, 2014 By Trent Evans

Hello Fellow Pervs,

This is the kick-off week for the Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop hosted by Romancing The Kink! To be blunt, Sheri and I haven’t a clue how well this thing is going to go off, but we’re crazy enough to plow ahead anyway:)

We both noticed a paucity of weekly blog hops for BDSM-flavored work, so we thought: “Hell, rather than crashing other peoples’ places with our depraved prose, pictures, and ruminations, let’s just open up a cold, drafty dungeon of our very own!”

Okay, we didn’t really say that, but it was close. Where was I? Right, my first entry.

I decided to post a scene from a fantasy erotica novel of mine called, A Lady And A Maid. This is a twisted, pain and pleasure drenched epic fantasy and paranormal cross-genre … thingie. Anyway, I loved writing it, and a sequel is on the way by the end of this year (God willing).

In this scene, two of the cruel, jaded nobles that hold an iron grip on the realm of Muurland witness the unique way a peasant husband addresses a disagreement between he and his wife — and there are plenty of witnesses to said “addressing”…

“Discipline on Display”

Trent Evans

The carriage bounced violently, nearly throwing Sandra from her seat. She rapped on the dark wood ceiling with her fist. “For Goddess’ sake Raffer, watch the road! You’re shaking me to death back here!”

“Apologies, Countess,” her driver said, the sound muffled through the wood.

In truth, though the rough ride was indeed unpleasant, she was angry that the jostling of the atrocious “road” had interrupted her pleasant reverie. Her husband had been an absolute animal that morning — so unlike his usual inattentiveness. She’d taken to indulging him in his little games, allowing him to spank her buttocks, and tie her hands and feet to the bed before thrusting himself to ecstasy within her clutching sex. He’d even lapped at her cunt until she’d screamed down the walls. Such was a most rare occurrence with her husband of late though, he being less often predisposed to what would most readily satisfy his rampant cock.

Though his unexpected amorous attentions had caused her to miss her planned rendezvous with the captain of their estate guard, she’d consoled herself with the not one but two orgasms she’d unexpectedly been allowed at her husband’s bidding. Still, her husband’s unexpected use of her had delayed her. Her dashing, blond captain with his thick cock and hard hands would just have to cool his heels until next time.

The carriage turned off the dirt road, the hooves of the horses clopping on cobblestones. They’d arrived at Westwood Manor.

The carriage followed the roadway through a tall, looming portcullis, which opened onto the green grass of an inner courtyard. The bleached stone walls soared overhead, engendering a feeling of both grandeur and security. Heavily armed men patrolled the crenelated battlements above, the bright red uniforms of the garrison soldiers a striking contrast to the austere gray of the stone fortifications.

The Countess gathered her rich burgundy cloak about her lithe form, allowing the driver to help her down from the coach. The sun was bright, but the air was crisp. Fall was coming fast to the Westlands of Muurland.

Raffer steered the coach over to the stable block, trailing a cloud of dust in his wake, leaving the Countess alone in the courtyard.

Countess Sandra Holstenborg was a regular visitor to Westwood Manor, the familiar nods and curtsies from passing footmen, grooms and maids alike attesting to that fact. She was happy to be there, as always, and was looking forward to some much needed leisure time with her friend, Lady Miriam Westwood.

A crowd’s loud cheer arose, echoing off the battlement walls. The Countess turned toward the sound.

“They’re getting an early start this morning, Sandra. Looks like you’re just in time.”

“Miriam!” The Countess spun about, rushing to her friend and embracing her, planting a warm kiss on her soft lips.

The Lady was wrapped in a dark gray ankle length coat, the collar lined with a soft ash colored fur. Her sable locks were wrapped atop her head, a pair of neat carved hair sticks holding it in place. Her radiant grin warmed Sandra’s heart, if not her body, chilled as it was from the long carriage ride. Sandra pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

“Let’s see if we can find something to warm us up shall we?” Miriam winked, extending her arm to her friend.

Beautiful as it was, the huge courtyard at Westwood Manor had more practical uses, such as the spectacle that greeted the two noblewomen. Tucked into a corner of the yard, next to one of the stable buildings stood a simple wooden gibbet, and two sets of worn stocks. A crowd of commoners had gathered round the gibbet, cheering and shouting out ribald comments on the spectacle. A young woman, her dress rucked up to the small of her back embraced the stout wooden pole of the gibbet, her arms lashed around the weathered oak by means of several iron chains. Her sweat-soaked blonde locks hung limply down her back as she sobbed her present misery away.

A brawny man of perhaps thirty stood to one side. In one hand, he held a multi-thonged lash of soft leather, while with the other his fingers traced the patchwork of pink and crimson weals patterned over the forlorn girl’s bare buttocks. She stamped a foot, the generous flesh of her bottom shaking as he pinched a particularly inflamed lash mark between work hardened fingers.

“Think you’ve had enough, Emma?” He turned to the crowd, his eyes flashing. “What say you?”

The crowd cheered once more. An older man standing near the two nobles, dipped his head toward the handsome woman standing with him. “A fine flogging there, eh Clara? Reminds me of the last time I had you at the pole too many years ago.” He grasped the woman’s hand, and she blushed furiously.

The man with the flogger turned and laced another stroke across the proffered buttocks, eliciting a cry of anguish from the bound woman. She clenched her blazing bottom, her feet pounding the dirt.

“What’s happening,” Sandra whispered to Miriam. “Why is she being whipped in public?”

Miriam shrugged. “It’s one of the traditions I’ve decided to revive. Back when my grandfather ruled these lands, before the magistrate system, the commoners would come to this square to air grievances and work out compromises for their problems. A sort of town meeting, you could say”

Sandra raised an eyebrow, her heart beating faster at the enticing spectacle. “Some compromise.”

Miriam smiled. “They do have creative ways of resolving their, ah, disagreements. The crowds love it though, and they’re grateful for the entertainment.”

“What’s that poor thing done to deserve such a skipping?” In truth, Sandra couldn’t really object, for the sight had her heart pounding and her clit singing. The bound young woman was blessed with a well-fleshed backside, and the sight of the inflamed weals across the smooth firm flesh was a pleasing visual tableau indeed.

“Seems she made a scene in the market earlier this week,” Miriam said, laying a hand on Sandra’s shoulder. “Her husband — that’s him whipping her — wanted her to make amends with one of the vendors at the market. Apparently, he hoped the public setting would prevent his headstrong wife from causing an uproar. He was wrong.”

“What was it all about? Must have been serious to occasion such a penalty.”

Miriam chuckled. “I suppose it depends upon your perspective. It seems the vendor at the marketplace was a former competitor for the husband’s affections, and he wanted to be able to do business with her. Well, his wife would have nothing of it.”

“I can certainly understand that. Cruel man to ask that of her.”

Miriam grinned. “Indeed. I think it’s diabolical — and delicious.”

Sandra blinked at her friend. “You do?”

“Oh yes, Sandra. It’s obvious he just wanted an excuse to display her charms in public and thrash her bottom for her. I mean look at the girl. She’s delightful.”

“Yes,” Sandra breathed. “She is at that.”

Sandra wondered if the young woman might be paid a visit by a few of Miriam’s soldiers in the near future. The Lady’s tastes were well known to her subjects. Judging by Miriam’s avid, dark-eyed gaze as she watched the flogging, the punished wife might soon find herself the newest addition to the Lady Westwood’s retinue of “serving girls”.

The man, running his hand over the bright red stinging buttocks of his wife turned to the crowd once more. “Would anyone else like to address my wife’s misdeeds? Anyone?”

The bound woman snapped her head around, looking at her husband over her shoulder. “Kenneth, please no!” Her face was a mess. Tears drenched her flushed cheeks, her fair hair matted to her wet forehead. She cried out as he cracked a heavy palm across her backside, the flesh quivering with the blow.

“Quiet, Em! You know better than to speak. Face forward now.”

His wife turned her face away, resting her forehead against the post. Her back hitched as she wept.

“My arm grows tired,” the husband called out, raising the flogger. “Surely, there is another who can deliver the last fair dose of discipline she so obviously needs?”

Miriam clutched the Countess’s hand in hers. “Watch this.”

“I will try.” A mature woman of perhaps forty, her dark hair flowing over a form-fitting dress of teal cotton stepped forward from the murmuring crowd. “I think I can give her what she needs.”

The crowd roared its approval, several hands clapping the woman on the back in encouragement. The heat between Sandra’s thighs increased as she noted the firm set of the man’s strong jaw, and the glittering gaze under prominent brows. She could see steel in the depths of his eyes as he smiled at the woman who’d stepped forward. There was a heated familiarity there.

“That’s her,” Miriam whispered.

“Who?”

“That woman is her former competitor. The woman from the market.”

Sandra gasped, even as her pussy leaked a bead of moisture down her thighs. Diabolical indeed. “That poor woman must have a hard go of it married to such a brute.”

“Oh, let’s not protest overmuch,” Miriam said, elbowing her friend. “He’s a fine specimen too, Sandra. She’s lucky to be in such capable hands.”

She wouldn’t argue it, for she was drawn inescapably to hard, even cruel men. Men such as her own husband — bastard though he sometimes could be — were irresistible to her. Sandra herself possessed the same streak of cruelty, though it was not quite as pronounced as the outright sadism her friend Miriam was known for. She’d long ago stopped asking herself why she was the way she was, and just accepted it as the way of her nature.

The woman gripped the flogger as the husband stepped forward to stand next to the post, his hand bracing the heaving shoulder of his weeping wife. The crowd hushed once more in anticipation. The woman glanced up at the husband, who nodded his head.

The flogger slashed in with a smack, leaving a further set of tracks on the vulnerable buttocks, and the wife groaned, twisting her hips away.

“Hush now, Em,” the husband said in a low voice, his head close to his wife’s ear. “Just a few more strokes and it’ll be all over. Be strong now, my love.”

His wife’s shift had slipped down somewhat, partially concealing the martyred buttocks. The aggrieved woman, the tails of the whip swinging back and forth in her hand, waited as the husband stroked a hand down his wife’s flank, his fingers gathering up the folds of her shift to secure it high up on her hips once more.

“Come, Sandra, I’ve something else to show you.” Miriam laced her arm in her friend’s, leading her away from the fascinating scene.

The sound of the next strike of the flogger greeted their ears as the two nobles strolled through the massive black doors of the inner keep…

* * *

I hope you enjoyed the scene half as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you’re interesting in reading more, A Lady and A Maid is available at all e-book retailers. Or you can just wait until next week to see what else I post then:)

Please take some time to visit the other site’s in this week’s hop. You’ll find some great stuff!

Hope to see you all back here in a week for the next Dungeon Crawl.

Best,

Trent

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#Dungeon Crawl — 05/21/14

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Bristol’s Rebellion

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

Saturday Spankings — 04/26/14

“Discipline on Display” — Dungeon Crawl Blog Hop!

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