Eve slept. Though even calling it sleep felt like a cruel joke. She closed her eyes and opened them, and maybe some time had passed. Suffering was an unreliable way to tell time. The muscles in her arms had given out long ago, but the ropes that bound her to the ceiling kept them raised. Her legs burned and cramped, but if she tried to relax and let the ropes around her wrists hold her up, the rod between her legs punched up into her cervix. The gag Moldred had stuffed into her mouth filled her jaw till it ached, forcing her to constantly relax her throat muscles, lest she retch and gag. Her nose was partly swollen from repeated slaps to her face, so every breath was a struggle. Her skin stung, itched, and ached as she felt her wounds slowly turn to bruises over the course of the night. She dreaded what she would see in the morning. If she looked anything like she felt, she would be a misshapen lump of purple and black. She could still feel the ‘M’ above her cunt. Her lips were cracked with thirst, her stomach ached with hunger, but worst of all was her head. The energy she gained from both the wake-up tea and whatever potion the blonde witch had given her were now both gone – leaving a brain splitting ache in their absence. Every thought, every movement, every ache and pain was compounded with a feeling of spikes being driven into her skull.
It was a long night.
She must have slept though, because she dreamed. Images of the previous day moved through her tired brain, merging and repeating till they lost all meaning. She was fighting a hundred men with Moldred’s body, but formless, shadowy faces. Her training rod was a giant dildo, and she swung it at them, but it passed through like they were mist. They surrounded her, morphing into thousands of hands that crawled over her like spiders. She was fucking a sword – Bloody Ben’s sword – but it was the size of a man. She crawled at the sword man’s feet, and she watched herself grow thin, emaciated, then skeletal. She and Moldred stood in a burning room. He was nude and small – a third his real size, maybe less. He crawled at her feet, begging her not to hurt him. A whip was in her hand and she used it on him again and again. He pleaded with her to stop as blood flowed over his skin. It covered him like scales, until that was what it became. He was a dragon. He was the size of a house. Then, the size of her father’s manor. And then, he opened his mouth, and thousands of teeth and fire surrounded her.
She was in a dark room, her arms tied to the ceiling, a rod jammed up her cunt. A man slept in a bed in front of her. There were four women in bed with him. He used one’s tits like a pillow. Another was under the sheets. From the curve of the bed Eve guessed her mouth was around his cock, and had been all night long. The other two curled around his legs – sharing his bed, his warmth.
Moldred Gavain – Eve. The thought appeared in her tired mind and she couldn’t push it away. What would it even mean? She had always known she would be sold someday. As a woman her duty was to please her master, but as a pureborn her duty was to have children. To be a factory that pumps out more pureborns, more men, more knights. The ancient Curse of Fay meant that only one in one hundred children survived to term, so it was necessary for pureborns to try to have as many children as possible. Farm slaves couldn’t have children. It had to be women like her.
But, that had always seemed so distant. Her father always told her no man wanted to buy her, and most pureborns were already arranged to be purchased long before their eighteenth birthday. She was over a year past that, but still unpurchased. She had always assumed when she was purchased, it would be by some baron, or one of her father’s aides.
But Moldred was a knight. A true knight. A dragon-killing, tournament-winning knight. He was cruel – crueler than she would have preferred, but what man wasn’t? She knew she should have been ecstatic, and chalked her lack of excitement up to her exhaustion. Sure, she would never be able to train with Vassimir again. Never feel the way she did when she won a duel. But, those were never going to last. They were fleeting feelings never meant for her. Instead, she could stand in the crowd and cheer for Moldred, and when he won she could fuck him like she had been trained to do, and when he lost he could take his anger out on her. Maybe age would temper his cruelty. Maybe she could even love him.
She didn’t know if she loved Moldred. She was too exhausted, her brain hurt too much, for her to figure out what she felt, but it didn’t seem like love. She knew she was supposed to love him. She had been granted to him. He was her master, possibly for life. He had beaten her, held her, complemented and insulted her until her mind spun. Maybe if enough time passed she would be so broken down, her mind so shattered, that she would feel something like love for him. Maybe that was what was taught in the portions of Alwynn’s Bible slaves weren’t allowed to read. Maybe that was what happened to Gash.
She shivered from more than just the nighttime chill. The thought of turning into that brilliant but empty woman terrified her. She knew it was wrong. She knew she was supposed to hope and pray for the day she could serve a cock the way the purple-eyed slave did, but she couldn’t help but think about the day before. Before Moldred, before she was gangraped, when she had won a duel. Could being beaten and raped by Moldred ever let her feel that way again?
She wanted Moldred. She knew that. Looking at him made her body hot and her cunt wet. It was more than that though. It was the way he held himself. The way he talked about dragons and far-off lands so casually. And there was something else under it all that she couldn’t place. She wanted something from him. Something other than his cock and his strong arms around her, and she had no words for what that thing was. But whatever it was, it wasn’t love.
She blinked, and when she opened her eyes the sun was peeking through the windows. The sight of it made her want to throw up. She would have, if not for the gag in her mouth, and if there was anything in her other than cum and piss.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement – someone crawling on the floor. She saw a flash of silver hair in the thin beams of early morning light, and ignored it. It was just Gash, likely getting ready to perform morning rites and wake her master. Eve dreaded him waking up and what he might do to her almost as much as she wanted him to wake up so he could finally order someone to let her down. She might even get fed. Maybe.
Her thoughts began to drift through her exhausted mind when a hand grabbed her hair and pulled her head up. Gash stood next to her, and she leaned into Eve’s ear and whispered, “Good morning cunt. I hope you slept well.” Gash moved in front of Eve, holding Eve’s head up in both her hands. Gash leaned in so close their foreheads met and noses touched, though she had to stand on her tiptoes and pull Eve’s head down to do it. Her strange, purple eyes staring into, and through, Eve’s.
“Master has so many slaves, but this cunt has never seen him treat one the way he treats you.” She licked Eve, running her tongue from the bottom of Eve’s chin, over her lips and the gag between them, lapping up all the spittle that had dripped down over the night. “You don’t taste any sweeter,” she said, and Eve’s heart almost broke as one of the saddest smile’s she had ever seen formed on the slave’s face. There was none of the mocking sweetness of Cum Puppy. She was completely serious. “I can’t imagine how happy you must be to be treated that way by Master Moldred.” She whispered his name even softer than the other words, so it was more breath than vocals.
Eve wanted to scream. This was either a jealous slave, come to torment her when master wasn’t looking, or she was completely insane. Or both. Either way, she couldn’t handle it. Not now.
“Mmmaha,” she tried, as softly as she could manage. She hated when slaves tried to speak when they were gagged. It sounded disgusting and no one ever understood them anyways. But, she was desperate.
To her astonishment, Gash stroked her hair, and understood immediately. “You want water,” she whispered, never breaking eye contact. The look in her eyes was hauntingly sad. She leaned closer, and kissed Eve’s cheek. Then, she leaned even further, so her lips touched Eve’s ear. Eve wondered what she would say, and almost yelped when she felt Gash suddenly squeeze her nipples between her fingernails.
“How dare you betray your master,” Gash whispered in her ear. “What if he wants to piss on the floor, and watch you lap it up like a thirsty dog? What if he likes the way you look with dry, cracked lips?” She pinched Eve’s tits harder, and she was so close she stood on Eve’s feet for height. “You are a butterfly in a jar of needles. Your only purpose is to suffer as long, and as beautifully as you can.” Gash let up on her tits, leaning back so they were face to face again. She was smiling that same, horribly sad smile. “And when he rips your wings off, you say ‘thank you.’” She moved her hand down to Eve’s cunt, rubbing her fingers over where the rod entered her. “That is why we have these holes.”
And she stepped away from her, and tiptoed over to Moldred’s bed. As she crawled under the sheets, Eve watched her, just bumps under a blanket. She gently lifted the cunt on Moldred’s cock, moving her out of the way, and lowered her own mouth over it. She slowly sucked him, taking her time waking him up.
Eve watched, and despite her exhaustion, despite how much it hurt, she couldn’t stop shaking.
-
On the dawn of what was sure to be the worst day of his life, Count Alfred Belian Mevenmein III woke with a pair of lips around his cock and tits in his face. The lips belonged to Eager Hump. The Redhead licked his member slowly, lulling him from sleep with gentle, up and down caresses. The tits belonged to Cock Kitten, who knelt by his bed on her knees, breasts sitting on the edge of the mattress. She waited like a patient slave, ready to serve and give him his itinerary for the day. From the forced smile on her face, he could tell she was going to make an already frustrating day worse.
It was the day of the duel. Today, he would either suffer one of the worst humiliations a noble could, or commit the greatest heresy since the betrayal of Sir Lakland. And, doing one would not necessarily prevent the other.
He reached under the sheet and pressed the back of Eager Hump’s head down onto his cock, until her nose pressed into his pubes. She gagged, slightly, but didn’t resist and kept her mouth wide. She wasn’t the brightest slave, but she was a quick learner. He had only ever felt the brush of her teeth once, months ago, and that had only been the slightest touch. He was confident the lesson he taught after that had stuck.
He held her there, feeling the warm, wet, back of her throat with the tip of his cock as he turned to Cock Kitten.
“What happened?”
“Good morning master,” she bowed her head. “Would you like this cunt to run through your schedule for the day.”
“I know my fucking schedule. And I know that look on your cunt face. What happened?”
“Th – this cunt apologizes, master. It’s,” she began, pausing.
He groaned. She only paused like that when there was bad news. She was worried he would take his annoyance out on her, which he probably would, but it was still no excuse. “Spit it out cunt.”
“Your witch, master. Mistress Mil has passed.”
He jumped out of bed in a rush of anger, kicking Eager Hump off him. He whirled on Cock Kitten, and the slave flinched back.
“What?” he roared. “How? When?”
“Th – this morning. She was found in her chambers. I’m sorry master, this cunt doesn’t know how she died. This cunt was only just informed.”
Mevenmein fumed. He wanted to take his rage out on something, most likely Cock Kitten, but there was no time. The duel was set to begin at noon, and there was too much to do before that.
“Who found her?”
“Her servant, master.”
“Seal her chambers. No one goes in or out without my command. I want the servant that found her there when I arrive.” He turned around, then whirled back almost immediately, “And fetch Vassimir. He’s the only damn one who knows what he’s doing.”
With that, he whirled back again. Eager Hump knelt by the door to his bathroom, and he grabbed her by her long red hair as he passed. Cum Puppy knelt by one wall, a chamber pot on her thighs.
“Good morning master,” she cooed as he entered. “This cunt hopes you slept we – ”
He cut her greeting off with a stream of piss. He aimed at her face, letting it fall down over her bare chest. She opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out, swallowing what she could. He was still punishing her for last night. He had ordered her to make Eve presentable, not truss her up like a prize pig ready for roasting.
Piss finished, he moved forward to let Cum Puppy suck the last few drops off his cock. She wrapped her soft lips around the tip, and began to suck.
When he realized she was trying to turn it into a blowjob he pushed her off. She fell backwards, what little piss that had landed in the chamber pot spilling onto her. “You’re a toilet, slut. You want to suck my cock again, earn it. Now get back in position and wait for me to use you.”
She did – crawling back and putting the pot on her thighs. She opened her mouth wide, stuck her tongue out, and stared up at him. He spat on her, the glob landing on her face, and walked to the other side of the room. A bucket of warm water, soap, and a soft rag were there. He stood by them, holding his arms out. “Hurry up, cunt,” he said.
Eager Hump quickly began to bath him, running the soapy water over his body. She coated her chest and tits with the soap, and using her body as a rag moved herself over his legs and arms. He stared at her as she did. She was a gorgeous cunt. The moment he had seen her at the slave farm he had immediately transferred her to his personal chambers. Her soft body ran up and down his. Her large tits wrapping around his legs, moving up and down as she coated him with soap. Gently, she ran her hands over his cock, moving her soap-covered fingers into the crevices of his body.
His body still burned with annoyance, and the thin, short redhead was a sight for his sore eyes. He grabbed her, swinging her around and in front of him. He turned her, pushed her towards the wall. She pressed her hands onto it, and bent over, up on her tip-toes, pushing her ass towards him. She knew what he wanted. He pushed into her inviting anus, pressing in and out as she thanked him again and again for using her. He grabbed her thin waist, holding her as he moved faster and faster – the impending frustrations of the day adding to his speed and power. He drilled into her again and again, until, finally, he came.
“Thank you master,” she said one more time, going on all fours to lick up the drops of cum that had fallen on the floor. As she did, he grabbed the bucket of water and dumped it over himself. Normally he preferred to have the slave girl wash him off as well, but he was in a hurry. He had already wasted enough time.
He did let Eager Hump clean his cock. He was covered in the juices from her ass and his own cum. It would have been unhygienic to not let her lick those off. In a similar vein, he also had her press her face between his ass cheeks and lick his hole till it shined. Emergency or not, he wasn’t going to become sloppy on his basic hygiene.
He caught Cum Puppy glaring on his way out, and made a note to punish her more. That would have to wait though. His clothes were already waiting for him when he emerged. Dark, formal clothes – befitting his rank. The sort of thing he would wear when meeting royalty. Or, he thought bitterly, to a funeral. Eager Hump and another slave dressed him as he growled at them to hurry. He couldn’t remember the other slave’s name, or if she even had one, but the number on her chest said ’309.’ He made a mental note to punish her as well. Later though. For now, he simply slapped her face and ordered her and Eager Hump away.
He walked down the hall at a brisk pace, ignoring the bowing slaves he passed along the way. The witch’s chambers were at the far end of the manor – next to the greenhouse where she grew most of her strange herbs. Mevenmein had four witches in his realm, but Mil was the only one that stayed in the manor. There were two more at the slave farm – mass producing potions for commoners and their slaves, and keeping the flesh vats pumping out new slaves. Another was loaned to the family who ran his mines. But, the slave farm was half-a-days ride by carriage, and the mines were even further in the opposite. Mel was his personal witch. She made potions for him, his men, and his slaves. And she was, supposedly, dead.
-
Breakfast for Eve was a bowl of cold gruel. A soggy mix of mashed oats and animal cum – bitter and chewy in all the worst ways. But, she still ate greedily while Moldred bathed. She was surprised he hadn’t wanted her to bathe him, but wasn’t going to question it.
She ate like a dog – on all fours, face pressed into the bowl, the tip of her tongue soaking in the soggy mixture as she lapped it up with her tongue. Gash was bent over her own bowl next to Eve. Part of Eve was glad that the poor slave was finally being fed. Another, louder part, wished she wasn’t so close. Their bowls had been placed on the floor next to each other, and they were close enough that the sides of their nude bodies pressed together. She wanted to move away from the terrifying woman, but one of the basic rules of feeding was that a slave was never supposed to move her own bowl unless ordered to. Eve had never understood that rule, but she obeyed it anyways.
She licked the bowl clean, and her stomach growled for more. She didn’t like slave gruel, and this was a particularly nasty variant, but she had eaten similar meals countless times and was used to it. The bitter ooze was never good, but sometimes they put a bit of leftover fat in it, which made it taste a bit like meat. Slimy, fatty meat, but meat.
Actually, there had been a feast the night before. Why hadn’t they done that? Eve wondered if maybe they had made worse servings for the rooms Moldred and the other guests was using. The oats had been more husk than seed, and the ratio of meal to cum leaned towards the latter. This made her wonder if any slaves had pissed in her food. This, in turn, made her stop thinking about it all together.
She sat on knees, arms behind her and knees apart in a basic resting posture. As she stared at the empty bowl one of the myriad of bustling slaves that were cleaning the room swooped by and picked it up. She watched the woman go, but stayed in place. Her duty that morning wasn’t to clean, it was to wait on her master.
Eve almost jumped as a voice next to her suddenly said, “Master likes to bathe himself on mornings before a duel. He has his own ritual.”
It was Gash, of course. She had been trying so hard to ignore the woman she hadn’t noticed the slave had finished her bowl as well, and was sitting in an identical posture next to Eve. A bit of the oatmeal-cum mixture was still on her cheek and nose. As Eve stared at it, Gash began leaning towards her, like she was going in for a kiss. Eve leaned back, her heart beating fast at the unexpected intimacy, but Gash was so close Eve couldn’t get away without breaking form. Gash stuck her tongue out, and gently licked Eve’s lips and cheeks. She licked the tip of Eve’s nose, and Eve realized Gash had just been cleaning her face.
“Th – thank you,” Eve stuttered.
“Mhm,” she said. “Would you mind?” she asked, tilting her cheek towards Eve.
“Of course,” Eve answered, leaning towards her. She was pretty, despite her terrible thinness. With a bit more weight she would be gorgeous, Eve thought. She also smelled like Moldred. Which made sense. She had given him a blowjob only minutes before. Eve wondered if she smelled like him too.
She licked the gruel off Gash’s face, and sat back in position. The bathroom door remained closed, and the silence began to stretch awkwardly. After a few moments, Eve said, “You spoke to me.”
“This cunt did,” Gash answered, stressing the words to let Eve know that even without a master present she intended to use proper signifiers.
“Does that mean we’re allowed to talk?”
Gash stared at the bathroom door, unmoving. She said, “Master ordered this cunt to speak with you earlier. She was told to discover why Count Mevenmein bestowed you on him. He stated you were ‘bait’ and he wanted to know what ‘the trap’ was.”
“Oh, right. Uhm, are you allowed to tell this cunt that?”
“This cunt is.”
“Right.” Eve stared at her. “I’m not, by the way. I mean, this cunt is not.”
“This cunt knows.”
“You do?”
There was a short stretch of silence, and then Gash turned to slowly look at Eve. She stared at her, bright, violet eyes seeming to look right through the taller woman. “Yes,” Gash said, turning back to look at the door.
Eve swallowed nervously. “You don’t think I could be bait?” she asked, feeling slightly insulted.
“Master Moldred has expressed an interest in purchasing you, cunt. This slave suggests you empty your mind of nonsense, and focus on the lessons of the previous night, and how you can improve upon them.”
Eve thought about last night, the bruises and pain that covered her body flaring at the memory. When the ropes around her arms had been let down and the rod in her cunt removed, she had sprawled onto the floor, unable to even move at first. Even now, just sitting in a resting posture was torture, and her tired eyes burned with exhaustion. Even walking would be a challenge.
But, Gash’s words about improvement had an obvious meaning to Eve. She said, “This cunt understands. She never expected Master Moldred to lower himself to the ground and attack with his leg. It was an obvious counter to her kick, but she was stupid and unprepared.”
Eve looked over at Gash, expecting to see a look of – well, she wasn’t sure what she expected. Acknowledgement? Respect? A quick nod to indicate she was right? Instead, Gash looked at Eve like she had sprouted wings and a cock.
“When this cunt finished counting down, you should have dropped to the ground and presented your cunt to Master Moldred, immediately. You should have begged for him to fuck you, and punish you for your insolence.”
“But, he wanted to challenge this cunt,” Eve said. “Master said it himself.”
Gash stared up at her with anger in her eyes. Eve stared back, matching her gaze. Gash opened her mouth to speak, but before she could the bathroom door opened. Both women snapped their heads to attention and straightened their spines, thrusting their breasts towards Moldred as he emerged.
He wore trousers but no shirt, his muscled skin slightly flushed from warm water. He had a washing rag thrown casually over one shoulder, and his long blonde hair was still slightly damp. Eve found herself staring at his chest, the pains of her body temporarily forgotten as she remembered lying in bed next to him, and the feeling of him inside her.
He pointed at her, and her muscles went rigid as she tried to put herself even more at attention.
“Clean yourself up. You look terrible cunt.” Then he looked at Gash and said, “Summon Gastogne and Aloric. We’re going to have a strategy meeting.”
“Yes master,” they said at the same time. Gash stood and moved towards the door. Eve began to crawl towards the bathroom. She didn’t know if the crawling was strictly necessary, but the pain in her knees was less than the pain in her legs and on the back of her feet.
As she crawled past him, Moldred reached down and grabbed her hair, halting her.
“Are you excited to watch your father’s humiliation?”
“This cunt looks forward to it, master,” she answered. It wasn’t entirely a lie. While she didn’t like the thought of her father being humiliated, she was excited to see a true knight in action.
“Of course you are,” he said, shaking her head slightly. “And afterwards, you’ll be mine.”
“This cunt is overjoyed at the thought, master,” she answered, not sure if that was a lie or not. The complicated knot that formed in her stomach was too thick to untangle. Not that it would matter if she did or not. She had always thought that the worst thing about being a slave was that it didn’t matter what she wanted. The best thing, she was starting to realize, was that she didn’t need to figure out what it was that she wanted.
He let her go, and she crawled into the bathroom, past the slave with the chamber pot on her thighs, past the now cool buckets of water. There was a mirror on one wall, and she crawled to it, kneeling in front of it. The person in the glass looked terrible. She barely looked like a person at all. Bright red whip marks crisscrossed her body. Some were a rosy pink, but many were still an ugly blood-red. Those wouldn’t heal for days, possibly weeks. Purple bruises splotched her face, chest, and stomach. Tiny scratches from Cum Puppy’s collar lined her neck, and thick black bangs hung under her eyes. She didn’t look at the back of her feet, but she could imagine how bad they were. The ‘M’ over her cunt was jagged and rough – leaning slightly to the side.
She hurt in empathy, and hurt even more when she remembered that it was her body she was staring at. The complicated knot in her stomach throbbed. She closed her eyes and tried to push it down. It didn’t matter how she felt. It didn’t matter what she wanted. All she could do was accept it. She grabbed a rag and bucket of water, drank some to quench her thirst and wash the taste of cum out, and started scrubbing.
-
Fifteen minutes later Eve knelt between Moldred’s knees, her tongue wrapped around his cock, her mind blank and focused. She stared up at him as she licked his warm member, her tongue moving up and down, feeling every vein and ridge of skin. All of her earlier worries gone now that she could focus on something simple and physical. Moldred looked at the other two men in the room, talking to them, not paying any attention to the woman around his cock.
“You can’t be serious,” the somber, dark-haired one – Gastogne – said. “We came all this way, went through all those hoops to get this approved by the king, and you’re going to ruin it for some lanky whore?”
That stung, but Eve ignored it. She wasn’t part of this conversation. Her role was to wrap her lips around the top of her master’s cock, sealing them tight and slowly moving down – which she did.
“Watch yourself, Gastogne,” Moldred said. She felt a slight thrill at him warning someone else not to insult her. She wondered if Moldred would fight someone else for her, and when he ran his hand through her hair and she nearly melted.
Moldred continued, “At most it will add a day. An extra term will let Mevenmein request a tournament-style bout, but so what? We fight one more time tomorrow. What’s the harm?”
“Why not just buy her?” Gastongne said. She couldn’t see him, but she could tell he was seething.
“Mevenmein will never allow it. He’ll deny the request just to spite me.”
Eve continued to stare up at Moldred, running her tongue between his balls, and back up to the tip. She searched for any sign she was doing a good job, that she was managing more than to get slobber on his cock, but his attention was fully on the conversation.
Her father had, no doubt, bestowed pureborns on the other two knights – likely right after Moldred left the hall with her. But, she hadn’t recognized the woman between Aloric’s legs – she was possibly one of his personal slaves. Gastogne didn’t have a slave at all, which Eve found odd. She had always heard men thought more clearly with a woman between their legs. At least, that was what her father always said whenever he had an important meeting.
A third voice, Aloric, spoke up, “You know, this might be to our advantage.”
“How so?” Gastogne grumbled. Moldred said nothing, but she saw him turn his head to stare at Aloric.
Eve liked the boyish-looking knight. He had light red hair, the color hers had been when she was younger, and a soft voice. Plus, though it would be sacrilege to say it out loud, if he was a woman, he would have been quite cute.
Aloric continued, “Our main worry is that Mevenmein found some hedge knight to take this challenge, and is hiding him, right?”
She saw Moldred nod, and assumed Gastogne did as well.
“Well, a proper, tournament style duel is two out of three. Even if Mevenmein found someone to fight this duel for him, and even if he’s managed to hide him all this time, there’s no way he found two or three. That means his knight would have to fight every single duel, while we can switch out if we get so injured a potion can’t heal us in a day.”
There was a stretch of silence where the only sound was Eve and the other slave sucking on their respective cocks. Eve’s competitive spirit wanted to sound louder and sloppier than the other girl, but her training told her to be quiet. Training won.
Finally, Gastogne sighed and said, “It’s unfair you can look the way you do and still have a brain Aloric. Fine. You win. You’re right. You’re both right.” He sighed again. “I guess I just don’t see what you see in her. She looks… gristly.”
Eve had to close her eyes at that, focusing entirely on the cock in her mouth. She wanted to move her hands from behind her back to on Moldred, and feel him getting angry on her behalf.
But he just chuckled. “You should have seen her last night. This cunt is wild. She’s acting proper now that she’s covered in bruises, but she’s a firebrand. Anyways, we’re in agreement?”
“Aye,” Aloric said immediately.
“Yes,” Gastogne added, a bit less enthusiastically.
“Then it’s settled,” Moldred said, standing up. Eve was pushed back by the suddenness of it, but she quickly scurried to kneel by the seat he had been in. He put his cock back in his trousers, buttoning them. Eve couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed.
“Now that that’s out of the way, how about we talk about the actual fight?”
“Finally,” Gastogne rumbled. “I’m up first, right?”
“Of course,” Moldred said. “This is your fight, first and foremost. ‘Lanky whore’s’ notwithstanding,” he chuckled. “Me and Aloric are here to assist.”
“Ok,” Gastogne said. “This is what I want to do –”
“Hold on,” Aloric interrupted. “Can we not do this when Mevenmein’s cunt is literally in the room? I mean, he obviously sent her to spy on us, right?”
All eyes turned to Eve, and she looked down, feeling her nakedness before the three knights. She wanted to deny it, but knew she couldn’t talk unless told to. Besides, she wasn’t entirely sure it was untrue.
“Fair enough,” Moldred said, walking over and grabbing her by the hair. His hand slipped off as he failed to grab enough. He immediately grabbed more, pulling at the roots. “We’re going to need to grow out this hair, slut. It’s starting to get annoying. I need something to hold on to.”
“This cunt apologizes master,” she said, her voice slightly strained from the pain.
Alorica and Gastogne began heading towards the door. “Give me a second to put her up,” Moldred told them, as they left.
He led over to one of the cunt-closets. Eve hated them. They were small, even for normal-sized slaves. For her they were torturous. Then again, she remembered that the last time she had seen her own slave – Sloppytongue – she had locked her in a cunt-closet just like this one. Eve briefly wondered what would happen to Sloppytongue when she was sold to Moldred. Most likely Sloppytongue would go back to Eve’s father. She hoped he would keep her in the house, and not send her to the fields, or worse, the mines.
“Gash,” Moldred called. “Grab her a chastity belt. A thick one. I want her squirming as she waits for me.” He pulled her hair up slightly so Eve looked at his face. “I’ll send someone to fetch you just before the bout. Wouldn’t want you to miss it.”
She smiled at him. He pulled her up onto her legs. She could barely stand on her own, but he held her, squeezing her close. He kissed her.
Then, he turned back to Gash, and said, “And put whatever’s left of that needle-cream on there.” He looked at Eve, “I want you dripping wet, for after.”
Eve opened her mouth to beg him not to, but closed it. She was too exhausted, and she knew what the result would be anyways. Plus, she didn’t want to get slapped when her face was already covered in bruises. At least, not when she could avoid it.
The chastity belt Gash emerged with was, just as ordered, thick. Two dildos, just as large as the ones in her last night, lined it. Gash was rubbing the stinging, white cream on them. The same one that had made her vagina and ass cramp before Moldred had fucked her. She remembered how impossibly huge they had made him feel, and felt nauseous. Locked in a dark, tiny box for hours, with those jammed inside her. It sounded like hell.
But she put them in. Moldred pulled the belt tight. Maybe a notch or two too tight. It was painful around her waist, and torture on her cervix. The box was small enough she could put her shoulder against one wall, reach her arm out, and not be able to stretch her fingers all the way out. She couldn’t stand or lie down, and had to pull her knees into her chest, pressing the dildos deeper into her.
As Moldred closed the door, she heard the room door open, and Aloric ask, “You coming?”
“Just finishing up.” Moldred said, before adding, “By the way, did you finish that thing last night?”
The closet door closed before she heard the answer, leaving her in pitch darkness. Eve could barely move, and the cream was already starting to take effect. It stung and itched, but she couldn’t get her hands under the belt to do anything. The dildos in her, already pushing her near her limits, seemed to expand and expand. Eve screamed. It didn’t matter. The closets were specially made, and she knew no one could hear her.
-
The witch was dead. Her eyes were a glazed grey, her skin cold and pallid. Rigor Mortis had already begun to set in. There was no pool of blood. No knife clutched in her hand. Her body lay at the back of the greenhouse, next to some fallen planter pots and the soil they had once held. Her hand was pressed to her chest, and her brown hair, streaked with grey, spooled over her pain-stricken face.
Mel. She wasn’t much older than Mevenmein, but he couldn’t think of her as anything other than ancient. It was so rare for a cunt to grow old. Farm slaves couldn’t. Their bodies simply weren’t made to last that long. Pureborns could, in theory, live as long as a man, but in practice that never happened. The pains of child birth under the Curse of Fay meant they rarely survived more than one or two children.
Witches were the exception. Pureborns unable to have children, gifted instead of cursed by Fay, trained and tamed by the King himself. It was common for men to talk about how disgusting they found witches, even when the witches were still young and fresh. Mevenmein joined with them, of course, but he wasn’t too proud to admit that he found their uniqueness alluring. He had fucked Mel at least a dozen times. She lacked the humility of a traditional slave, and she knew her value. Traits he found frustrating and attractive in equal measure.
And she was dead.
“A heart attack, my lord,” Vassimir said, kneeling by her body. “No wounds, except those from the fall. The pots look like she tried to grab at them when she fell. No sign of a struggle beyond that. Plus, when you take into account her age, it all points to the same thing.”
“She wasn’t that old,” Mevenmein said.
“She was for a cunt,” Vassimir replied.
“That shouldn’t matter,” he sighed. “The timing of this… It’s suspicious. You can’t deny that.”
“I cannot. But who would do it? How? You questioned the slave that found her?”
He grunted affirmation. The slave was 119, if she had a name beyond that, he hadn’t asked. She was skinny, near flat, and would have been plain looking if not for her bald head. Mel had five slaves to assist her, and she shaved them all. “Keeps the men from wasting my time raping them,” she had once told him when he questioned her on it.
119’s story was simple. She had come in to water the plants, and found her mistress there. She hadn’t touched her, hadn’t moved her. The doors were unlocked, but Mel’s slaves kept shifts watching the door all night long. Their mistress liked to walk through the greenhouse at night, and their shifts were only a few hours long. So, she could have gone in at the end of one shift, and no one would notice her never leaving.
It all made sense.
“I don’t trust her,” Mevenmein grunted.
“She can’t lie to you. She has your brand.”
Mevenmein snorted derisively. “Clever slaves can find ways around that. I sent her to the dungeons. They’ll get the truth out of her.”
“The truth you want.”
Mevenmein shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” he eventually said. “I already know who did this.”
“Moldred?”
“Of course, Moldred! That bastard will do everything he can to ruin me! Did you see the way he acted last night? Acting like I had given him the finest slave in the county, instead of Eve’s spoiled meat. It was supposed to be a joke. An insult! He acted like she was such a treat that some of the men looked downright jealous of him. He’s probably still laughing.”
“Forgive me for saying this, my lord, but he doesn’t really seem the poisoning type.”
“And those bastards with him? One of them was a commoner. You think he’s above such an act?” Mevenmein took a deep breath. “Look, I know you think I’m being absurd, but think about it. This sets us back. No question. And who benefits?”
“As far as Moldred is concerned we don’t have a challenger,” Vassimir said.
“Without a witch we won’t have one at all. Gaining a crest is not a painless affair, and if that cunt is weak from her night with Moldred…”
“Or the day before,” Vassimir added, another I-told-you-so look framed on his face.
“It doesn’t matter. We need a witch.”
“Should I prepare a horse, my lord? I can reach the slave farms before noon.”
“But you’ll make it back well past it.” Mevenmein paused, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he knew what he had to do. “I’ll get us a witch. You fetch Eve.”
“You mean… the guest?”
Mevenmein nodded. “The witches of The King’s Coven are said to be the best in the land. I don’t know why she’s here, but she’s still a cunt. And I know how to handle a cunt.”
Vassimir nodded. “King speed, my lord.”
“King speed,” he replied.
