1 comments/ 24495 views/ 2 favorites Impact Event By: Shwenn Chapter One Acquisition The countess reread the letter as she sat in the trundling carriage. She was impeccable. Not a strand of her dark red hair was errant, not a speck of powder in the wrong place. Her deeply colored satin dress was folded and draped precisely where folds or drapes were required. Her nails were each filed to pinpoint sharpness, capable of picking a single wet hair off of a smooth marble surface. Or drawing blood...depending on the task at hand. Those menacing, red fingernails lightly scratched the back of the letter as she read. Your Grace Mrs. Lelia Fleming, I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to inform you that I have found a trinket I believe you will fancy. I know I had promised such a gift long ago. Aware of your most exacting standards, I have discarded many that would satisfy you but certainly wouldn't bring you joy. I want to present to you a gift that will fill your heart delight. I believe I have found just such a toy. I will keep it for you here. You may, of course, collect it at your leasure. I am eternally grateful for the patience you have deigned to offer me as I conducted this search for you. Your Most Humble Servant, Officer Derrick Moonday She smiled at the last line. Patience. It wasn't patience, she had simply forgotten him. She had somebody at each prison finding toys for her. Had she remembered that he owed her a tribute and failed to deliver it, she may well have had him put to death. She may well do that, still. He should hope his gift is as exquisite as he promised. They never lasted, her toys. Soon they broke. Grown men became quivering, fearful children. Useless. Discarded. She had recently released her most recent toy and was looking for something new. She felt the horses slow to a trot and stop. Looking out the window revealed looming brick walls, mossy and dirt crusted. She sat back until the door opened and a large, hairy hand lay open before her. She placed it delicately in the course palm and it lifted her out of the carriage with strength and care. It belonged to one of her two handmen. Both were massive figures, capable of bending a steel bar. They weren't entirely human, these two, but they were human enough for her purposes. As they walked into and then through the prison, the two large outer figures rushed at each door, opening it just in time for the middle figure, the countess, to continue gliding without pause. They were halfway down an expansive hall when a man with one arm entered it, quickly hobbling and panting. He shouted "Your Grace! Your Grace! I'm so sorry I didn't greet you outside! You left no word you were coming today. I would have stood by the entrance all day, had I known." With a flick of her wrist she dismissed his apologies as unneeded, and a little annoying as well. "Where is it?" she asked. "Please, right this way." The officer's hobble slowed them but the countess could glide at many rates of speed. He glanced fearfully at her handmen. Everybody did. It's what she loved most about them, the fear they elicited with their mere existence. "So, what is so special about this trinket that it took you two years to find?" She made no attempt to suppress the anger in her voice. "It doesn't break," he said. "They all break." "No, my lady, not this one. Everybody has had a crack at him. He doesn't speak at all. Not a word. Not even 'please'." She sighed, a labored, impatient sigh. It caused the officer to glance furtively at the handmen again. "Do you not think it possible that he is deaf? Or mute?" He laughed nervously, his twisted back dipping forward a bit as he did. "Oh, dear, no. I didn't mean that no one has heard him speak. He hasn't spoken to us. He has spoken to one guard he thought was a prisoner. We planted him in the same cell. He was meant to befriend the prisoner and get our information that way. We disguised him perfectly, beat him about the face and neck, rolled him in some horse dung, put him in a dead prisoner's clothes. They got along famously. They talked about their families, food they missed eating, usual prisoner talk. When the guard asked him where he'd hidden the papers, he retreated. The guard said his eyes just went dead and he didn't speak another word. Not a 'good morning'. Not a 'bless you' when the guard sneezed. Nothing. Two more weeks he tried but he never got another word." The countess felt her day brightening. "This does sound interesting. How important are these papers?" "It depends. We don't want them. But we don't want anybody else to have them either. So, it's only important if somebody else knows where they are. We feel confident that we've collected everybody who knew of them. We questioned him to be thorough, is all." They were in the holding area, now. Cell after dark cell passed beside them. The officer removed his key ring as they approached the last one. A handman grabbed a torch from the wall. She could barely see a mass curled in the corner while the twisted, broken little man worked the lock. The handmen entered first, grabbed the prisoners arms and pulled him upward. His head hung forward and a handman pulled it up by the hair as the other held the torch next to his face. The prisoner's eyes fluttered. There was little other sign of life. He smelled like a cocktail of death and feces. "He appears to be half dead." "Yes, your ladyship. I had them stop just short of killing him. So I could keep him for you. He's a tough one. He'll handle anything you throw at him. This is one you can keep, my lady. I don't know that you could train him but he will last." "We'll see," she said as she turned and glided back to the carriage. Her handmen insisted that one of them be allowed to ride in it with her and the prisoner. They were protective of her. She was good to them. Few had been before her. She let one of them ride in the carriage, cramping the space. It was pointless as the prisoner only regained consciousness for brief periods, his eyes searching the interior, trying to understand. "What shall I name him?" "I like Evert." "Ever?" "No, ma'am. Evert. With a 't'." "Okay. That'll do. He'll be Evert, then. Is that even a name?" "I think so." "I think you are thinking of Everett. That is a name." "That may be, ma'am." "I like Evert, as well. We'll keep it Evert." "Very good, ma'am." She had her maiden bathe the prisoner on their return and watched as he was cleaned. He would need to be nursed back to health. She must be patient. It would be worth the wait. His body was long with broad shoulders and firm buttocks. Smooth lines, none of the rippling muscles she preferred. There was something dear about his face, though. It was manly and boyish at the same time. There was hair on his belly, shaped like a wine bottle, the neck of which rose between his nipples. She decided to keep him in her room during his recovery, naked, which was the usual way. It was many days before he stayed awake for any noticeable length of time. He didn't speak. He watched everything, scanned the room incessantly. She wanted him to ask her where he was so she could refuse him the information but he never did. He only looked all over the chambers or eyed the countess warily with his deep, green eyes, occasionally testing the bonds that held him to his bed. He wouldn't even speak to the doctor she'd called on. "Where does it hurt most?" he asked, prodding and poking him. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, and gazed unwavering into the doctor's eyes. "I can't make it better if you won't tell me where it hurts you." Nostrils flared a bit, lips tightened and relaxed, the gaze didn't falter. "Then I suppose you'll just have to deal with the pain then, okay? I can treat the wounds I see but I can't be expected to know about anything I can't see." Chest rose and lowered, eyelids lowered slowly and, just as slowly, lifted. A handman took a shot at it. He towered over the prisoner and belted out the order, "Tell the man where it hurts." His eyes widened a bit at this, he chest rose a lowered more quickly, but no words came. When he was finally able to stay awake for the whole day, the countess had a seat placed next to the bed in which the prisoner was strapped. Alone, she sat in the chair and ran her knife point fingernails over his chest and belly. He twitched in response. "I'd like to hear what your voice sounds like. I mean to know the sound of your voice. I won't ask what you did with those papers. I don't care. That part of your life, the part where those papers mattered, is over. You are entering what you might call a new phase in your life. You even have a new name. It is Evert." The bonds groaned a bit as he pulled on them. The countess ran her nail along his arm, his long, lean biceps tensed in response. "You can say anything you want without punishment. You won't have this freedom again so you may want to take it now. I just want to hear you speak and, for this, I will grant you, this one time, the freedom to speak freely." She moved her fingernails to his scrotum and scratched them lightly. He broke his gaze on her, moved it suddenly on to the ceiling. He breath quickened. "All you have to do is say something, anything. There's no reason not to, and a very good reason you should." She pinched a fold of skin from his scrotum and rested a nail point at either side. He shut his eyes tight. "Very well, then," she said, slowly pinching the skin with the pads of her fingers. "You can't rename me," he said quickly. The countess smiled and released his scrotum. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it? You know you almost died in that prison. You would be dead if it weren't for me. I don't just get to rename you. I get to own you." "I'd prefer death," he said in an even voice. She stroked his temple with the back of her fingers. "You think your preference matters. That's precious." The countess rose and put out all candles before leaving the prisoner engulfed in darkness. He became mute again. She allowed it. She dressed and undressed in front of him, had her handmen service her in that room so the prisoner could see how difficult she was to satisfy. She read her novel in the bed instead of the study, so that he could watch her. The doctor came a few more times. The last time he said there wasn't much more he could do. The prisoner should start trying to take exercise. She had her handman take him to the dungeon to outfit him. A cuff on each wrist, each ankle and one for the neck. It was how she outfitted each of her slaves. It looked especially delicious on this new one. She couldn't decide exactly why. Something about not having those bulging muscles made those cuffs seem to have more of a hold on him. She didn't know how fully recovered he was but she was terribly bored. When the handman brought him in, cuffed, his upper arm in the handmans massive fist, staring at some unknown spot on her wall, his nostrils flaring so delicately, she decided her wait was over. There was no need to get too fancy too soon. She simply had her handman force him to his knees in the middle of her chambers and restrain each arm with his hands. He didn't struggle which was wise. Were the handman to tighten his fist a bit, he would break those arms. Were he to close his hands with all his strength, the bone would crumble to dust. You could feel the power in those hands. She knew from the many times one of them would hold her leg in the air to get at her vagina more easily. Evert looked stoic but you could see his anxiety in the way he opened and closed his own fists. Evert watched the countess intensely as she pulled the long satin rope on the wall, issuing a 'gong' that seemed to have no decay. She opened her tall chiffrobe. An array of crops, whips, floggers and leather straps hung from an assortment of hooks. She was surprised, even shocked, when Evert spoke. "I'll tell you this once. I told that little gargoyle man once. Only once. I don't know where those papers are. You are wasting your time." She looked at her other handman, standing at the bed and indicated towards the prisoner with her eyes. She watched as he went to the man, sat one the floor beside him, put one hand on the back of his head, and covered his entire mouth as well as most of his jaw with only two fingers. Fear was in his eyes, now. His breathing became erratic as his eyes darted to and from this second handman beside him. His fingers wiggled wildly. She turned back to the chiffrobe to choose her instrument. The young man's terror was understandable. The two handmen would have to be careful to coordinate any movements they made to avoid accidentally ripping the prisoner's head from his body. When people see a body of such size, they tend to assume its owner is clumsy. Not a wholly accurate assessment. The handmen were as nimble as any tumbler or bowman. She chose a long whip. Her expertise with it was unparalleled. It made her proud of herself to use it. She turned with it and the handman acting as the silencer moved one leg behind the prisoner and pressed it against his buttocks, forcing his pelvis forward. A simple, delicate move of her wrist and it shot at the prisoner. It licked his belly lightening quick, barely seeming to touch him, but his muscles contracted and his eyes squeezed shut. Another flash of black and the prisoners muscles activated again. The maiden entered the room wordlessly as the countess snapped another bolt at the prisoner. She sped up, one after another, crack crack crack crack. Her timing was perfect. A pianist could have used her whipping as a metronome. The prisoners eyes shot open and looked desperately at the ceiling. All of his muscles were tightened, no time to relax between blows. He rocked his pelvis back and forth sideways, trying to escape the thin leather darting in and out. The maid moved next to her and waited calmly. She didn't stop, even increased her speed gradually until she got what she wanted, a scream, muffled and muted through the ogre's two fingers. His eyes rolled up in his head as he did this. She looked at the maiden and nodded. Taking her cue, the maiden dropped to her hands and knees and crawled to the prisoner. She took his penis, licked it, kissed it, swirled her tongue around it, took it in her mouth. At the same time, she fondled his testicles. His eyes went wide with shock and confusion. The maiden stopped briefly to lick a trickle of blood off of his hip bone then went back to her task. After a few minutes, the maiden, penis still in her mouth, lifted her thumb in the air to signal that he was fully erect. "Good. Very good," the countess said. The prisoner looked at her with an expression of horror. "Yes, this is a little different from the prison, isn't it?" She moved to her vanity as she spoke. "I'm not quite like Moonday. Or, what did you call him? A gargoyle?" She stood over the prisoner with a small glass bottle in her hand. Lifting it over his belly she tipped it and a stream of liquid fell onto him. His eyes shut tight again and more muffled sounds emanated from the fingers. They were more frustrated, these sounds were, higher pitched. She squatted beside him and rubbed the liquid all over his chest. He looked at her, eyes wild with frantic incomprehension. "That will burn and sting for quite a while, my pet." The maid lifted her hand, thumb pointing down, to signal he was no longer erect. "You will need to learn to keep your manhood firm through pain. This was the shoddiest performance I've ever seen. The slightest little discomfort and your little soldier flees the battlefield. This will..." she slapped his stomach, "...not..." another slap, "...do..." and once more. His eyes spoke of nothing but worry, even as his body shuddered with each slap. She turned to the handman holding the prisoner's arms and said, "I think he's starting to understand. Go get the kit." The second sentence was for the maiden, this was clear to everyone because the countess kicked her when she said it. The woman scrambled to the chiffrobe, took a small suitcase from the drawer and scrambled back with it. The maiden positioned herself on the side of the prisoner, forward of him. She sat on her heels, on the opposite side from where the handman sat and held the suitcase open in front of her. Her position made it impossible for the prisoner to see inside the case. The countess leaned to the side and perused it's contents. "I think you know what happens to soldiers who flee a battle." Not hearing a response, she furrowed her brow at the handman who released the prisoner's head, freeing him to speak. He grabbed the top of his skull and moved it to an odd angle, as though the prisoner were straining to hear something soft and far away. "Well?" the countess asked. "What happens to soldiers who flee a battle." He pursed his lips; he was trying to hide his agony. It was cute. "I don't know. I'm not a soldier." "But you are a fighter," as she perused the case. "No. I'm a scribe." His voice cracked as he said this. Something terrible was dawning on him. "And a fighter." "No," he said, screwing his face, "I've never held a weapon." "So, you wrote the papers they are looking for." A sudden sob escaped him. "Yes." She flicked her head at the handman who moved the prisoner's head to face her. She ran her index finger nail over his full, lower lip. It was trembling. "Where has your composure gone? What's the matter, my little pet?" It took him a moment to steady his breathing before he could say, "You really don't care about the papers." The muscles in his face twitched and contorted as he tried desperately to come to terms with his new predicament. "No," the countess agreed, lifting a pair of pliers and a small leather strap out of the case. His eyes followed the pliers with hopeless dread. She smiled coldly. "I really don't." Outside, in his pen with the rest of the pack, the alpha dog heard bellows he couldn't quite identify. It could be wolves howling. It was best not to take any chances. He howled, instigating the whole pack to howl with him, marking this territory as theirs. Impact Event Ch. 02 Chapter 2 Opening The maiden entered his room, carrying a basket. Now that he was recovered, more or less, the countess had the prisoner placed in the toy room. She called it her toy room but it was more of a dungeon, a prison cell. It was a holding area for her slaves until they learned proper fear of her. Dark and quiet, you couldn't hear the activities in the estate in this room. In this room, all you could do was think. She had given him a lot to think about. She had tortured him, for one. He was then made to watch as one of her handmen satisfied the arousal his pain had elicited in her. Then she brought him to the village. She displayed him in the town square and made a speech everybody present knew by heart. Everybody but Evert, the true audience for her performance. She enumerated the rich, luscious rewards that would be bestowed upon anybody who caught him should he escape. He was then place in stocks for three hours while the villagers familiarized themselves with his looks, tried to memorize every feature of his face. They whispered to him as they studied him. The maiden knew what they said. They told him he needn't worry about them. They would help if he tried to break free. Just come straight to my house. I'll get you out of this situation. I live just there where the mottled horse stands. Come there and I'll get you home, safe and warm in your own bed. They made these promises every time, drooling at their own fantasies. It usually took a new slave a few such proposals before he figured out their true intention. Each new slave always had hopeful eyes at first, eyes that slowly dimmed with the understanding that each villager was making his own bid for the countess' favors. Come to my house so I can be the one to turn you in. But Evert gave the first villager the same deeply wary stare he gave the last. It seemed he knew the villagers would tell him these things before they did. Evert did not let his terror turn him into a fool. He seemed to understand without explanation or time to ponder. Still, the countess wanted him in the toy room, thinking about his situation. He might understand his predicament but she wanted him to stew in that understanding. Not for too long, though. Six hours was long enough. He also needed his sleep. Once she had lit enough torches, she looked over this new slave. Alone with him, she was the most powerful person in the room. She savored that feeling as it was rare. She hardly had time alone with a slave. The only person at the estate with less power that herself was the cook but the cook barely noticed that the maiden existed. She certainly didn't feel powerful when alone with the cook. She felt powerful standing over Evert. Rings were welded all over the iron frame of his bed. Tonight, his cuffs where locked to its corners, spreading his arms and legs in an X. She dwelled on the thought that she could do anything she wanted to him and he couldn't stop her. She swirled the idea in her mouth like a single, stolen sip of somebody else's rich drink. Then she brought a stool next to his bed and sat on it. "Hi," she said. He didn't respond. Digging in the basket, "Welcome to the castle. I don't suppose anyone has welcomed you." She took a jar out of the basket and lay the basket on the floor. He stared at her. She opened the jar, scooped some salve in her fingers and began applying it to his wounds. She was surprised he spoke. "Who is that woman?" Circling her fingers delicately over his welts, "She is the Countess Lemuil. She is a powerful woman. Not herself but she has many powerful friends which makes her powerful, too. I suppose. And her husband is powerful." "Her husband? Where is he? Does he know that she does this with the slaves while he's away?" "He's staying with a friend for a couple months. He's staying with them 'cause he was gonna be in the county. There to get another slave so, yeah, he knows. You might want to think on that. She never took two slaves together, before. She'll probably pick the one she likes and get rid of the other. And you know she can't set you free, right? If she gets rid of you, that means killing. You might could think on making her happy." "How would I do that," he asked. His eyes bore into her and she got the sense that he wasn't truly asking the question. Just like with the cook, she lost all sense of her appointed power. He was completely vulnerable to her but she was the one who felt weak and insecure. She changed the subject. "Do you know where they are? Those papers?" She heard a tink as the loop on his cuffs knocked the iron frame of the bed. "No," he said and closed his eyes. She understood why. The salve was very effective, a quick healer, it prevented scarring but, best of all, it made the pain go away for a couple of hours. "You wrote it. Don't you remember what it said?" "Every word." "Then why didn't they just make you tell them that?" "They know. The countess, what does she want from me?" He brought the topic right back to where he wanted it and gazed into her eyes again. Why couldn't she control people the way the countess did? It had so much more to do with the chains and whips. What was that other part? What was she missing? The maiden began putting the salve on his scrotum. Tink, tink, tink. His legs twitched. "She just wants to keep you, play with you." His pelvis was beginning to grind slowly. She could tell he was trying not to do it. He probably hadn't even masturbated in over a year. When she took him in her mouth in the countess' room, it gave forth a bit of sweet liquid immediately. "There will be a lot of pleasure. She will always want to hurt you but it will be better for you if you submit." His penis had become erect. It lay on his belly, jumping just a bit as she swirled his testicles in her hand. "If you don't, she'll hurt you more, she'll keep you in bonds all the time, she'll subject you to cruelties you can't imagine." The tinks were getting louder and more frequent as she spoke. She had been focused on how aroused his penis was and had been ignoring that he was also getting nervous. She lay the salve in the basket and stroked his penis with her other hand as she gently played with his testicles. "Shhh. It's okay. Tell me. How did you learn letters?" She changed the subject to something less likely to produce anxiety. He voice was far steadier than she expected it to be. "My mother's employer. She was a cook for a Marquis. There was a crawlspace that led to the library, where the children were taught. I used to sneak back there to watch their lessons. I did that until my mother was dismissed. I learned a lot of useless stuff but some of it was useful. Like letters." "Why was she dismissed," the maiden asked. "She became pregnant. My father was five years dead so it was rather a scandal. The Marquis did it. He was the father. He knew that. I knew that. The staff knew that. I think that even the Marquess knew that. All the more reason to get rid of my mother." She stroked his penis, not knowing how to respond. The poor man's whole life was tyrannized by royalty. It was best to change the subject again. "You like that? Scribing?" "Yes. You mostly help people read letters from their family and friends. Or write them. That's nice. It's nice to do that." His voice was getting softer. A drop of liquid sat on the tip of his penis. "When loved ones are far away, people only want to tell them good things. So you hear all the best parts of people's lives. I enjoy it immensely. Enjoyed it." She wiped her hands on her skirt. "That does sound nice," she stroked his penis lightly, pet it like a little animal. He watched her cautiously but she could see the need in his eyes. She felt power now, but this was an easy power that would be gone once he was spent. It wasn't the kind she wanted. "How did you come to be here?" he asked, clearly not caring, his pelvis moving slightly. "I was working as a prostitute." His penis bobbed up. "Her husband brought me here one night. When he was done with me, I left him in his room and made my way out." She took his penis in her hand and squeezed it lightly. "She was waiting for me. She asked me to talk with her. I thought she'd try to have me arrested or it'd be a huge row with yelling and hitting. But she was real nice. We drank wine together. She asked me a lot of questions." The maiden lifted her skirt as she spoke and climbed onto him, straddling him on her knees. "She asked me to work here. She said the work may be a bit harder but the pay was better. It is. I get to live in a nice house. I like the work, too." She rubbed herself of the shaft of his penis. "I like this. I like it a lot. Do you like it?" He made no response except to shake and form an O with his mouth. She guided him inside her and lowered onto him. He pushed his head back and groaned. Grinding him, working her hips in small circles, reversing direction occasionally, she heard the tink, tink, tink of his cuffs against the frame as he threw his head forward, looking shocked. It was the look of somebody seeing a rainbow for the first time and she thought he might be a virgin. She leaned down, bending her back forward, and took his nipples into her mouth. Each one she licked delicately, bit lightly, sucked hard. She rose, took the nipples between her fingers, pinched and pulled so they rose as though he had tiny breasts. He lifted his head off of the bed, his mouth was now wide like his eyes. He made small choking sounds, shut his eyes tight and let out a loud moan as he came inside her. He looked at her, perplexed. "I...I...don't..." She put her finger on his mouth. She stopped herself from mentioning how quickly he had finished. "Why do they want the papers if they know what's in 'em?" "A signature. At the bottom. Two of them. They make the papers special." He was shivering and swallowing a lot. "Maybe that's where they are. Maybe one of them who signed it has got the papers." "They're dead," he said. "You sure? Maybe they just had people say they was dead, so they wouldn't end up..." She was going to say 'like you' but decided against it. He shook his head quickly. He spoke quickly, too, like he was trying to finish the conversation as soon as possible. "I watched them die." "You killed 'em?!" She said, dismounting. He waited for her to sit on the stool before he answered. He didn't look at her, only at the ceiling. "No. Another man did. That woman called him Moonday." The maiden smiled inwardly when he called the countess 'that woman'. She'd never heard her called anything so irreverent. It was almost exciting. "You saw them die," she said. "Yes." "He made you watch." "He did," he said. She stroked his penis again, sticky from the salve and her own lubricant. "How horrible for you." "It was worse for them." He continued to look at the ceiling, as though ashamed of what they had done. "I guess that's right." She took another jar from the basket and opened it. "It won't be so bad all the time for you. Like it was today. She just wanted to hurt you bad because she hasn't done anything in a while. And she gets excited when she gets a new toy." "Toy? You mean me?" "Sorry." She lifted his head to the jar, pressing it to his lips. Between sips, which she forced by turning the jar up repeatedly, he spoke. "No, don't be...I didn't mean...I didn't know what this...was. I thought...it was like that...I just wasn't sure...you say toy...now I think...yeah, that's...that's good...I don't need...please...I've had enough..." He closed his mouth and turned away. She pinched his nose shut hard and pulled it until he was facing the ceiling. There was a bit of struggle as he held his breath, eyes darting about frantically but he soon opened his mouth for air. She let him snatch a bit of breath before pouring the fluid into his open mouth. She couldn't tell how much of it she'd actually gotten down his throat. There was a lot on the bed. That was okay. She didn't have to sleep in it. She extinguished all the torches while he coughed and choked, keeping one torch to take out with her. She went to him, kissed his lips softly and said, "Sleep. You need your sleep." He cleared his throat, swallowed hard and said, "What did you just make me drink?" "Shhh. Just try to sleep," She stroked his forehead. "I feel strange." He furrowed his brow deeply. "Shhh." He looked fearful. Finally, he looked fearful and she felt truly powerful. The sound of the cuffs against the bed was like a glorious song celebrating her victory. Tink. Tink tink. Tink. Tink tink tink. She stood over him and slapped him hard across the face, relishing the sting she felt in her own palm. "Log off!" Then she left, shutting the door behind her, leaving him in an impossible blackness again. The maiden undressed immediately upon entering the Countess' chambers and crawled onto her bed. The countess loosed her breasts which the maiden took in her hands and mouth, paying homage. "So, what did you learn?" Releasing a nipple in order to speak, she said, "He told me about the papers. They were signed by somebody and that's what makes them important. Says he doesn't know where they are." The maiden kept her hands on the countess' breasts as she spoke, stroking them. "Of course he did. What else did he say?" "The gargle man...." "Moonday." "Yeah, him. He killed people and made Evert watch." "What else?" "He asked about your husband." "And what did you tell him," the countess asked, scraping the maiden's scalp with her nails. "That he's gone to get that other slave. I said he better be good 'cuz you'll only want one." "That's good. Did he seem bothered by that?" "No. He seemed specially not bothered by it." "Oh," there was only a soupçon of disappointment in her voice but that was a great deal more emotion than usual for her. "What else?" "He told his past. His mother was a cook for a Marquis. It's how he learned letters. He hid in a crawlspace and saw the lessons being taught the Marquis' children." The nails dug into the maiden's scalp. She looked up to see the corner of the countess' mouth stretched and lifted into something that managed to be a smile and a snarl at the same time. It stopped the maiden from speaking. "A widow. She became pregnant and was dismissed in disgrace." The maiden sat up. "How'd you know that?" She took the book from the table beside her bed and gave it to the maiden. "It's the plot of this novel." "That book's about him?" The maiden was enthralled. "No, the book is not about him. It's just a book, one he has clearly read before." The countess took a deep breath. She lifted her skirt and knees, spreading the latter. "He told you a lie he knew I wouldn't believe." The maiden could have sworn that what she saw on the countess' face was excitement. "I think I insulted him by sending you in there." It was more than excitement; the countess was actually giddy. She grabbed the maiden's hair and pulled her head into the curly hair between the soft slopes of her thighs. "Help me think." Impact Event Ch. 03 The prisoner had no memory of falling asleep. It usually took him a long time. He usually had to quiet his mind by force of will before sleep was even possible. He had a lot to think about after the maid left and thought he might not sleep at all. Soon after, he was sucked down into it, taken there by something that was not himself. It was as though the thick blackness of the room had climbed inside his mind, consuming him with its nothingness. When he woke, one of those creatures was standing beside his bed. He had never seen a man so huge and this was one of two. He could tell them apart only by a single mole on the neck. They were otherwise identical. He shuddered at the memory of being held by this one. It had taken his head in its hand and he'd thought it meant to crush his skull. They were the largest hands he'd ever come across in his life. The size of those hands could be of use to him. Big hands meant the the muscles in his fingers were big, too. Big muscles telegraphed more clearly. These creatures might be easier to read than most people, if he could just keep his wits about him and focus. It stood over him, staring at the wall above him. Did it not see that he was awake? "Hello?" He hadn't meant for it to come out as a question. He wanted it to sound friendly. The beast looked at him, bent over silently and unlocked him from the bed. The thing grabbed him around his rib cage, lifted him into the air and placed him on his feet. He felt like a child. Or a doll. It pushed his back to move him forward and he stumbled before walking. It didn't guide him. It only prodded him roughly if he walked too slowly or it wanted him to change direction. He was thrown to the ground by a couple of those shoves at which point it lifted him in the air again, placed him on his feet and gave him a startup shove. He was getting the hang of maintaining the right pace, walking with his head angled back enough to see its arm move. If the arm moved, he would need to turn. He could anticipate it, act before it hit him in his back. He briefly wondered if he could outrun it but decided not to take that risk. He was in no shape to run. He was still weak from the prison and his scrotum was sore. At least he could walk. Last night, the pain buckled his knees and this thing ended up dragging him outside to the chariot, knocking his head on the corner at every turn. He saw the arm come up in his periphery but there was nowhere to turn. He quickened his pace, thinking that was its intention but, instead of an impulse on his back, he felt those huge fingers wrap around his neck, pull him back and slam his face into the wall. It held him against the wall as it opened a door, pulled him through it backwards and abruptly turned him to face the room. That woman was eating alone at a long, gilded table. The other beast stood behind her. She didn't look up. He was jerked down to her feet, until he was on his hands and knees, facing the floor, the beast on the floor next to him, holding him there by his neck. He concentrated on the hand on his neck, trying to sense any muscle twitches in the thumb. He heard silverware clink against china. He could see the countess' shoes, thick, tight leather laced up the side, and smell her perfume. It was flowery and fresh. Her hand appeared just below his face, holding a cubic inch of some sort of meat. She left it long enough for him to see it and dropped it on the floor. He felt something in the monster's thumb and, a second later, it shoved his face down so his mouth was just over the piece of dead flesh. The thumb muscle twitched. A nanosecond later, his forehead smacked the marble floor, sending dizzying pain through his brain. His eyes had only refocused when he felt the thumb muscle again. He quickly took the meat in his mouth. The hand tensed a bit but did nothing else. He felt okay, like he had this monster down. He could read it. He felt the thumb muscle again but, before he could realize that he wasn't chewing, his head knocked into the floor again. He chewed, exaggerating the jaw movements for the thing to see, with his eyes closed against the pain in his head. The whole thing was repeated over and over in silence. He tested his handle on the creature's tell. Waiting for that little muscle to move before responding to his morsels of food on the floor. He pushed it too far once, waited too long after the twitch before moving. He paid for that bravado. Or, to be more precise, his forehead payed for it. He was beginning to feel sated when she spoke. "I had intended to introduce you to our cook. She's quite lovely. But I have decided against it. It would only bring back painful memories for you." He thought about this as he chewed. "Memories of what?" he asked. Those talons of hers raked his back. He hissed through his teeth. "Never address me without calling me mistress." He thought about that. He was loathe to do it but there was no point in refusing. There was no point in doing anything. He needed some sort of plan. He needed some idea of how to get out of this. Then he could act towards that goal. "Memories of what, Mistress," he asked. "Memories of your mother." "I never met the woman. I'm an orphan." He waited a few moments for her response before remembering. "Mistress." "I don't believe I've read any novels about orphans." He suppressed a smile. "I know of a good one, Mistress. It is very old, from long before The Ending War." The clink of her silverware had stopped. "You would like it. It has a cruel and beautiful woman in it. And a prisoner." "Novels from before The Ending War are illegal." She said after a long silence. "I hope you won't have me arrested, Mistress." He thought she would hurt him for this but another morsel of food appeared before him, dropped on the floor. Perhaps she had smiled. He longed to see her face, her reactions to his words. His only hope was to make her curious. He knew that even before that maiden had told him there would be a second slave, competition for his life. He had seen things. He knew secrets. As long as she wanted to know where he'd been, what he'd learned, she would keep him alive. His head was brought to the food. He took it in his mouth, straining his eyes sideways at the beast. "I think I will introduce you to the cook, then." Her tone was different. It had been terse. Suddenly, it was light and airy. The clink of silverware began again. "I am quite literate and have no need of a scribe. We need to think of some other way for you to earn your scraps. You'll help the cook until we figure that out." She dropped another on the floor in front of him when she said 'scraps', as if to demonstrate what the word meant. "Do you have any other skills?" The word 'magic' popped into his head and he almost laughed at how ridiculously dangerous such a revelation would be. He wanted to be outside. What skill did he have that required being outside? He tore through his mind for ideas but only found irrelevant, long ago memories about the outdoors. The way grass feels on bare feet. The sting of a fire ant. Being blinded by the midday sun. "I'll think of something, then." She said and he knew he had missed his opportunity. The sting of a fire ant? He suddenly remembered what he had thought about just before falling asleep. He could have enjoyed it, what she did to him in that room. Had he not been so terrified, it could have almost been nice. While she had his penis tied in that leather strap, stretched, and she pinched his scrotum between those pliers, the pain was unimaginable. But, after that, he'd felt so raw, so open, so needy. He had wanted to be in that maid's mouth again. He'd wanted more. He shook the thought from his mind and ate in silence. He hated this woman. He needed to focus on that. When the meal ended, she stood and placed her foot beneath his face, which was lowered until the tip of his nose touched the leather. It wasn't difficult to figure out what was expected. He stuck his lips out and touched the leather with them. He didn't end with the small suck of a normal kiss. This was his secret victory. He pretended such a thing meant something. Her skirt brushed his naked skin as she turned to leave. The beast took him outside and washed him brusquely in a brick pond. The sun hurt his eyes but he forced them open. He didn't know how long he would be out, in the fresh air and immersive light. Hair still dripping, the beast dragged him through the castle and threw him into the kitchen. There was a woman in it, in the same cuffs he wore. Her hair was impressive: long, thick, curly, blonde. It hung in chunks like tendrils. He heard a bolt lock on the outside, tried the door and found it jammed shut. There was a second door in the same condition. He turned to the woman who was watching him placidly. "Done?" she asked. "Yes." "I have information for you. Wanna hear it?" He looked at her cuffs, then her face. "I don't know. Do I?" "Her men never last. They break down completely. She breaks them." Her words sounded rehearsed. "I was tortured in prison. I think I'll be okay." He looked around the kitchen, it was large with a huge, marble block in the middle, an island. They stood on either side of it. "Yeah, maybe." She was rubbing the top of the island nervously. She wanted to warn him without insulting him and he was just making it difficult for her for no reason. Why shouldn't he let her? "I'm sorry, please tell me what you want to tell me. I would like to know." "It's just...she does it on purpose. She complains about it to anybody who'll listen but she makes it happen. She'll play with you..." she glanced furtively at his red spotted stomach. "She'll play with you and tell you she wants you to submit to her completely. But, if you do - if you completely submit, she'll get angry. It'll be worse for you than you can imagine." "Why are you telling me this?" She glanced at him fearfully and he felt bad again. "I just...I mean...why are you telling me this? Why didn't you tell the others?" "I tell all her toys. I tell every one. First thing." Her words were clipped. Now she was angry. That bothered him more than he could account for. He squinted at her. "But they break, anyway." "Nobody ever believes me." She looked at the counter while she drew little circles on it with her finger. "I believe you." She looked up from the counter and he smiled inwardly. Her eyes looked black. Black eyes and blonde hair, it made her look a bit alien. "I can tell when people are being deceitful." She looked at him incredulous. "Magic?" "No. People tell you when they are lying." "I see," she said blankly. "Right there. You just lied. You told me you understood when you really didn't." "That's different," she said. "Not entirely. You didn't expect me to believe you. You didn't try to make me believe you. So it was easier. Anybody would have known it was a lie. But the same principle applies to all lies. There were certain things your body did that told me your words were untrue. Any time a person lies, their body does things to let you know the words aren't true. You just have to be able to see them." She wasn't really listening. She was waiting for him to stop talking so she could say, "Don't tell the countess you can do that." He cocked his head, spoke as much to himself as to her, "I can't read her. Maybe it's because she doesn't care if I believe her or not." She went to him, put her hand lightly on his arm, "Don't tell her." Her hand seemed to radiate more heat than normal. It warmed his whole body to have that one palm on his arm. Her breasts were right next to him, perfect teardrops asking to be kissed. It took all his strength not to touch them. This must be why people wear clothes even when it's hot, he thought. "I won't tell her." She took a long suck of air through her nose as folded her lips into her mouth. "You have to clean the kitchen." She showed him what to do. It was a spring cleaning. He had to clean anything that was far too labor intensive to clean daily. He spent the day straining to remove tar-like resin from a variety of surfaces and crevices. He didn't know what it was, some sort of grease that dried and blackened, perhaps. It was on everything and it didn't want to come off. He didn't mind. He was grateful to have an opportunity to think, now that he knew what his situation was. This wasn't a prison at all. If he worked on it, there would probably be a way to escape. If he could get away from the handmen, he could get out. This place wasn't guarded at all. What then? The only thing to do then would be to find Francis. That wouldn't be possible. They would hunt him. If they found him, they would take no more chances. They would kill him and be done with it. And they would surely find him before he found Francis. He didn't know how to hide. Francis knew that sort of thing. He might come for him so it would be best for him to stay in one place. Francis could find him easier, that way. Francis could get into this place without even having to think about how, he could kill these beasts and every other occupant of this castle. They would have time to run before anybody began chasing them. He would know how to get far away without a single villager seeing them. He knew about running and disappearing. He knew how to be swift and unseen. He knew about killing and dodging and dying. What do I know? he thought. Words. Numbers. Parlor tricks. He never understood why Francis was his friend. More than that, Francis actually seemed to admire him. It hoisted his ego but also made him anxious, afraid he'd be caught out. It was just a matter of time before Francis would realize there was nothing to admire. Then he would do what he was best at. He would disappear, leaving his erstwhile friend completely alone. Again. A different alone, a worse alone, this time he would be alone with. He would be alone with ghosts, alone with memories, alone with somebody to miss. If Francis didn't come, wouldn't it be better to stay in the castle? He would definitely be caught if he tried to run. If he stayed, perhaps it wouldn't be entirely bad. He would see the cook sometimes and she would be naked. That maid might suck on him again, ride him again. That would be nice. He'd be fed, too. He'd be fed in an odd way but fed is fed. There would be pain but there is always pain. There would be pain out there alone, pain of a different nature. Where does it hurt most, the doctor had asked. I can only treat the wounds I see, the doctor had said. He decided to stay in the castle for as long as he could take it. If Francis came that would be the best. If he didn't, that wouldn't be the worst. The cook worked while he did. She made a few loaves of bread. While she kneaded the dough, the long, thin muscles in her forearms danced. That was just as erotic to him as her buttocks, firm and fuzzy, like a peach he wanted desperately to eat. She cut vegetables which she threw into a massive pot. Holding the knife in her right hand, she lifted the whole right side of her body, stood on the ball of her foot, and dropped the weight of it into the cut. It was a silly habit. The vegetables couldn't possibly offer enough resistance to warrant such force. Still, he couldn't stop watching her do it. It was mesmerizing. She prepared three cold lunch plates which the monster, the one with the mole, took through the door. They continued working until Mole returned the plates and left once more. She suggested they eat what remained on those plates. Scraps. They took their meal on the floor. She sat with her knees spread, each foot under the opposite knee. She was either unaware or unconcerned that her softest, pinkest flesh was on clear display. He wanted to know how she had come to be at this place but didn't ask. He didn't want any of this time spent telling sad stories. Instead, he asked, "What are those things?" She looked at him quizzically. "Those monsters. The one that brought the plate. And there's another." She laughed at this. "They're people. They're just people, only bigger. They're really quite sweet, if you come to know them." "No, they are not sweet." "That's because you're afraid of them," she picked at her food, putting tiny bits in her mouth. "Who wouldn't be?" "That's just it. Imagine if all your life people are afraid of you. No matter what you do, people are afraid of you? Then just don't worry about what they feel about you. It'll be the same whatever you do. I bet they never do mean to you. It's only not being nice. It's only not caring what you feel. 'Cuz what you feel will be bad no matter what." She was right. Alone with him, they were rough but any pain they caused had a purpose. They were simply callous, not cruel. "You were never afraid of them?" "No. I knew them before the countess bought me. She was buddied with my old owner. I used to hang out with 'em when she came to visit. The three of us played hide and seek in the garden and the nobles took their drinks together. You should hear 'em laugh. The laugh's as big as they are. It's like the sky's opening up. Like rain's coming." He thought about that. He tried to imagine it but got stuck on thinking of her running naked in a garden, breasts bouncing, buttocks pumping with each step. He came out of the thought and realized he was staring at her vagina, soft and inviting, warm folds of skin he could wrap himself in and hide from everything. He closed his eyes and concentrated on not becoming erect. He failed. He turned his head away, covered his penis with his hand, "I'm sorry." This would be another reason people wore clothes, he thought. She laughed again, far more joyfully than before. She looked absolutely delighted. "You're a weird worm! Who apologizes for that? That's what it's supposed to do, silly!" She piled the plates and stood with them. "Back to work," she said, a smile taking her face hostage. The rest of the day, she would occasionally break the silence with laughter again. He'd look up to see her smiling at him with a mixture of joy and incomprehension, clearly remembering his apology. He was sad to see the day end, the monster arrive to take him away. He felt at such ease in that room with her. It was her ease he felt. Ease with herself, her body, her situation. It filled the room. He could taste it in the air. But it had to end. Mole came for him as she was plating the dinner. The creature held him in the air, his arms mashed against his sides, and turned him at angles to look him over. He was covered in grease, grime and sweat. It took him outside and washed him for the second time that day. It was getting dark and this bath made him cold. As it scrubbed his skin, he thought about what the cook had told him. When it finished, he looked the thing in the eyes and said, "Thank you." "You're very welcome." That was the first he had heard it speak. He hadn't expected articulate. After his bath, the creature attached his wrist cuffs behind his back and brought him to the dining room where he was fed dinner the same way he had been fed breakfast. The only difference was that his hands were cuffed this second time. He couldn't support his own weight with his hand. Mole was holding his upper body up by his neck alone, making it difficult for him to swallow. She didn't speak to him at all while they ate. At the end of the meal, she pushed her chair back, lifted her skirt, spread her legs and said, "Lick it." The thing had released his neck for this. Odd that he wasn't trusted to eat his food on his own but he was expected to do this without prodding. He walked his knees to her chair and stretched his neck between her legs. Of his many skills, this was one of the only ones Francis had shared with him. He delicately tickled her clitoris with the tip of his tongue. She laughed so he stopped, thinking he was doing it wrong. She pulled his head back down to her crotch. "My maiden told me she thought you were a virgin. I don't know where she got that idea." It seemed to take forever. His tongue ached and felt on the verge of cramping. He had to give his tongue a few surreptitious breaks, using his nose on her clitoris, hoping she couldn't tell the difference. When, at long last, she came, it was with a single, lightly voiced sigh. He recognized it from the times the creatures serviced her in her room. Her climaxes were always anti-climactic, like they barely happened. She lifted her leg, put her shoe on his chest, kicked him to the ground and stood. Impact Event Ch. 03 He was hard and he hated himself for it, hated that his hardness was visible to her. "I see the soldier is finally ready for battle, again. Got his courage back, did he?" He said nothing. "Do you want to put it inside me? Is that what you want?" That was exactly what he wanted but he meant to take the cook's advice. He would play this game wisely. He had to. He willed his stomach to stop doing flips and took a deep breath. "There's nothing special about your cunt. Anywhere warm and wet will do." She kicked his belly. He doubled over in pain and self-protection. Something grabbed his waist. Eyes shut, he felt himself lifted into the air and thrown over the monster's shoulder. The shoulder dug into his stomach where he'd just been kicked and he grunted as the thing walked. He tried to lift his back but it dug his stomach further into the shoulder so he dropped down again. He could only see to the side of them, what they were passing but not where they were going or where they'd been. They ended up in a ballroom. Clearly, there was no dancing there anymore. There were metal frames of all different shapes and sizes evenly spaced throughout the floor. He tried to understand the various structures they passed as the monster walked through them. "This one," the countess' voice echoed in the cavernous hall. The creature stopped but she didn't. He heard her shoes hitting the floor, receding then returning. On her return, a second sound joined the reverb of her footsteps, the sound of wheels. The wheels stopped but still her footsteps rang through the hall. She appeared beside him, holding something, a web of leather straps with a large wooden object attached. "Open your mouth." He shook his head.and she instantly slapped the monster. It flipped him and lay him on his back. The monster did this so quickly and effortlessly, he felt light, weak and helpless. That other woman had called him a toy. Maybe she was more accurate than he'd imagined. It lifted his leg into the air, lifting his buttocks and lower back into the air as well. Then, it shoved its huge finger into his anus. He barely had time to feel the horror of realizing what this creature was about to do before the pain of him doing it wrenched his whole body backwards. Nor did he realize how widely he had opened his mouth until the countess stuck the wooden thing in it. She strapped it around his head. It had some solid areas that covered his eyes, relegating him to darkness but for tiny shafts of light at the edges of the leather. She took her time about securing it, fastening tiny buckles by his temple and ears. He could only whimper as the tiny lines of light around his blinders disappeared. "If you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything." He kicked at the floor, trying to move away from the finger inside him. "If you say something mean, you won't be allowed to speak." He screeched into the gag. "Come, now. This isn't bad at all. I won't move on until you compose yourself. If you want to maintain this position, by all means continue acting like a child. If you'd rather move on and get this over with, you must first calm down. Or maybe you like my man's finger inside you?" He braced his muscles and look long, quivering breaths through his nose. While it would have been impossible to actually become calm, he did manage to steady himself. Mercifully, the creature removed his finger, though it hurt as much leaving as it did entering. He was lifted to his feet and walked a few paces. He heard squealing sounds and was pushed forward. He felt his neck press against something cold and iron. He wished he'd had the composure to look at the contraption they meant for him in those few moments he spent on the floor with uncovered eyes. With a clink, something snapped to his collar. He arms were undone, both at the same time, and secured above his head in a wide V. Compared to the strength of the hand holding his left arm, the one that took his right arm seemed ridiculously weak. He had to resist the urge to break its hold. The hooks on his cuffs were attached to something. Then, rope wound around his arm, pressing it into some cold metal, marrying the two. The same squealing sounds preceded the placement of his wrists as well as his ankles, the next to be shackled. His legs were similarly bound to some cold metal. He heard the squealing once more as he felt his arms pulled away from his legs, stretching him and lifting him from the floor at the same time. He thought his arms would pop out of their sockets and he screamed into the gag, as much from fear as pain. It stopped at that. He was completely immobilized but for his head which only had limited movement, most of it side to side. Terror took him, desperate, erratic, insensate terror. The true horror of his gag reached its apex at that moment, as he wanted to apologize, take it back, beg, do whatever it took but could only make muffled noises that bore no resemblance to the words formed in his brain. He would have offered her anything. And he did have something to offer. A sudden trail of fire shot across his back. He shut his eyes against the blackness behind his blinders. The second time it happened, he heard a crack and realized it was a whip causing his pain. It was different from the other whip. The other one snapped at a single point. This one tore through long stretches of flesh. I felt like his skin was being ripped off his body, taking muscle with it. He strained every fiber of his being to move, to get out of its way, but only caused more pain in his arms and legs for the effort. It seemed endless, the ripping, burning pain. Every thought left his mind. He had no concept of how long it was happening, time had no sense at all anymore. He screamed into the gag. It was all he could do. Give voice to the pain so it wasn't stuck inside of him, growing. He felt his strength leave him, abandon him in a slow, constant drain. But not his mind. His mind was only more aware, more conscious with each crack of the whip. His body sagged but his mind sat upright and wakeful. It was the thing he loved most in the world and it betrayed him. He barely noticed, from a million years away, behind a thousand sheets of glass, that at some point, he had stopped screaming. On and on, the vicious, stinging lash ate him alive. As sudden as it had started, it stopped. He heard shuffling, far off. It was a few feet away but he was so far inside of himself, it may as well have been miles. The collar was released and his head lolled. His back stung and hurt but he welcomed that pain as release. He could have called it soothing. The leather web was removed from his head, revealing its remover, the countess. Drool flowed down over his lip as she lifted his head by his hair. He couldn't focus his eyes. He thought she was being fuzzy on purpose. "You owe me an apology." He spoke without thought or intention. "I'm sorry, Mistress." "Is my cunt special?" "It is very special, Mistress." He tried to swallow but got it all wrong. Another line of drool ran down the middle of his chin. "Say, 'your cunt is special, Mistress.'" "Your cunt is special, Mistress." His words were quick and flat. "All you want to do is think about my cunt." "I do, Mistress." "Then I'll leave you to it." She left him there, head hanging, watching a small pool of blood collect on the floor. The cook came in the next morning to feed him. An insistent ache had taken his joints, competing with the pain in his back. He hadn't slept but he hadn't stayed awake, either. He wasn't sure where he'd been. "I think you mistook me," she said, shoving a bit of food in his mouth. He tried to eat but it felt like lump of cold clay in his mouth. "Don't try to get yourself in trouble. Don't be bad. I only meant you shouldn't be like her dog. Running to kiss her feet when she arrives." He let the food drop from his mouth to the floor. He could still taste it in the back of his throat from when he had tried to swallow it. "Trying to please her however you can. Telling her she's your world and you'd die for her. Don't do those things. Don't be an idiot, either. That was really stupid." He tried to nod. He had no idea if he was successful. The beast came that night and released his bonds. He was walked to his room. Walking doesn't describe it. Mole held him upright and dragged him. He moved his legs occasionally in a pantomime of walking. He saw the countess walking towards them, heading in the opposite direction. He shot his eyes to the floor as she passed and she slapped his back with her palm as she did. His body went limp at that but it didn't hamper the Mole at all. He didn't leave his room for three days. In all that time, Mole fed him. He wondered why the cook had done it in the ball room. He wondered if she had asked to. Maybe she had used a favor in order to speak with him. He clung tenderly to that thought as to something warm and soft and living.