0 comments/ 168576 views/ 29 favorites Irish Captive Ch. 1 By: Jigs and Vermillion The following story is a joint effort in pretty much equal parts between myself and Vermillion. No, that is not entirely true..., the authentic Gaelic phrases are entirely the contribution of that sexy colleen of the ole sod, Vermillion. For those of you not fortunate enough to be Irish, and for the sons and daughters of the Emerald Isle who have let their Gaelic slip away, the translations are at the end of the story. Vermillion and I hope you enjoy our little tale, and desperately plead with you to be sure and Vote, Chicago style (early and often). --Jigs-- -------------------------------------- Katherine O'Riley was sure she would not see the sunrise. Was that so bad? She'd already seen more suffering and pain than she could bear. She was ready and willing to die for the Cause. Ireland must be free. Her own mission to put a bullet in the Governor's heart had failed, but she was consoled that the English soldiers had been distracted by her go at political murder. While Ireland's oppressors were hunting her down, cursing her, swearing vengeance, Wolfe Tone was on his way to France! E'ireanngo Bra'ch! She too would have escaped were it not for the cursed Yeomanry here in Ulster. She had heard of the cruel atrocities the new Laws of Disarmament had wrought. Now she would suffer those tortures of hell, and at the hand of the very man she had tried to kill. The penalty for swearing an oath to the United Irishmen was death. If that weren't enough to assure her execution, she had been caught in the act trying to kill the King's own Governor. She would be tried as a revolutionary, for treason, and for attempted political murder. She was guilty on all counts. The trial would be a brief one at dawn, and before sundown on the morrow she would either be hung or shot. Only the manner of her execution remained in doubt. Her death was certain. It was certain too that before her death, these cruel foreigners who held Ireland by the throat would inflict pain and humiliation upon her for no reason but the sadistic pleasure of watching her suffer. She had heard stories of the brutality in the Governor's prison and she had seen the scars of those that lived to tell the tale. Gratefully she had been knocked unconscious when captured, but she had not been favored by the quick death she had every reason to wish for. She had regained consciousness in a start as a bucket of icy cold water was poured over her. She found herself lying face down on the cold stone floor of a prison cell. Her groggy reaction was to groan and roll onto her side, the best she could manage with her hands tied behind her back. Her peasant blouse clung to her breasts and her drenched thin skirt did nothing to hide the seductive curves of her thighs. Once awake her misery came in a wave to overwhelm her. She shivered from the cold and the shame of exposing her feminine charms to the three English dogs staring down at her. She glared hatred upward at the English soldiers. They were big brutes in red coats. No, they were more than merely big. From where she was sprawled on the floor they looked absolutely huge, a trio of eyes filled with in hungry lust and frozen on her body. She understood perfectly what was on their minds. What a vulnerable and tasty feminine morsel she must be..., her hands tied behind her, thrusting her tempting breasts forward, so full and firm and scarcely hidden under her wet cotton blouse. She also saw, however, that these men looked incredibly stupid..., probably Scottish brutes she thought. There might be a light of hope there. Perhaps they would execute her here and now, and save her from the fate that was otherwise sure to follow. "Ledo thoil! Na dean sin!" The captain was indeed Scottish and he could understand her Gaelic. This Irish trash spoke badly, but he could make it out. He still remembered some from his Grandfather. "Bi Samhach, Irish 'ore! An' speak English!" "Ledo thoil! Marie Shannon is aimn dom." He reached down and by her hair roughly pulled her upright. "No, bitch. We know ye be Katherine O'Riley. Wolfe Tone's skit, a sworn revolutionary and probably whore to 'alf a' Ulster. I be the Cap'n 'ere, and ye'll service me cock or I'll turn ye over to me boys." "Po'g mo tho'in!" She could see in his eyes that she had gone too far, but this was not the first time that her brash mouth had caused trouble for her. No matter! She knew these heathens would humiliate and beat her, even rape her more likely than not, but she wasn't going to die without fighting back in the only way she could. Curses are important to the Irish, and she meant to get hers in. To be sure her Grandmother had taught her how to curse a soul all the way to hell, along with the special brimstone reserved for the English heathen to be added in where applicable. The captain yanked her hair with renewed cruelty and snatched her onto her knees. With his other hand he freed an ugly uncircumcised penis from his fly. He was already semi-hard. The deep cleavage of her blouse, and those long nipples rigid from the cold, outlined in the wet fabric, had been more than enough to swell his manhood. It was an ugly weapon and it smelled. She struggled against his grip, and turned her face away. "Ye'll pay for that, harlot! Ye'll pleasure me like a whore, ye will or I'll cut ye throat right 'ere!" The Captain knew it was an empty threat. The Governor had said to bring her to him unharmed. But he also knew from experience, that women prisoners were much more manageable after they had been forced to suck his cock. In their deep shame from that ugly act, some before, and many afterwards, had begged to be killed. He had obliged more than a few, but always only after he enjoyed all their mouths and tongues had to offer. With one hand behind her head and his cock bobbing free right below her nose, he used his other hand to pull his dagger out of his sheath and held it in front of her eyes. "Put it in ye mouth, whore. And suckle 'til I fill ye mouth or I'll remove your scalp and leave ye to die without a Priest!" Kate knew she had no choice. She gagged doing so, but she opened wide and took his foul penis onto her tongue, and then into her throat. Her mouth was no virgin, but to suck an English cock shamed her, as the Captain knew it would. She hated to even breathe the same air this dirty barbarian, and to be made to fellate him was a disgusting humiliation beyond tolerance. In her head she began to chant her Grandmother's prayer for healing, and in the ancient way of the Irish, she retreated from her pain into the world of leprechauns and fairies. By the time he filled her mouth, she was far away. The Captain grunted as he released, and with no alternative, Kate swallowed his discharge. When he was empty, he pulled her off and pushed her to the floor of her cell. He was not finished, however. "Strip and search her!" He ordered his men. "Make sure she has no more weapons and can do no harm to his Excellency." With cold hands wandering a good deal more than necessary, the two guards set to their task with a will. Her blouse and skirt were preserved after a fashion, but in their zeal to 'search' her naked body, her tormentors shredded her under garments into useless tatters. She was nude, spread obscenely on the floor of her cell before the Captain spoke again, "Maith thu', toice. The Gov'ner's gonna like you. Dress her, and tie her hands again." He laughed as he locked the cell and left with his men. She lay shivering on the stone floor, cold and hopeless. Alone at last, she had just enough strength to roll to the wall, sit up, and pull her knees up to her chest bracing her back against the cold stones. A difficult move it was too with her hands roped behind her back, and the effort exhausted the last of her strength. She sat there breathing hard, hungry and cold, contemplating her fate. All that was left to her was the ancient faith of the Irish, and with no hope but the almighty, she quietly began an Our Father, Ár n-athair, atá ar neamh: go naofar d'ainm.... Her head fell to her knees and she was asleep. ------------------------------------------- Her dream was warm and pleasant. She was 12 or so, running through the heather playing a game of pirates and captives. The playground was on the rocky cliffs high above the shore, but in their childish imaginations Kate and her friends were far away at sea aboard a mighty pirate ship. Kate always took the part of the lady of breeding captured by the cruel buccaneers and tied to the mast. The ropes her playmates used on her wrists never failed to excite her in a way she could not understand. In her dream, the years skipped by to another time, another experience. She was now 16, and although the child's game had been put aside, her fantasy of being the captive of pirates had not. Her vision of the pirate Captain had grown over the years, and by now she knew him so well it was hard for her to remember that he was not real. She could see him quite clearly in her mind, a big man with a saber cut across his cheek, his shirt off to flout a broad hairy chest, and wearing tight britches tucked into black boots. As she passed thru puberty, her Captain had become evermore sexually aggressive. No longer did he merely tie her to the mast. Now he would tear open her bodice and expose her budding breasts to the view of the crew before dragging her to his cabin below deck to 'have his way with her'. More years dropped away in the stupor of her dream. Now she was 18 or 19, and at home under the bed covers, alone with her fantasy. Her Pirate Captain drifted across her imagination, so close she could smell his breath, and feel his hands between her legs and on her breasts. Under the blankets her hand drew down her stomach and found her soft mound wet and ready. She teased her sex, and her breathing grew quicker, stronger. She closed her eyes imagining her Pirate Captain atop her, and she would close her knees to squeeze him between her thighs as her orgasm sent its shock waves thru her body. The dream changed abruptly as dreams sometimes do. "A chuisle mo." it was a man's voice. She smelled heather and lavender. She opened her eyes and looked up into her sweet Daniel's eyes. Not the tired, beaten man that had died at the hands of the Yeomanry. This was her young Danny from the hills of heather. "A ghra' mo chroi'," she whispered. As Daniel started to pump his hips, she churned her own, and moaned in response. He used to like her moaning. Then he stopped liking her; then he stopped loving her. She closed her eyes again. She tried to bring back her Captain. "A chiste is a stór!" She opened her eyes. Her Pirate was there once more. He brought with him what she needed so badly...his strength and commanding ways...his bare hairy chest against her breasts..., his manhood between her legs. He grabbed her hands and held them with one hand above her head. She moaned anew. "Tá Tá, a Ghrá". Then she looked into her Pirate Captain's face. Why did it seem so unaccountably familiar...so much like someone real and known to her..., someone she had seen not so long ago? And once again the dream shifted, now becoming a nightmare to match the one she was living, yet a nightmare full of sensual omen. This phantom of her mind spoke to her. "Scream for me, my Irish trollop." A hand reached down to her nether region, she looked up into eyes she could not quite place. Who WAS this? Oh, No! God, No! This was not her pirate; these were the evil eyes of her sworn enemy. This was the King's Governor, Lord Groat!!! It was too late to resist, however. His penis was already deep inside her, setting her on fire. She woke up screaming in pleasure as the man she had tried to kill took her in a powerful climax. --------------------------------------- Her dreams were gone now to wherever it is that dreams disappear. Awake to the harsh reality of her captivity, yet her womb still throbbed with the very real orgasm she had just experienced. How could that be here in his hellhole of a prison? It was no wonder Danny had left her to run headlong into death at the hands of the English pigs. She was perverted and a sinner. A common slut, never able to quench her thirst for a penis deep inside her. But her salvation was soon at hand. Soon she would be dead. An old hag was at the bars of her cell. Kate was so thirsty and the old woman was holding out a cup for her. She struggled to get to her feet; her hands still tied. It was far from easy, but finding new strength in the lure of that cup, she slowly, painfully, rose, and limped to the front of the cell. "How kind. I am so thirsty. Tá tart mór orm." The old woman brought the cup to her lips. "Caith siar é agus ná lig anair á," said the hag. Kate took two deep swallows before she turned her head aside and yelled. "Bandraoi! Hag! That's whisky! Uisce beatha! Are you trying to kill me?" "Where you be goin', its better whisky than water. The Lord Groat is a hard master and few leave these cold floors alive," the old hag explained. "Another drink then, old woman." Kate's stomach had turned over, wrenching at its emptiness, as that first fiery swallow hit bottom, but now she welcomed the warmth that flowed thru her body, however false it actually was. She took two more deep draws on the cup, and then the old woman was gone as quietly and mysteriously as she had come. Revived by the whiskey, Kate hobbled back to her place on the floor by the wall. Her head was beginning to spin. She hadn't eaten in a day or more. She closed her eyes. She smelled heather again. She opened her eyes. This time it was not the prison hag, but a kindly woman, gray haired with a lined but handsome face, who was inside her cell and handing her a wooden cup. Kate was so grateful, and she drank deeply of the coolest, sweetest water she had ever tasted. She drank and drank. Her head seemed to clear a bit. She handed the cup back to the woman. "Tá mé buíoch díot as do chúnamh. Go raibh maith agat," Kate said and dropped her head back onto her knees. "Tá fáilte romhat," said a kind voice. She did not need look up to know the woman was gone. She knew it was the Fay, the fairy folk who had come to her aid. She felt like she was floating. She thought of her Pirate Captain again. When the guards came to get her, she was singing. "Ó lá go lá, mo thuras, An bealach fada romham. Ó oíche go hoíche, mo thuras, Na scéalta nach mbeidh a choích'." ------------------------------------------------------------ "Such a sad song for a wench that will soon be the envy of all the whores in Ulster." She remembered sucking this man's dirty cock and was nearly sick to her stomach at the mere sound of his voice. The captain of the guard laughed as he yanked her to her feet, out of the cell, down the steep stairway, and all the way to the prison cart, by a hand entwined in the hair of her head. A bumpy ride in that mobile cage over the cobblestone street ended at a massive white door flanked by red coated guards with muskets at 'present arms'. The Captain of the Guard snatched his prisoner from the cart and thru the doorway, dragging her by her hair along behind him. Stooped at the waist, and desperate to keep pace with the long strides of her guard, Kate was pulled down the elaborately decorated main hall of the Governor's mansion. A grand building it was too, but in her humiliating arrival, she had little opportunity to admire the architecture. Through one final door and she was inside the bed chambers of the man who that morning she had tried to kill. A final yank on her hair sent her spinning to the floor at the feet of Lord Groat seated in his high back oak chair with the naked blade of a fencing sword in his hand. She looked up at her enemy through eyes bleary with tears, struggling to control her panic. Another officer stood by the Lord's side, also holding a drawn sword. Lord Groat and his aide de camp had been practicing their dueling skills, a favorite sport of the Lord, and one that he was very good at. Indeed, so confident was the Lord in his swordsmanship that on this occasion he had not even bothered to shed the bulky blood red coat of a British Army Officer. Even as despised as he was to her, Kate was unable to resist an inventory of her hated enemy. Her eyes followed the gleaming sword blade up the arm of his red coat to a broad chest glistening with military medals. There also was the emblem of his current rank and authority, the Great Sash of the Governor of Ireland with its three silver chevrons. Her eyes moved lower down to his skin tight britches, hesitating for an instant or two at the impressive bulge at his crotch. Still lower were the black leather boots that showed the wear one would expect for the hard used equipment of an expert horseman. Despite their polish, these were not boots worn for effect by some toady fop. Evil he may be, Kate thought, but strong and commanding, a brandy in one hand and his rapier dangling from the other, Lord Groat was every bit the ideal English aristocrat. He was also her sworn enemy, the oppressor of her people, the leader of those murdering pigs who had butchered her Daniel, and the man who on the morrow would have her executed. God willing, better that this instant he would run his rapier through her heart, and put a quick end to this miserable charade. Yet, for all of her hate and despair, she felt her breath quicken as she looked at him. How could that be? "Shame upon you Katherine O'Riley," she thought. "He is nothing but English trash all puffed up like a peacock, same as they all are. Put him from your head." Still the unthinkable haunted her, and a little voice from inside taunted her, "Surely woman, ye wouldn't be flirting with your own executioner now would ye? No? If ye not be a hussy slut, why then be ye admiring his broad chest and taking measure of his cock?" It was shameful, unforgivable, that such ideas should wander thru her consciousness, but she couldn't help herself. For sure, he was a handsome man, so like the one of her fantasies. Her Pirate Captain had been made real. ------------------------------------- Only moments before Lord Groat had been told his would be assassin had arrived from the prison. "Bring the woman here to my chambers," he had commanded the captain of his guard. "Yes me lord," came the quick reply as the uniformed officer saluted smartly and left the room. Till now it had been a pleasant evening for His Majesty's Governor of Ireland. A delicious meal, and then the distraction of a mock sword fight with his aide de camp, followed by a glass of fine bandy..., all quite enjoyable and satisfying. Now the burdens of his office had returned, and he dropped unhappily into the big armchair by his desk. The seat and high back were heavily padded as was becoming the fashion of time, but the arms were of natural oak, ornately carved. Groat sat there pondering his problems governing Ireland at the very end of the 18th century. Symbolic of these was the woman he had just sent the guard to bring before him. Not ten hours ago the bitch had taken a shot at him, and had he not seen her raise her pistol, and dodged aside at just the critical instant, he would already be the late, lamented..., and deceased..., King's Governor. "Damn the French anyway," was his first thought. "Only the French would have had a sovereign so stupid as to foster and support a revolution against Divine Right of Kings, as Louis XVI had done in the Americas. 'A Republic' the colonial rebels there called the rump government they had created with French help. 'A Republic' indeed! A den of thieves, traitors, smugglers, and malcontents is more like it." Well, England had lost a colony, but that was good riddance to bad trash, and to a useless wilderness beset with wild Indians. Louis had paid a bigger price for his folly. The revolutionary seed he had planted in North America had born its fruit in France. The French King had lost his head in consequence. Irish Captive Ch. 1 Lord Groat took a sip from the brandy glass in his hand, and tried to focus his thoughts closer to the problem at hand. Now that the damned Americans had gotten away with their treason, the Republican disease had taken hold all over. First in France, all in fever and turmoil over something the mob in the street called Liberty and Equality, and now it had spread like a blight to Ireland at England's back door. It was those meddling French again, they and the Pope, who were behind it all, spreading radical ideas to stir the simple farmers of this rocky god forsaken island into revolt against the lawful writ of the their English King. Well, the Lord Groat, was Governor now, and he bloody damned well would not stand for it! He would restore order here if he had to shoot every treasonous troublemaker on the island. A knock came at the door. That would be guards returning with the O'Riley woman no doubt. What was her name? Katherine or something like that he seemed to recall. Whatever her name, she was revolutionary bitch who must be made an example of in the event there were others out there who might have ideas of trying to assassinate the King's Governor. And yes, he was sure there were others, perhaps hundreds of them. The King's first man in Ireland broke his revere. "Come In." A burly red coated Captain of the prison guard drug a trailing red headed woman across the threshold by her hair, and threw her down on the floor at the feet of Lord Groat. Once on the floor the woman seemed to recover quite quickly from her mistreatment. She curled her legs behind her, pushed herself up on one arm to sit on a hip, and stared intently and defiantly at the big man in the chair. He was studying his captive with no less interest. He knew her to be a forty-year-old village schoolteacher, but even with her disheveled hair and prison grime she looked at least five years younger. Uncombed her auburn mane fell down her back to well below her shoulder blades. Attractive she was for sure! Clean her up a bit, and she would make a fine ornament in any man's bed. That, Lord Groat decided was a possibility to consider and explore even if she was a participant in some traitorous conspiracy. A taste of the whip and his great cock would cure her of that political nonsense soon enough. It was plain that the woman sprawled on the floor had been treated roughly by the troopers. Bruises were already beginning to show on her arms and one cheek. Her off the shoulder peasant dress was torn at the top exposing a good deal of cleavage, and one breast had been left in sore danger of complete exposure. To all appearances there were no petticoats underneath her dress. Lord Groat wondered if the weird pagan mythology the Irish were so fond of required a female assassin to dispense with bloomers and underpants on the day she set out to do murder. Then he remembered..., certainly she had been stripped and searched after capture. Whatever had been under that dress was now long gone, sacrificed to the pleasure of his soldiers who had done their duty to make sure she had no hidden weapons. Lord Groat smiled as his mind's eye pictured that search. "Ah," he thought, "the joys of being a simple soldier." "So this be the little Bitch who shot at me is it." Lord Groat asked of no one in particular. Then addressing the woman on the floor directly, "Well woman, what have you to say for yourself. Who put you up to trying to kill me?" His question broke her from her reverie. "D'anam don diabhal!" The Officer of the Guard brought her from the prison backhanded her across the face with no hesitation. "Speak English, you Irish whore!" She spat the blood from her cut lip at the captain's boot. He raised his hand to strike her again, but the Lord stopped him with a wave of his sword. Groat spoke again to the woman at his feet. "I am a forgiving man. I would prefer not to hurt you before I have you shot, bitch. Tell me, who told you to kill me? Who gave you the pistol?" "As if I would need more reason to kill you than that tyrant's Sash you be wearin'", the woman replied, her Irish brogue thick around her words. "Mayhaps you think me so stupid that I would have to be told that our good Irish air would be cleaner if you were no longer breathing it." "Another of these stubborn Irish with a bad mouth," Groat thought to himself, "but at least this one is a pretty lass. Breaking her proud attitude might just be entertaining. Yes entertaining indeed." Groat rose taking off his coat as he moved to a chest of drawers beside his bed. "Strip her!" He instructed the guards, "and bring in the rack as well. We will see how she talks when she is stretched a little. More politely I'm sure." Her dress dissolved into rags as the guards ripped it from her back. As they did so, Lord Groat stripped himself to the waist for the entertainment to come. All the while more soldiers were carrying in a sturdy wooden frame about 9 feet tall by 7 feet wide made of heavy 3" square wood beams held together with right triangle plates of sheet iron at the corners. This open box frame, the guards bolted upright on top of an equally solidly built square base. Once assembled as a single unit, the frame and its base made up a standing torture rack upon which an unfortunate prisoner could be hung and then stretched until either his will or his bones were broken. Resting along the bottom beam of the box was a leg spreader bar. An inch or so back from each end of the bar a leather ankle cuff dangled from a link of chain. At mid bar three links of chain anchored it to the center of the frame's bottom beam. At the top of the frame was a similar spreader bar for the victim's arms with the same leather cuffs at each end. Like its bottom counterpart, this bar too was centered inside the frame, but instead of a fixed connection of short chain, a length of rope ran from the middle of the bar up through a pulley hanging at the center of the top beam. Mounted high up on the side of one of the upright beams was a notch and brake caspin wheel where the rope could be tied off and drawn tight with the mechanical leverage of the pulley and wheel. Once the victim's wrists and ankles were cuffed, and his/her arms and legs were spread to the ends of the two bars, the poor prisoner the rope through the pulley, and tightened by the wheel, raised the top bar and could be stretched as tight as a violin string across the frame using pulley and caspin wheel. That, however, was not all. At about half way up the frame a half dozen eyebolts at 3" intervals protruded at right angles, both front and back, from the two upright beams. These eyebolts were the anchor points for an optional third bar about 8 feet long with 4" of padding in the middle covered with leather. With a victim already stretched tight by the top pulley, the ends of this mid-bar could be slid through the eyebolts so that it ran from one side beam to the other, either in front or behind the tortured captive, thus stretching him/her even more tautly across the frame. When the bar was used behind the victim, his/her groin and privates would be thrust forward to be even more accessible for torture. Used in the front of the victim, his/her ass would be forced outward in a similarly prominent manner. Whether the eyebolts on the front or on the back of the side beams were used to hold the middle bar in place depended on the degree of additional stress desired for the poor victim. Or, if the additional mid-bar was used in front of the victim still another option was possible. Instead of using the pulley at the top of the frame to stretch the arm bar upward, the rope on that bar could be threaded into a second pulley attached to the bottom beam. When the rope was pulled tight downward, the victim's arms and torso would be forced to bend double over the padded bar, stretching him/her toward the bottom beam. With the victim draped over the bar, his/her ass cheeks would be left tight and defenseless to the whip, paddle or cane with genitals equally open and vulnerable to the pleasures of the executioner. Lord Groat stood leering at the naked woman who was being held upright before him by a big lobsterback soldier with his hands under her armpits. Groat cursed at the slowness of his solders, and the perspiration seeping thru the dark mat of speckled gray hair on his chest testified further to his impatience. Sweaty and bare chested in his tight riding britches and black boots, with a cruel riding crop in his hand, the Lord was the perfect picture of a sadistic executioner. He opened a drawer and removed a perfect 8 inch replica of a penis carved from animal horn. A second probe followed the first from out of the drawer, this one a tapered round wedge a little over half as long as the penis replica. Kate had never seen an anus dildo before, but before this night was over she would become intimately knowledgeable about their use. The naked woman was trembling, and fright showed in her eyes. She was aware that an awful ordeal lay before her, and she was clearly terrified at the prospect. Lord Groat viewed the situation more pleasantly. He could feel his penis rising inside his skintight pants as he thought of having this beautiful woman stretched to his rack, helpless and at his mercy. His voice was hoarse in anticipation as he gave his order to his guards. "FASTEN HER TO THE BARS!!!" -------------------------------------- Terror griped Kate. She had stood up well till now, but what was this big man going to do to her? What was the apparatus to which her arms and legs were being cuffed? She was to be tortured and beaten that was for certain, but what else was in store for her. Would the English beast also use her sexually? Most likely so. Against those tight pants the bulge she had seen earlier was growing, surely an erection on the rise. He was big too, very big, she could see that quite plainly. He was going to rape her she decided, but faced with that reality, she was astounded to find her mind and body betraying her. What was that across his cheek? A long deep scar? A saber cut most probably, exactly like one she had always pictured on her imaginary pirate Captain's face. How may nights had she masturbated while dreaming of a man with exactly that same scarred face laying between her legs with his cock deep in her cunt? Unaccountably, her reaction now was the same as it had been then. From somewhere deep in her ovaries came a flood of hormones into her bloodstream. Her nipples were becoming hard and stiff. Her pussy was moist, no not just moist, wet...so wet that she was leaking onto her thighs. Then she remembered her dream on the floor of her cell. Of course! Her mind is repressing the awful certainty of her fate by sending her back to the safety of childhood, back to the harmless game of pirates. The thought reassured her. This resemblance of the big man before her to her imaginary Captain is only coincidence, or perhaps another trick of her mind. Surely this flicker of passion, and the sensuous reaction of her body was not to this English brute, but merely a quirk of her subconscious rooted in an almost forgotten child's fantasy. The thought comforted her. Perhaps she was not really a slut after all. ------------------------------------------------------ The guards were finished cuffing the arms and legs of the Irish woman to the two spreader bars, but as they were about to stretch her to the rack using the top pulley, Lord Groat stopped them. "No, use the mid-bar and pull her over it. I want her ass. I wish to mark it as mine, and she has a pair of lovely holes back there where I intend to amuse myself before I use her tits." As ordered, the mid-bar was inserted in place across the frame in front of Kate's crotch, and the lower pulley used to pull the arm spreader bar toward the bottom beam. The tortured woman was thus stretched tightly into an extreme stoop, leaving her lovely ass, anus and pussy totally exposed to the not so tender mercy of the English aristocrat. In his hand was a riding crop that he brought down savagely across the poor woman's buttocks three times in quick succession. Kate screamed. The blows hurt like the fire of hell itself, and a red haze of pain blinded her for a moment. "Now woman you belong to me," Lord Groat said as he examined the three fiery red welts across the white female flesh. "Three chevrons to match those of my Sash of Office. Three chevrons that mark you as the Governor's property, you Irish whore. You will do well to remember henceforth whose slut you are now." Groat tossed the crop aside and began to explore the exposed ass, stroking the cheeks tenderly, then running his hands down her tightly stretched thighs. Minutes went by. A finger toyed with the lips of her pussy for long moments, discovering a moisture there that could not longer be kept secrete. Next his hands were examining the higher hole, a gentle probing at first, until without warning the tip of an index finger disappeared into the rectum to the first knuckle as if testing the resiliency of the sphincter muscle. Kate let out a gasp of shock and surprise. No man had ever penetrated into her most private opening. "My God," she thought, "this is awful, painful, maddening. I am so ashamed, and it hurts so to be stooped and stretched like this. My bottom is on fire from that terrible crop. Now this man has his finger in my ass. Why then am I so aroused? Why is my pussy wet? Why do my nipples ache for attention...his attention? How can I be so mistreated, so humiliated, and yet, like an animal bitch in rut...be so ready to be fucked?" Lord Groat was pleased. His dick hardened as he considered the erotic possibilities that were unfolding for his pleasure. He thought, "What a prize! What marvelous potential! Stripped naked, painfully bent double on the rack, her ass cheeks marked with the crop, and the tip of my finger in her ass, yet her pussy is flowing like a river." Lord Groat shook his head in wonder at the possibilities here. His mind raced! "What a unique idea. It will be the talk of London. Who of the many King's servants has ever made a sex slave out of a female assassin?" It was such an unusual and visionary stroke of genius that the idea grabbed at his fancy even as it turned him on. Groat reached for the longer of the carved horn dildoes he had laid aside earlier. Pressing the big head between the lips of Kate's exposed pussy; he slid it down her slippery channel in a gradual but continuous thrust. The woman moaned, the taught muscles of her legs visibly twitching under the stress of the rack and the stimulation of the dildo. Leaving the artificial cock in place, one of his hands began to stroke the inside of her spread thighs, while the other returned to probe at her anus, up to the second knuckle this time. The moans from the female head just below his knees became louder. "Like that do you? Like my finger in your ass? Makes you all hot and randy doesn't it bitch?" Groat asked as he twisted the invading digit to increase the poor woman's torment. "Tell me! Tell me you like it, bitch. Beg me to fuck your ass. Or would you rather have another taste of the crop?" Kate struggled with her reply. She had never taken a man in her nether hole before, yet this finger now invading her bottom was sending sensual signals through her body. May the Blessed Virgin forgive her! This pig was the enemy! He must not know of her weakness, but what of the crop? He had hurt her so with that. God, she couldn't stand another cut across her ass, but even as she hesitated, a pair of savage strikes landed on the back of her thighs. The pain was excruciating, even worse than the three across her buttocks. In her agony Kate screamed in pain. "No, I won't beg to be raped." She told herself, even though she realized she had no choice. She did hurt so! "Do what he wants. Stay alive," a voice inside told her. Through her sobs she finally answered aloud, stammering and sobbing between words, "Yes, yessss me Lord, I do like it. O-only...I am a virgin there Lord. Please S-sir..., f-fuck my ass if that pleases you, but t-take me slowly..., s-stretch me f-first that I might b-better p-pleasure your big c-cock. Anything you want Sir, only please gently..., and, God..., please don't crop me again." "Yes, my pretty assassin," the Lord Groat answered, "I shall do just that, and right here I have the perfect tool, one made for the purpose in fact." With that the Governor sank the bone anal spreader abruptly into her exposed ass, all the way past the tapered bulge, in a single sudden thrust. Kate screamed in pain and surprise. Never in her sexual experienced had she been hurt so, but then never had she been so filled with either real or artificial cock. More telling, never had she been so completely at the mercy of a man, and she found the feeling of being totally mastered to be exciting beyond anything she had thought possible. A fire burned in her belly..., a fire that she instinctively understood she would never again be able to extinguish. "All right men," Lord Groat ordered, "straighten her up. I want to play with those lovely tits for a while. " The guards released the arm bar rope from the bottom pulley and restrung it to the top hoist. Before the tortured woman was pulled up tight across the rack, however, the middle bar was removed. The strongest and heaviest guard then put his weight to the caspin wheel, stretching the naked woman taut and upright across that awful open box. She screamed as her joints cracked and her arms and legs gave in their sockets. She screamed again when the middle bar was put in place just under her buttocks. Not only did the bar further stretch her even tighter; it also shoved her pussy outward where the butt end of the horn dildo was obscenely on display between her legs. "Tell me my Irish bitch," Lord Groat asked. "Are you ready to change sides now and become a loyal subject of his Royal Majesty, your lawful sovereign?" Kate's only reply was a long low moan of pain. For that failure the Lord's riding crop landed across her nipples. The moan became a scream, followed by a babble of pleading. "Oh please, have mercy. Kill me now and get it over with. You have no cause torture a poor woman like this." "To the contrary you Irish trash, I have every cause." Lord Groat exclaimed, punctuating his words with another slash of the crop, this time across her belly just above her dildo stuffed cunt. "Not half day ago, you tried to put a bullet in me, and if that was not enough you are not a 'poor woman' but a traitorous revolutionary. That, it seems to me to be quite enough 'cause' to do with you whatever I see fit. And if perchance, you are expecting to escape your just punishment with a quick death, then think again Irish slut." Still another strike of the crop landed across her upper thighs that was answered with still another scream as the King's Governor continued. "I have decided not to have you executed. Instead I shall keep you as a female slave. You will warm my bed and pleasure me with your body after I spend a hard day dealing with whomever of your traitorous confederates I have not yet caught and hung." "No I won't do it. You will have to tie and rape me. I will fight you every time you try to use my body. I will never consent," Kate exclaimed through her sobs. Lord Groat smiled knowingly. "You think won't you do it, but you will. It will be too painful to refuse, and anyway when word gets back to your former friends that you share the King's Governor's bed, tied and raped or not, you will never be trusted by them again. The word will get to them you can be sure because I will see to it that it does, and that word will describe in detail how you squeal in delight as you snuggle up to me as service my cock," "Now you red headed whore," Lord Groat asked her waving the crop at her defenseless breasts once more, "do you acknowledge that I own you and that you will serve me with your mouth, your cunt, and your ass, or would your rather to continue to hang there on the rack until I tire of hearing you scream? In the end, you know as well as I, it will make no difference. You will be my slut, and I will fuck you as I please. Your career as a republican revolutionary is over bitch. Make it easy on yourself...how will you have it, with pain or without." Irish Captive Ch. 1 Once again out of the red fog of pain came the same little voice as before. "Stay alive!" it told her. "Don't let the beast have the pleasure of breaking you with his rack and crop. Go to his bed. Service him...and wait for the day when your chance to kill may come again. What do you have to loose?" The advice from her inner voice could not be denied. What purpose would more pain serve? The decision was as sudden as it was unexpected. She could hardly believe it was her voice that blurted out. "Yes, yes me Lord! You win! No more! You win! Take me down from this awful machine, and beat me no more. I will do as you say. May Jesus forgive me my sin." However out of character, her surrender struck a familiar cord in Kate. It should have. Her fantasy of pirates had ended much the same way. Her imaginary buccaneers took her ashore at some dirty Caribbean town where women captured on the high seas could be sold at a slave auction for gold. Her Captain had led her naked from the ship by a rope around her neck down the dusty main street to the slave market. There, with her arms chained over her head to a post, she was sold to the highest bidder. Her sale condemned her to a life of service to the cock of a local planter who wanted a white concubine to replace the black ones who had been sharing his bed. As now, she hated what fate had made of her. As now, she hated herself even more for surrendering and accepting her fate. It seemed to Kate, however, that she was as doomed in real life to be a sex slave as in her fantasy. How ironic it all was. Her long ago imaginary game of captivity by pirates been a premonition of her future as a perpetual whore "Take her down," Lord Groat instructed his guard, "and remove those dildoes. Put her face down in my bed with a pair of pillows under her belly. Tie her hands to the headboard, and bind her legs spread to the corners of the end posts. You are then excused. Return in an hour. I will be finished with her by then, and you can shackle her to floor at the foot of my bed. It will be safer to keep her that way for a while until I can break her in properly to her new role in life." ----------------------------------------------------------- Kate lay face down in her new master's bed, firmly tied with her ass elevated as the he Lord had instructed. Turning her head to the side she watched the great man undress. First the boots, then the skintight riding britches. She was surprised to find that he wore no underwear. The penis that flopped free as the britches cleared his thighs was long and think, and already partly erect as one would expect after almost an hour spent torturing a naked woman. Kate had been exposed to her fair share of male sex organs, and for sure she recognized this one as a weapon that could truly be a joy to a woman. She shuddered at the thought, hating herself for being so horny as to consider the possibility she might find pleasure in what this man was about to do to her. But she was ever so horny. Her time on that awful rack had hurt like hell. It had shamed her to be the naked foil for this arrogant man's sadism, and she was humiliated when he violated both her pussy and ass with dildoes. Most of all, however, she had been embarrassed and distressed by the way she had been aroused by the way he abused her. A thousand times worse, however, was that Lord Groat had noticed her hard nipples and dripping cunt, and most probably knew exactly what they meant. Why else would he have decided to spare her life in favor of making her his concubine? Even now as she lay in his bed tied and helpless, waiting to be raped, he must suspect how badly she needed his big cock. No, 'needed' did not sufficiently describe the urgency of the ache in her belly. A bitch in heat was more like it. He was laying on top of her now, his chest pressing against her back bone, his lips showering kisses between her shoulder blades, on her neck, and nipping at her ears. His growing erection was stretched along the crack of her ass waiting its turn when, as if in confirmation of her worst fears, he whispered in her ear, "Tell me my little Irish slut, tell me how much you want my cock in your traitorous cunt." Kate clamped her teeth tightly together, determined not to give this beast the satisfaction of the truth, but in spite of all she could do, a long low moan gave her away. God yes! How she did want him inside of her! He, however, seemed determined to tease and torture her until she admitted her passion. How awful! How humiliating! Even stretched on the rack was preferable to being teased by his cock like this. His hands crept under her, each fondling a breast, his fingers teasing the nipples, sending little electric shocks straight to her pussy, leaving her gasping for breath. "You can't have my cock until you ask for it my sweet bitch. I can lie here all night if necessary, but you are a slut, and a slut can't wait. Soon you will beg me to fuck you." Slowly her tormentor began to move his hips, sliding his belly over the cheeks of her ass, teasing her by rubbing the length of his penis up and down over her wet her pussy lips. Kate's politics gave way suddenly as she surrendered to her need for a cock inside her. "YES, Goddamn you, YES! Fuck me! I want you to fuck me!" One hand left its breast and she could feel the probe of his penis head searching for her cunt hole. There! He was in, only an inch or so at first, then with a shove, he drove himself home, prying her open all the way to the mouth of her womb. "Oh God," the tied woman whimpered, "Yes, that's it! Give me more. FUCK ME you bastard." Stretched lengthwise along her back, with his hands under her squeezing her breasts, Lord Groat had little leverage to move his cock more than and inch or two inside his love slave, but it was enough. Her first orgasm came in a shattering jolt, the second in a wave of small shocks, so close together that they counted as one rather than as individual meteors. Then, to her extreme distress, he pulled himself out leaving her empty and suddenly frustrated. Was this only more of his teasing cruelty, she wondered, but his hand had left her breast again, and again she felt his hard-on probing at her behind. This time however his search was between the cheeks of her buttocks. Her ass would not to be a virgin much longer. "AGGGHHAA!!!" she screamed, simultaneously a cry of pain and a shout of ecstasy. The dildo in her anus earlier had stretched her, but he was so big! The sensation was indescribable. She felt filled, tight yet distended, hurt yet aroused, shamed and angry, yet ready to climax. The hand that had guided him to her nether hole was under her now, between her legs, playing with her empty pussy, stroking her clit. Her third orgasm came rolling in, rocking her from head to toe; yet it was not enough. "More, more, OHMYGOD, more," she begged of the man who claimed to own her...and was proving he did. "Once more my traitorous Irish cunt," Lord Groat told her. "Cum on my cock once more before I fill your bowel with my seed. Kate could feel the prick in her ass begin to pulse, and as ordered, her body shook with a final explosion. Was this one the strongest of all? She could not tell. Every orgasm had been so huge. Never in her considerable sexual experience had she ever been so totally consumed as this...tied to the bed of her despised English enemy and fucked in the ass. "My God!" Kate thought. "What betrayal is this? Who am I a traitor to now?" ------------------------------------------------- TRANSLATIONS E'ireanngo Bra'ch! Ireland Forever! Ledo thoil! Na dean sin! Please! Don't do that! Bi Samhach! Be Quiet! Ledo thoil! Marie Shannon is aimn dom. Please! Mary Shannon is my name. Póg mo thóin! Kiss my ass. Maith thú, toice! Well Done, wench! A chuisle mo My dearest darling a ghrá mo chroi' love of my heart A chiste is a stór! O treasure chest and treasure! Tá tart mór orm I am very thirsty. Bandraoi Witch Uisce beatha Whisky Caith siar é agus ná lig anair á Drink it up and don't let it come back. Tá mé buíoch díot as do chúnamh. I'm grateful to you for your help. Tá fáilte romhat! You're welcome! Go raibh maith agat Thank you very much Ó lá go lá, mo thuras, An bealach fada romham. Ó oíche go hoíche, mo thuras, Na scéalta nach mbeidh a choích'. From day to day, my journey, The long pilgrimage before me. From night to night, my journey, The stories that will never be again. (A song by Enya, from her album “Shepard's Moon”.) Dánam don diabhal! The Devil with you! Irish Captive Ch. 2 Read Chapter One for an introduction to the Lord and his captive. Characters His Lord Governor, Sir Groat Kate Aileen O'Riley Manu Hasam El Kamal Bey "Manu" – the Lord faithful servant, head of his household. Teresa and Sonya – two young and not so innocent Spanish maids Lasana – another Moor, Manu's woman friend. Tommy – the Lord's groundskeeper ========================== Kate could not stop shaking. She could not open her eyes. She was burning up and yet she shook as if it was the dead of winter. If this was hell… no, this MUST be hell. But if it was hell, then why did memories of intense pleasure flash in her mind? Pleasure in hell? Ridiculous! From where could pleasure come in hell? If only she could remember her catechism, but she could not, and was left to puzzle at the vague warmth deep in her womb. Beyond that hint at satisfaction, she could feel nothing, just the awful shaking of her body. She had to stop or she would start to wretch again. She had nothing in her stomach and the dry heaves were sapping all her energy. She tried to open her eyes. It was very bright in hell. The light hurt her eyes. Oh how she hurt. Her arms and legs, her every joint, hurt. And Mary, Mother of God her ass hurt! But from her hurt came a conclusion. She had a body! God, if so, maybe she was alive. Could that be? WAS she alive? She tried to focus her eyes and out of the haze a room began to take form. She was on the floor, chained to the foot of a bed. Her pirate Captain's guards had shackled her there. Her Captain? A ray of pleasure shot through her body at the thought of him. Her energy drained away. She fell into the dark well of unconsciousness. ………………………………………… In her dream, she was at sea. Although blindfolded she could feel the ship swaying and knew she must be at sea. Her Captain? She must be back aboard his ship. She was naked with her hands tied around the mast behind her, ready to be punished. Why? She must have been headstrong and disobedient as she sometimes was. Her bonds were so terribly tight. Her hands were numb and her arms ached, and now her Captain was slashing at her breasts with his crop. Her dream digressed, evaporating into a wild hallucination. She was no longer tied to that awful mast. Now she was in a bed, face down, but still tied. Something rough, warm and wet was climbing up her back, as if the tongue of a giant cat was licking her spine, while under her, phantom hands were squeezing her breasts and playing with her nipples. One moment she felt sharp penetrating pain, but in the next, only a warm pleasure so intense it caused her to jerk and throb. On and on the cycle continued, pain to pleasure and back, until she swore she could take it no longer. The dream shifted again! No longer in bed, panic had taken hold and her dream had become a nightmare. She began to run. The voice in her head screamed, "Run Kate run, save yourself! The Lord Governor will kill you." Escape! That was her only hope. Struggling, fighting with her chains she began to awaken. The steel cuffs cut into her wrists and ankles leaving them bloody and sore, but she still continued to thrash wildly, heedless of the pain. "Bella! Be still. You are doing yourself harm." The words cut thru the mist of her addled brain. She opened her eyes and looked up at the biggest man, and the blackest man, she had ever seen. Indeed, he was the first and only black man she had ever seen. She fainted dead away. …………………………………………………… "Noble Lord, her weakness and delirium is to be expected. I suspect she has not eaten, nor had water for a day or more during her ordeal. Allow me to tend to her. She will be strong enough to fight you in a few days." The words filtered into her parital consciousness as if in a dream. The voice was low and strangely soothing. Whoever he was, words seemed to sing, soothing her panic, and she needed him to go on talking. She opened her eyes. Thank God, it was dark now. Someone had turned off the lights in hell. "Bella, are you awake. You must drink." Large firm hands gripped her head and leaned her forward. She drank from a metal cup. It was cold, sweet water. She tried to focus as she drank. She was no longer on the floor but in a bed against one wall of a large beautifully furnished room. Her eyes became wide with fear staring at the big black man who was so tenderly tending her. "That is very good, Bella. You must drink to regain your voice. You must eat to regain your fight. I think the Lord will want you to have both." "Who are you?" She said in a hoarse whisper. "I am Manu Hasam El Kamal Bey. Man servant to His Lord Governor, Sir Groat. You may call me Manu." "Wha..?" "I am a Moor, a Muslim from the great continent you call Africa." "More water." He fed her a drop more. "Not too much. Your stomach is not ready." He placed the cup on the side table and rose to call for food. A few feet from the door a crash turned him around to find his charge sprawled on the floor beside the bed. She had tried to get out of bed, fallen and hit her head on the table. He cursed in at least 3 languages. "You are surely a stubborn woman, Bella. Like all the Irish I meet, you are stubborn and will not do as you are told. Well, if you will not submit on your own accord, I have my ways. Your mind and body will be still while I heal you." He put her in bed, still without a stitch of clothing. In the Lord's armoire he shuffled through the great one's shirts and chose one of the finest velvet. He was ripping it to shreds when the Lord Groat returned. "Manu! Have your lost your mind! What are you doing?" "Noble Lord," Manu answered calmly. "She will not be still. I must quiet her to heal her. This velvet will constrain her without doing additional injury." Groat stared at the woman bound to his bed. Blood was still oozing through bandages at her wrists and there were angry cuts on her ankles. There was no sympathy in his voice as he spoke to Manu. "She's a damn assassin, Manu, not a child to be coddled. I do not care if she is healed or not. I allow her to live only to force her to admit that she is my property, my slave! Should she refuse, she will not draw another breath." "Ah Lord, you have only your lust in mind, but in this condition she is of no use to you. She has no strength to fight, no fire, and I know your rod is at is most regal when challenged. I will heal her and she will fight you like a lioness, claw at your back like a tiger." "Manu…" But he did not finish the thought. It was a lost cause to argue with such a man. How often had he cursed the day he took a learned stubborn moor as a servant. He knew Manu. Whenever he found a bird with a broken wing, he could not help but to heal it. Lord Groat himself, however, refused to acknowledge such tenderness. The weak and the sickness were to be despised, not coddled. "Manu, I am going hunting. I will return in four days. If she meets my needs, and accepts me as her owner and master by that time, she can live. If not, she will die. Do not waste too much of your time, and do not grow fond of her. I am leaving Duke to keep an eye on both of you." The huge mastiff that had been sitting quietly at his side came to attention. "Go to Manu." The dog obediently walked to the large man's side, sat and put his head in his hand. "Keep an eye on that black bastard and my Irish Vixen." Duke rubbed his head against the big black man's leg. The Lord sighed and looked to the ceiling. As he left he mumbled, "I almost dare not leave. These Irish are insidious. By the time I return even my dog will have gone over to them. Damn the Irish anyway." As he stomped down the stairs he was heard to say, "And damn this Vixen as well. I will go hunting for some other Irish fox, and forget this Vixen bitch." From somewhere inside him, a small voice said, "If you can." Manu put a salve on her wrists and bound them in clean cotton. Then he tied them together with the velvet. The result was a soft and quite strong pair of handcuffs. He then attached the velvet ties to a robe sash that in turn was tied to the bed headboard. If she stayed in the middle of the bed she could get her hands down to her face, but no further. She could get her feet on the floor, but not stand up. He left her naked. With her body under control, he next dealt with her mind. From a cabinet on the wall, he removed a small bottle, and mixed two drops of the liquid with the tea the maid had brought. He offered it to her lips and she drank it all. Now she would be still and she would not hurt herself. Kate lay quietly, and Manu made her whole body the subject full reflection for the first time. In the moonlight, she seemed to glow. Even experienced as Manu was in female flesh, he was taken aback by her beauty. Beaten, abused, tortured on the rack, and finally raped, yet she retained that tempting seductive quality that drove men into foolishness. "Such women are dangerous," the moor reflected as he considered the future. "What has the Lord gotten himself into, Bella?" He talked to her as if she could hear him. "I do not think he will be able to take away the light from your soul. He will be moonstruck. And he will be lost. We must handle him carefully or he will fight against it. He does not like losing… even to one as fine as you." He smoothed her matted hair away from her face. "But we will handle him, Bella. You and I, my Bella Luna." Manu called his two female servants, Teresa and Sonya, to the room to help him care for his Bella Luna. Both were very young Muslim girls Manu brought with him from Morocco who spoke only Spanish. As they prepared Kate's bath, Manu released her bindings and removed her bandages. She was just barely conscious as he lifted her from the bed and eased her into the tub of hot lavender scented water. The tub was small, and Kate sat with her knees up and splayed to the sides. Her breasts lifted as Manu tilted her head back to wash her hair and scalp with a gentle massage as the girls scrubbed her stomach and between her thighs. Kate began to moan, and her nipples hardened, sensual responses not overlooked by the maids. Their interest in the soft feminine body in their care showed a marked increase as they searched for sensitive nooks and crannies with soapy hands. The maids had stripped to the waist to save their blouses from the wet, and in their new enthusiasm, their own ample breasts were soon dipping into the tub and brushing sensually against those of their charge. The moaning from the tub became louder and Kate's breath quickened. The two maids tittered at her reaction, and as if by secret signal between them, they increased their sensuous assault. One took those captive soapy breasts into her hands, kneading and pinching the now rock hard nipples. The other concentrated lower down, massaging the inside of the semi-conscious woman's thighs before touching her sensitive core. Kate responded by lifting her hips to grind her pelvis against the girl's hand, even as her own hands reached for the naked breasts hanging over her. The giggling of the maids had gone now, passing into sighs and moans of arousal. Manu freed one of his hands and reached for the pitcher of water to rinse her hair. The girls frowned unhappily. They knew their job must be finished quickly now. Kate groaned in protest as her breasts and clitoris were abandoned, and the soft female flesh in her own grip slipped away as the maids stood back from the tub. Unsatisfied and disappointed, as the three women were, the bath was never the less finished, and Manu lifted Kate from the tub and laid her on the bed. First he rebandaged and retied her wrists. He dried her as the girls stood topless and at attention, hopeful of the opportunity to finish their erotic exploration of this lovely woman. They were not the only ones that wanted more. As he dried her, Kate tossed and twisted as if trying to find those soft sensual hands again. Manu yielded to the moment. As he paused to go to the cabinet for scented body oil, the girls knew exactly what to do. The girls had given many a body message to Lord Groat, and Manu, and to the women who had shared their beds. They removed their remaining clothing and climbed nude into the bed on either side of the freshly scrubbed Kate. Manu smiled with satisfaction as he filled each of their palms with oil, and Kate was soon a prisoner to four hands stroking and caressing her body. Two brown bodies pressed against an alabaster white one glistening with the sheen of sweet scented oil. Slick eager hands teased Kate's breasts and nipples, then searched between her legs with lubricated fingers that first explored her clit and then inside of her cunt with the steady rhythm of sexual intercourse. As Kate's moans increased and her breathing quickened, the maids spread her legs and mounted her thighs with their own pussies. The hand at her cunt pressed a finger deep inside her, moving faster now, stroking her like a tiny cock even as its thumb rubbed over her clit. Her body tensed and her cunt began to spasm, and at that magic moment, the second maid slipped a finger into her ass. "Ah ah ah Argh," Kate screamed, arching her back and lifting her hips and buttocks off the bed, carrying with them the two small brown girls as they humped her thighs. At the peak of her climax, each maid squealed with her, one in chorus, the other in quick sequence. Three passions momentarily spent, the women fell relaxed into a sprawling heap, although the hand's of maids continued to move slowly over Kate's breasts and sex until the Irish woman was breathing evenly in a deep sleep. Manu could not believe his Bella Luna. She was indeed a lustful animal. She would not be easy to handle. But properly trained, the Lord would want for no other. He wondered if the Lord knew that? Manu let her sleep through the night tied loosely to her master's bed. Manu slept on a cot with the dog Duke on the floor between the cot and the bed. Twice during the night Kate raged and struggled with her nightmares. Each time Manu would awaken to sit beside her and sooth her with his voice. More drugs would likely only increase the fierce dreams, and that could mean a rough morning. He feared that the morn would be rough enough as things were. He was right. ……………………………………………… His captive woman awoke with the dawn full of fury, anger and terror. Tied she might be, but she meant to fight the small brown girl who stood beside her be with a bowl of morning soup and a cup of tea. "Go n-ithe an cat thu' is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat!" Manu did not know Gaelic, but he knew a curse when he heard one. She was on her third round of curses before he spoke. He did not raise his voice. Tenderly he explained, "Bella, you are tied here so you can heal. You must eat to heal. Please let Teresa feed you." The young maid took one look at struggling, screaming woman on the bed... and moved further out of harms way. Manu tried another approach. He raised his voice slightly. "Mistress O'Riley, you are naked, tied to the Lord Groat's bed and if you were to escape the guards would rape you, then take them to their captain who would rape you again. When finished with you, they would kill you. All with his Lord's blessing. If you should desire to live, or even if you want to die quietly and easily, you must do as I say." Kate had very little strength left. She heard what he said and he was right, she had little choice. She stopped struggling. She ate half of the soup she was offered before she talked again. "Manu? (He nodded) Why am I not dead?" "The Lord wishes it so." "Why do you tend to me?" "The Lord wishes it so." She was fed the rest of the soup. "Why am I bound? And if you say, 'your bloody Lord wishes…'" Manu interrupted a bit angrily. "You seem to want to hurt yourself, Bella. I want you healed and the Lord wants you with your strength back." Before she could say anything else, he gave her a full cup of tea. By the time she had finished the tea, her head felt fuzzy again. Manu tucked the covers around her. With her hands at her face, she mumbled, "I will be no one's prisoner. I will not serve the English." She turned to her side and brought her hands down from her face, before curling up into a ball and drifting off to sleep. Just before dropping off, Manu heard her add, "My Captain will take me away." Manu did not know whom she might mean, but he was sure it was not the Lord's Captain of the guard of whom she spoke. During the day, Manu and the girls coaxed her to eat and drink with the help of Manu's powerful drugs. Her morning outburst had spent her remaining strength and set back his hard work. He could not afford another such tantrum. Four days was all he had to restore her health and fire. By then she must again be an adversary worthy of the Lord's attention. The girls bathed her again that night, and again Manu allowed them to give her release. It was late now. Manu had finished his other household duties and made sure the other servants had seen to theirs. He returned to the Lord's bedchamber to light incense and make certain his charge was in a deep sleep. The scent of healing herbs filled the air as he doused the candles and settled into his cot. He hoped he and his charge would be able to sleep through the night. …………………………………………………… "What manner of demon was he trying to drown this night?" Thomas, the groundskeeper wondered to himself, as watched his Lord sitting sullenly by the fire, staring at the flames as if his mind was far off. Thomas had come to know how moody his powerful employer could be, and tonight he was drinking particularly heavily… a full flask of brandy and the three tankards of ale. Coor, how the man could drink! But something more than just liquor was at work tonight. No, something else was stuck in the great man's craw, eating at his bowels. Called from his regular duties this morning, Thomas had welcomed the opportunity to go hunting and escape from his nagging wife, but the day had not been the usual easy joy he had expected. No, today he had chased over his Lord over hill and dale, riding like the devil himself just trying to keep up. He was a good rider too, as good as any man on the estate, but Hell's furry had been in Lord Groat. They had chased the fox and hounds like a pair of mad men, never slowing the pace. The dogs, worn to a frazzle with sore paws, were now sleeping by the fire, exhausted. At last the Lord stood and spoke morosely to the groundskeeper. "I'm going out to tend to the horses, Tommy. Don't wait up for me." With that he turned, grabbed his great coat and left without another word. Tommy thought he'd better not do as he had just been told. Better that he stay awake and look in on this drunken nobleman after a while to make sure he hadn't sampled from that short flask of brandy from his coat pocket one too many times, and passed out in the cold. There had to be a limit to how much liquor a man could take, even for Lord Groat. Tommy thought, "Damn him anyway, better if he would go on and pass out quickly that I can tuck him in for the night. It had been a hard day, and it was long past time for a man to be resting his tired bones. Groat stormed out to the small barn. He had been like that everywhere today, storming. He had stormed out of his own house. Stormed over the hunt. Ever since that scene in his chambers, his loins had ached. He could not clear his head of the picture of that wrenched Irish red headed Vixen laid out on his bed like some offering in a temple, her wrists bleeding. In his heart… no damn it, he didn't have a heart, so what should he care. Without any particular plan or intent, as if by instinct, he saddled his horse, and was soon out of the barn at a gallop. How had it come to this? She was a rebel and an assassin. He should have left her to be used by his men and then shot, but his head spun as he remembered her on the rack. He could still see her there quite clearly, covered in sweat and yet somehow holding her own against the pain and humiliation of the rack, and even his best strokes with his crop. He had to have her. Certainly, if he could not have her, no one else would. Irish Captive Ch. 2 He pulled up. Stopped dead in the road and pulled out his brandy flask. He took a swig, and then another. What was wrong with him? Why did he want to own her? What was this Irish harlot to him? A rebel slut, nothing more! Ah, yes, but such a desirable slut. The kind of woman men fought and died over. A woman whose body came alive even his cruel crop. A fearless untamable woman who had nearly killed him, then took all he had to give, and to the end was ready to spit in his face. Damn the Irish Vixen anyway... and damn her for the way she made his cock hard. He set his horse at full gallop. Before he knew it he was at the door of his manor. He dismounted and took another long swallow of brandy. He hadn't planned to be here. But now that he was, he would look in upon the Vixen again and prove that she was nothing to him. Then he could go and enjoy his hunt. --------------------------------------------------------------- Manu knew as soon as the great Lord walked in the room. He lay quietly in his cot with his hand on Duke to keep him still. In the shadows of the large room, he doubted the Lord would see him. Manu had wide experience with men, and he knew that what they did while drunk told more about them than what they said sober. He found it most fascinating that his obviously inebriated Lord would be back early from his hunt for no reason but to see his captive. --------------------------------------------------------------- Damn Manu! He was burning incense again, and the Governor hated it for its oriental odor. Already full of brandy, the spicy smell filled the Governor's sinuses, and made his head swim. More than a little giddy and nauseous, Lord Groat could not focus in the dim light. As he stumbled thru the dark, however, the night clouds parted and moonlight showed him his way across the room. In the soft shimmer he could see the Vixen, her naked body covered only by a thin sheet. She lay on her back in a drugged sleep from Manu's herbs. Her legs were slightly parted and her arms tied above her head in Manu's restraints. Her hair was wrapped in one of Manu's colorful silks. He pulled the sheet down, slowly exposing her body silver in the moonlight. Dispite from the incense, Groat could smell her, the odor of heather, of lavender and earth, the smell of Ireland itself. She sighed and her legs came together in a rubbing motion undulating her body on the white sheets. His reaction was immediate. He would take her brutally, here and now and show her she was his. Ireland was his. It belonged to him. His King said so. He dropped his great coat and loosened the front of his breeches. From the open fly he drew out his cock, already hard and ready for its purpose. He grabbed her ankles and pulled her down until her arms were stretched above her head by the restraints. There, her knees reached edge of the bed, and her calves and feet dropped off the end. His arm reached to pull the silk scarf from her head and her flaming hair spread loosely across the sheets. He put his hands under her calves and spread her knees. Although still in a narcotic stupor, his every touch was answered by a feral sound from her lips, each a little louder than the last. With one knee and then the other, he crawled onto the bed between her parted thighs. He crouched there, his gloved hands stretched around her waist, a waist so tiny that his thumbs touched at her navel, and his fingers nearly so at her backbone. With deliberate purpose those hands crept up to her breasts where the thumbs flicked at nipples that hardened under the abuse. He knew she was wet and ready for him. He could smell her. How enticing! How inviting! This naked woman, even in her asleep was responding to him and ready for sex. He could not resist. Bending at the waist, the weight of his torso and shoulders shifted to the elbows that straddled her. His head dropped lower, sucking first one teat, and then the other, between his lips before biting down tenderly on each. Still asleep lost in a dream of her Captain, Kate cried out, "Oh yes! Please!" Groat was at the end of his tether. This man who prided himself in his control of every one and every thing, could control himself no more. His cock was iron hard, and aching with need. The wetness and heat of the silken sleeve that swallowed his thrust inflamed him even further. A stallion gripped by raw animal desire, he rammed himself deep to her very core, even as his gloved hands lifted her to meet the rhythm of his pounding hips. Still in her drugged dream the sleeping woman began to answer in kind, jacking her hips upward to meet every thrust. His hands freed by her response began to search her body. One went to cruelly squeeze a breast, while the other hunted between their thrusting bodies for the swollen nub that was emerging at the top of her pussy slit. She came almost immediately at he touch of her clit. The violence of her spasm almost triggered his own, but barely in time he slowed and delayed his own explosion. He looked into her face. Her eyes were still closed. He leaned forward and once more took a nipple in his mouth. "Oh Gooood," escaped her lips. He looked up as she opened her eyes. "My Captain. You've come for me." It was like he had been slapped. He looked down at this enchantress, who had bewitched him and now betrayed him. His hand hit her in a blow that snapped her head violently. Manu nearly came off his cot. "I am your Governor, Lord Groat, the man who owns you! Who is this Captain, Vixen?" He looked down at her eyes, unfocused from the drugs and the blow he had just dealt her. She looked up at him blank and empty as if he had just asked her why did the sun have to rise. She seemed to focus, and out of her fog she asked "My Captain…?" Still reacting instinctively to the penis deep insider her, she thrust her hips upward once more, hunching her cunt onto his cock. His rage was now palpable. Duke sensing a threat had begun to growl, a low and deadly sound, but the great mastiff hesitated, uncertain which of the figures on the bed he was to defend. Lord Groat was too consumed in his anger to hear his dog, but in the dark corner Manu did and assessed his options. He didn't want to see this woman in his charge beaten to death. One more vicious slap landed across the vixen's cheeks before Lord Groat pulled out of her. He flipped her over, crossing her arms tied to the bed above her head. Raising her abruptly by her hips to her knees, her head and shoulders remained on the bed as he reached for his horse crop he had left at the end of the bed. He raised it high over his head as if to strike the alabaster female buttock defenseless before him, then hesitated. Plain in the moonlight were the angry red marks from the beating he had given this vixen on the rack. Three flaming chevrons that marked her as the Governor's property, and they gave him pause. She had been so brave... and so stubborn. No, there was another way... a way that more surely fit her crime. Tossing his whip aside he knelt on the bed behind her, and pulling her to him by the hips, his cock slid once more deep inside the cunt he now marked as his own. He fucked her savagely as if riding an unbroken mare, gripping her hair with one hand as his rein, and striking the cheek of a buttock with an open hand to spur on his mount. "I am your Lord Governor, owner and Master. You live or die by my hand and at my choice. No one will save you. No one will pray for you." With no preamble or lubrication he plugged a gloved finger into her ass. "YOU ARE MINE." The last sentence was punctuated by a final thrust that filled her with his seed. She grunted as his finger stretched her puckered nether hole, but she responded by pushing back against the probe. She was not yet awake, but she knew she wanted this more than anything. She wanted him... all of him. As she felt his seed fill her, she called to him, "Captai…" and she came with a force that drained her of consciousness again before she finished the word. The Lord pushed her off him with as much force as he could muster. He too had come with an energy that left him weak and empty. He stood for a minute or two, trying to steady himself on his wobbly legs. He picked up his coat and left without another word. --------------------------------------------- When Tommy the gamekeeper awoke in the back country shack, the Lord's bed was still empty. As he rolled warm bed to begin a search, he swore a curse broad enough to include not just the governor, but all English Nobility as well. He had not walked far, still muttering Irish curses under his breath before Lord Groat and his mount came toward him at a trot. The Lord was slumped in the saddle, groggy and apparently drunk, half asleep. "Just like the nobility," Tommy mumbled under his breath between curses, "No better sense that to gallop around in dark woods, 'drunk as a Lord'". Tommy grinned in spite of his irritation. How perfectly that old saw fit this absurd situation. He pulled Lord Groat down from the saddle, carried him to the cabin on his shoulder, and threw him into bed fully dressed..., he was not paid to be a man servant. Groat was too far gone to care or protest the rough and cavalier treatment, but he did refuse to give up the brightly colored silk clenched in his fist. --------------------------------------------- Manu tended to Kate as soon as he heard the Lord's steps retreat down the hall. Even as he cleaned her he wondered who her "captain" was. If he was to save her, he must find out. He would set about it first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, he had his owns needs to see to. Manu left Duke to watch over Kate and went down to his Lasana's room to satisfy the hunger tonight's scene had raised in him. The morning after the Lord's midnight visit, Manu decided his patient was ready to start to come back to reality. He reduced her dose, so she was still compliant but not asleep. And she wanted to talk. After breakfast she started to ask about her fate. "What will become of me, Manu?" "That is yet to be seen, Bella." "Why do you call me Bella?" "Because you are lovely, like your home, Ireland." "I love my home. But, I have failed her." "No you have not, Bella." "How can you say that? If not my country then certainly I have failed my Cause. The rebels will not have me. I have survived the prison and spent a night in the Governor's bed. I am not to be trusted." She laughed. But her laughter was hollow and soon turned into a sob. "Do not cry, my Bella Luna." "The Cause was all I had. What is left to live for?" "Bella, you were not living for the Cause. You were living for the fight. Once you find something new to fight for, you will live again." She was quiet now. Manu still wanted to learn about her "captain". But that would wait. ------------------------------------------------------- That evening Manu inquired more directly. He allowed her to get up during the day, always with her hands tied, but now she was permitted out of bed and on her feet. Duke was a shadow by her side. At dinner, she sat up in a chair. Afterwards when they were alone and she had her evening "tea", She and Manu chatted for a while in light conversation. Manu stood and moved about the room extinguishing all the candles except for the one on the table before her. He brought a chair and sat down across the table where his eyes stared into hers over the top of the flickering flame of the candle. His voice deepened and his tone was suddenly very serious and mysterious. "I would like to talk to you, Bella. But first you must relax. Are you comfortable?" A nod, "Yes," was her only answer "Look into the candle. And listen to my voice, that will help you relax further." He droned on, speaking in a low steady beat. Soon her lids were heavy and her eyes closed. "Can you still hear me Bella?" "Kate is aimn dom" "Kate, then. Will you speak English for me?" "Yes, Manu." "Do you trust me, Kate?" "Yes, Manu. You are my savior." "That is good, Kate. You can trust me. Where are you right now?" "I am a prisoner of the Lord Governor, my enemy." "Do you want to be his prisoner?" "I ….I…" "Let us wait on that question. I want you to think back to last night." "Yes." "Where were you last night?" "In my Lord's bed, but then I was not... then I was somewhere else I think." "Where were you when you were not in your bed?" "On the sea, on my Captain's ship." "Who is your captain" "A mighty Pirate." He knew she had never been at sea. A fantasy. This captain of hers must be a phantom in a dream. "How does the captain make you feel?" "Alive.. Incredibly alive, and safe." Her hands had been quiet in her lap, now they started to move down… "Would you do anything your captain asked?" "Yes, but he wouldn't like that." "What would he like?" "He wants me to fight." "Do you want to fight?" "Only until he catches me, and ties me…" She shuddered. "And when he has you tied and he is having his way with you, is there anywhere you would rather be." "No." she said and it was more of a moan than an answer. Manu watched as she twisted and turned, struggling against imaginary ropes, lost in a dream world with her captain. Her hand was rubbing between her legs and she ground her pelvis against them. Her face was soon flushed and her breathing had gone heavy. "Who came to you last night, Kate?" "My Captain." She said breathlessly. "Did you see his face?" "Yes." "Who did you see?" Her face showed her confusion. She could not form an answer. Manu tried another tactic, already sensing the outcome. "Does the Lord want you to fight?" "Yes." "Does the Lord have you captured and tied? Does he bend you to his will?" "Yes. Oh, yes!" She was panting now, very near the edge. Her hands moved faster. "He will dominate you like no other and there is no other you would rather have." "Oh yes yes yes…." Her words faded as her body tensed and then jerked in an overwhelming orgasm. Manu hoped Lasana was in her room when this was done! "The Lord is your Captain now, your master. Is that right, Kate" She frowned and seemed to be thinking. "Yes. Yes, he is my Captain, my master." "So you will fight him, but in the end you will surrender to him, your spirit still unbroken, but accepting your captivity. Your freedom and life with the Cause is over. Now you are the property of Lord Groat. You will service him and his cock, and revel in your slavery. It will be the happiness you have always wanted from your captain." "Yes. I will fight and surrender. I will go on, and the Lord will be my owner and Captain." "It is time you rested now. Tomorrow you will start your new life. You will rest tonight and dream of your Captain's return. Go to bed now and awake in the morning refreshed. You will not remember our conversation. You will remember the Lord Governor is your Captain. You will call him Master. You will have no thoughts of escape, only of the pleasure of the fight and then the delicious release of surrender. " Kate took herself to bed. Manu did not bind her hands this night. He knew he didn't have to. He would not tell Lord Groat of his session with the Vixen, but indirectly he would try to guide him to and understanding of his new woman and her fixation with her fantasy Captain. As to training this passionate submissive woman, perhaps none was required – well maybe a little slave etiquette. But she was such a natural gem of a slave woman, and the Lord with his resemblance in mind and body to her captain was equally a natural as her master. He held her heart, soul and body in his hands, they were all at his beck and call. He just didn't know it yet. ------------------------------------------------------- Kate woke refreshed and looked for the first time at the chamber she had occupied for 3 days. It was as grand as the rest of the manor and larger than any bedroom she had ever lived in..., no, larger than she had ever seen. Furnishings included the large bed she had slept in (and been tied to!), an armoire and large mirror, a desk, the Lord's great chair, and one or two other chairs, plus a couch and sitting area by a fireplace. The two large windows had real glass in them! With her new freedom she could walk about this luxurious room, and feel the fine cloth on the chairs and the tapestries on the walls. There was one door that was always closed. In her curiosity she opened it when Manu was not there to peer into a small windowless room occupied only by a cot and a small table with a candle. She wondered what it was used for. On this fourth and final day of her recovery, Manu took her on a tour of the grounds. It included most the rooms of the manor and the orphanage that shared the estate. The final stop on the tour was the saddle shop. A "gift" was waiting there for Kate. Before leaving on his hunt, Lord Groat had ordered his saddle maker fashion a collar and cuffs for the Lord's Vixen. The man was truly a craftsman. The three pieces were beautifully tanned and crafted with shinny silver buckles and rings sewn into the leather. It was part of Manu's plan that they would be around the Vixen's wrists and neck by the time his Lord returned. Kate didn't know quite what to think about these three pieces of leather and metal, but she inspected them with a healthy curiosity, and no trace of resistance or panic. She was silent and cooperative as the saddle maker pounded home the rivets that made them permanently a part of her body. On the walk back to the Lord's chamber with Mamu, Kate couldn't stop rubbing her collar and cuffs with her hands. They were so strange to her, but in some sensual, unsettling way they were exciting. Back in the bedroom she walked immediately to the full length mirror that stood on the floor near the armoire. She looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a simple shift and apron she had borrowed. She removed the apron and then the shift. She stood naked in from of the mirror, tall and proud, dressed with only in her black leather collar and cuffs. The reaction was immediate. She felt desirable. She felt sensuous and desirable as she had never felt before… and she loved it. Her hands moved from the collar down to her breasts. She pinched her nipples and moaned as she felt the wetness start between her legs. She wanted her Master. She wanted him here, now. How could she wait until tonight? "Bella, we must talk. No, do not dress. You must be bare when his Lord arrives. We must talk about keeping you alive." Manu had her full attention. She sat on a small wooden chair, her back straight, her arms in her laps. Somehow her collar and cuffs with their dangling rings caused her to want to sit straight and pay close attention to the world around her, to soak in all the sensations. "Bella, Kate. Please listen carefully. You are a slave woman owned by the Lord Governor. As his property he may do with you, and to you, as he pleases. You must always do as he orders, or you will suffer painful consequences. You must never forget that. Your days will be mostly your own if you are not being punished, but your nights are always his. The Lord rises at dawn and is occupied with the business of his office until dusk. He usually sups here in his chamber. You will serve all his needs while he is in this room and where else he chooses. You will wear the collar and cuffs at all times, and when in his presence you will wear nothing else. You will never wear shoes. Teresa and I will see to the Lord's bath and clothes, but all else, all he asks of you, you will provide." He knew her questions before she asked. "During the day you will be part of the household staff. I supervise the household, its staff, and the staff at the orphanage. I will have no lack of work for you to do. The Lord forbade me from acquiring a wardrobe for you. So I have asked the staff for donations. You must understand some of the staff is already jealous of you and the attention you have received from his Lord. The donations are…well…here." Irish Captive Ch. 2 He lay a pile of rags at her feet. The tatters smelled worse than they looked. "Duke will be your constant companion, Duke and the mark… the mark of the Governor on your flesh. Let us just say when people see you, they will know you are property of his Lord and not to be bothered." "What mark, Manu?" Kate asked in honest confusion. "What mark on my flesh?' Manu paused. He was a strong man and had seen many a thing in this world, but he still did not like what he had to do. "Bella, please sit by the fire." He waited while she walked to the chair by the fire. Then he pulled a metal seal from his coat pocket and set it on the grate to be heated by the fire. "The Lord insisted…" Manu paused again. He had become fond of his charge, this Irish Vixen, as the Lord called her. She would always be his Bella Luna – the beauty in the moonlight. He hoped her strength would carry her through this day and beyond. He turned to her now and brought a piece of leather to her mouth. "Bite down on this and brace yourself." She hesitated only slightly, but did as she was told. Manu decided it was kindest not to wait any further. He put one hand behind her back and the other brought the red hot seal – normally used to place the Lord's seal in wax – to the tender skin just above her left breast. He held her fast and burned the Lord's seal onto her. Kate's eyes had locked onto Manu's as he branded her. She looked there for strength as she knew there was pain coming. The pain was almost more than her mind could take and she screamed despite her grip on the leather in her mouth. She found strength in Manu's eyes. But she also found pain. She swore to herself she would make her Master pay for the pain he had caused this kind man. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . …………….. After it was done, one of Manu's magic salves took much of the pain away. She spent the rest of the day cleaning and trying to salvage a wardrobe from the pile of rags the "generous" staff had given her. She would look like a street urchin, but she would be clean and clothed. She put the pile of salvage in the small room and burned the ones beyond salvage. Manu was surprised by his feelings as she finished dinner. Since the leather cuffs were in place he had removed her velvet ones. She had insisted on keeping them and put them in the little room. She had been able to feed herself and Manu had joined her for dinner. As they finished, Manu was serious again and addressed this new beginning. "There is little more I can say to you that has not been said. As a slave your salvation is obedience and humility. Reflect those in all you do. You are also Kate Aileen O'Riley. A noble Irish woman, the only person, man or woman, with the courage to try to violate his Lord Governor. Let his brand remind you of your metal and your worth." With that Manu left the room. It was now just Duke to keep Kate company as she waited for her Master. Perhaps if she had had more time to think about it she would not have started her new life with an act of defiance. But then that wouldn't have been our Vixen, would it? Irish Captive Ch. 3 Lord Groat had finally let Tommy go back to his nagging wife after three days. He knew he had been hell to live with those three days and would find a way to repay his groundskeeper. He had spent his fourth day of "hunting" riding through the country, hating the cold, the wind and the rocky, primitive roads. But now he looked at things in a different light. He saw how the rugged land had fused a strong people. People like Kate Aileen O'Riley, the Vixen who was waiting for him back at his manor. In the late afternoon, he finally gave into his urge to see her and turned his horse back toward the main house. He washed the dust off in the horse barn and waved off his supper as he passed through the kitchen. Manu was on the stairs to his chamber. So long had he known his valuable servant that a simple look told him all was in order and there was nothing that could not wait until morning. He acknowledged him with a nod and kept going up the stairs. When he reached his chamber he stopped before entering the room, vowing to himself that he would not repeat the events of two nights ago. He would remain in control and he would show her who was master. He would beat her if she needed it and he would take her in any way he pleased. His resolve was only slightly broken when he saw her kneeling at the foot of his bed. Her head was bowed. Her red hair cascaded down over her shoulder and over her slave's collar. It didn't seem possible, but the collar made her even more desirable. She wore a fine white linen shift. It flowed over her breasts like milk, and then to the floor in a puddle about her knees. Her hands were behind her back. She spoke a single word. With perfect reverence and a tremor that sent a shudder through his body, she said, "Master." His breath hitched before he could catch it. How could this diaphanous vision exude such strength and nearly bring him to his knees? He steeled himself before he moved forward. He walked up to her, took the ring of her collar, and lifted her to her feet. Then it came to him (and he was grateful for the shift in his mood) that she had been told she was to be naked at all times. Her humble countenance did not hide her defiance. At their first meeting as Master and Slave she had covered herself. Now, he put a finger under her chin and raised her head until her eyes met his. One eyebrow raised,he looked at her as if she was a child that had been caught stealing from the kitchen. With his hand he gripped the top of her shift. As his hand ripped from her body the only piece of clothing she could call her own, she opened her cursed mouth. "Fillean meal ar an meallaire." Again, she regretted it before it was done. Mother Mary, when would she learn to be quiet? She tried to recover her transgression by lowering her head. "Well, my Vixen. I've learned a few tricks while you were playing the life of the Queen here at the manor. I can now say with some assurance that you just cursed me. And that is not how my slave will act. Give me your hands, slave." She complied, and he pulled her roughly over to the wall near the window. There was a ring and hook just over two meters off the floor. He pulled her hands up, stretching her beyond her height. He attached her handcuffs to the ring so her body faced the wall. He was pleased to see that. Her toes just barely touched the ground, so she had no choice but to let her full weight lie against the cold stone wall, flimsily shielded by an ancient worn tapestry, which offered little protection against the cold. She swore she heard him snicker, the bastard, as he took a hand and with little effort, pushed her to one side - quite effectively setting her to swing like a pendulum. She could do nothing to prevent her body from swinging and her nipples from rubbing against the rough cold tapestry. The pain only increased as her nipples hardened at her predicament. She cursed - but kept her words to herself. Lord Groat had in fact snickered at her expense. What a clever Master he was, punishing this slave with little effort on his part. Clever in fact was facing her toward the wall until he could get his passion in check. He went to his desk. Duke, who had been watching them both carefully, seated himself between Master and Slave. Groat looked through the correspondence on his desk to try and get his mind off his Vixen. There was nothing really urgent. But he took his time and made as much noise as possible to suggest he was not paying attention to the slave on the wall. At the bottom of the pile was a note from Manu. He recognized his careful penmanship immediately. It started with a report on the house and the condition of the Lord's holdings. At the end was a special note regarding the Irish woman. It read: "Your Noble Lord is indeed a wise man to keep a slave the likes of Mistress O'Riley. In all the harems of Arabia I have never seen such a natural submissive. But what really makes her extraordinary is her strength of mind. Being a student of the mind, I did study the Irish woman to find the origin of such a strong desire. The wonder is that it seems to all be in her head - her vivid imagination. Her needs are real. But the objects of her desire are, to this date, just like the Irish fairies - only in her heart and mind. She is, as you have wisely surmised, yours to own; yours alone to Master. - Your obedient Servant, Manu." Groat knew when he was being manipulated, but he also knew it was for his own good. The jealously that had been threatening to eat a hole in his stomach started to dissipate. He knew, for all his ability to spin a story, Manu would not lie to him. So the Vixen had no real Captain she was pining for; only a man of her dreams. And I was that man now? In that instant, he imagined her below him as she looked up into his eyes and she wrapped her legs around him….He shook his head to clear the image. "She's a damned assassin," he said, without realizing he had spoken aloud. He need not have worried as Kate did not hear him. The pain in her breasts was nearly unbearable. As she could do nothing to stop her body from pressing into the wall, the cold of the stone had slowly sunk into her flesh. It started as a dull ache, but it grew until even the movement caused by her breathing seemed to make it worse. Groat rose to torment her. He turned her around and saw there was true pain in her eyes. Looking down, he saw the hard nipples were blue. He put a hand on each breast and she sucked in her breath. They were cold as stone and he knew they must ache like hell. She saw a smile on his face that seemed to have the same coldness, and closed her eyes against what she knew was to come. He slapped one breast and then the other. She bit her lip to avoid making a sound, but it did not stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. He kept slapping her and pinching her nipples. Soon she stopped biting her lip, and her breath was coming in gasps. Whatever place she was now in, he could only imagine. He smelled the musky wetness that was dampening her thighs. His own blood heated as he watched her body react. She might be a rebel when she opened her mouth but her body deceived her. His hands moved over her body. Manu had done his doctoring well. Her skin was soft as silk from all the magic oil that had been used on her. Her body had a sheen of sweat despite the cold. With his large hands splayed across her pelvis, he pushed her against the wall, letting his thumb run across her fur. She moaned, and he pulled away. He was not ready for her to have pleasure yet. He released her wrists and she fell to the floor. Her ankles, so long without weight on them, would not support her. She was on her hands and knees, and he put a booted foot on her back. "Now slave, I've given you enough pleasure. It's time for you to please me. Go over to the fire." She tried to stand. He held her fast with his foot. "You will crawl. You will crawl in my presence for 2 days. That will teach you to not cover yourself." Kate started to slowly crawl over to the chairs by the fire. All she wanted now was to lie down, to sleep, to die; to get out of this nightmare she had gotten herself into. Groat waited until she was nearly to the fire to give his next command. "Slave, you forgot something." She stopped. "You need to retrieve your paddle. It is in the drawer of the desk." She had come over half way on the rough cold floor, and now she hesitated. There was the sound of leather sliding; she knew, was probably removing his belt. She couldn't take another beating like she had the first night. Reluctantly she turned and crawled back to the desk. She begrudgingly knew she should carry the paddle in her mouth, which she did as she crawled to the feet of her Master, who was now seated by the fire. With little effort, he lifted her onto his lap. While he would have welcomed the feel of her skin against his bare thigh, he didn't think she had earned that intimacy yet. So she lay on his breeches, her breasts hanging down against his thigh. He pulled her hands up behind her and held them with one hand while he let his free hand roam over her skin. He brought down the paddle on to her well- rounded ass cheek without warning. She jumped and cried out. Then she held her tongue, trying to summon some pride. She managed to swallow her sobs for some time. The paddle was not as sharp as the whip or belt. And as he continued, the pain spread into heat that seemed to fill her entire body. He kept up in a steady rhythm and soon the stinging and heat became searing pain. Eventually she gave into her sobbing and at the same time could feel her body betraying her yet again. Her hard nipples, wet thighs and pulsing womb left no doubt she was aroused. Groat dropped the paddle and her hands. He opened his breeches and sat her unceremoniously upon his stiff rod. She was facing away from him which allowed him to use her breasts as handles. He held on none-too-gently as he instructed her to "ride me bitch". And she did. Using his thighs for level she lifted herself up and down, as his ample member stretched her and filled her. He did not take long to release into her as she had started to spasm almost as soon as he plunged into her. When he was done, he put her down on her hands and knees. He stood up and gave her a light boot with his foot indicating she should crawl to the corner of the room. As she slowly crossed the room she tried to get her breath. Her ass was still stinging; her body was exhausted; and yet she yearned for the release that he had not allowed her. When she was almost to the wall, Groat opened the door to the small room she had noticed earlier. So, this closet was to be her prison. Without a word, he motioned for her to enter the closet and he closed the door, not even caring to light her candle. Kate stood, with some effort, in the totally dark cell of a room. She felt around for the cot and table she knew were there. She also found the pile of rags the household staff had donated to her. Without a thought about what tomorrow might bring, she crawled on to the cot and fell into a fitful sleep. Lord Groat smiled at his own brilliance; what a stroke of cunning to turn his would-be assassin into a sex slave. He was sure she knew now that he would remain the Master of his domain and of hers. As he undressed and crawled into his cold bed the thought of this Vixen to warm the sheets was only a fleeting fancy. In a month, his old mentor Lord Byington would be here to advise him on manners of the state. He had all manner of accomplishments he planned to show to Byington. In a month's time he planned on making his Irish Vixen the center of the his presentation. *************** And so, Kate fell into her new life. She slept in the little room with the cot and awoke when the Lord did. When it pleased him, he'd grab her naked waist and pull her to him. He was almost always half dressed and she was usually bending to make the bed or clean the fireplace. His cock would be hard and ready as he mauled her breasts. He would take her from behind, quickly and efficiently, leaving her breathless but unsatisfied. The Lord didn't use his paddle and for that she was grateful. Pain, she could tolerate, but she did not care to be left at the height of passion with no release. After the Lord had left for the day, she would rise and throw on some of her rags. Then she would attend to the job she had been assigned. Manu tried having her work in the kitchen first. But that was a new hell on earth she had never imagined. The cook was some large bitch from the devil himself. She treated everyone like dirt and seemed to take particular pleasure in mistreating Kate. She assigned Kate the most onerous tasks, usually involving her being on her knees. With her booted foot, she loved to prod Kate's ass. Many reasons were found each day to whack Kate with a large wooden spoon. Finally one day it all came to a head. The cook had a fat son that did nothing but sit at the kitchen table and eat. He took a perverted pleasure in tormenting Kate as well. Kate had just finished cleaning the kitchen hearth, and was taking the bucket of ash out the back when the pig son tripped her, sending her flying. The bucket of ash landed up side down on his mother's head. Picking herself up, she looked up and saw the cook, she couldn't help it, she laughed. And laughed and laughed. She couldn't stop. About half the kitchen staff joined her. The cook did not think it was so funny. She backhanded Kate half way across the kitchen. Kate had gotten good at ducking her blows, but she had been distracted by the laughing. The cook grabbed Kate by the hair and instructed two of the kitchen boys to tie her over one of the barrels. Kate struggled, but to no avail. She was painfully stretched over a large wooden barrel, braced to lie on its side. They used her leather slave cuffs to tie her arms out to the sides. The cook ripped Kate's skirt off of her and started beating her ass and back with one of her largest wooden spoons. Kate tried not to react but soon it was too much. She started to sob and then nearly screamed with each blow, as her cheeks got painfully swollen and her ribs bruised. This was not the enticement of the paddle - this was brutal. The pig son just circled, taunting her with insults and occasionally grabbing her collar. He'd lift her head and rub his crutch into her face. It was all she could do to not retch at his smell. The women of the kitchen and some the men had to leave rather than watch much treatment. The men remaining started to lick their lips at the site of a tight white ass bare to the world. When Kate started to beg the cook to stop, there was the cook, her son and two other men in the kitchen. Her pleas only seemed to cause the cook to beat her harder. The cook was breathing heavy with her effort. Her son was red in the face as well, but with desire, not exertion. "No whore is going to laugh as me! You think you are better than us all. Looking us in the eye as if you have no shame. You are a whore and a traitor and I'll beat you until you won't look anyone in the eye again." The son grabbed another wooden spoon and spread the handle with grease. As he stuck the handle of the spoon up Kate's ass he yelled, "and you'll not tease me with that white ass of yours, whore!" He pumped her a few times heedless of his victim's screams and then threw the wooden rod aside. His hands were needed to free his own rod, which he intended to put up her ass next. While he fumbled with his breeches, his mother had switched to the handle of the spoon and was leaving welts on Kate's ass and thighs. Kate's pleas had become mere whimpers, as she was about to pass out from the pain. She soon saw there was more to come. One of the other men was undoing his breeches as he stepped around to the front of her. He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head with one hand. With the other, he aimed his cock for her mouth. Kate had the presence to think. "So help me, if he sticks that in my mouth I'll bite it off!" She could also feel what must have been the pig son's dick probing at her backside. Then it stopped. She didn't know why until later. The man to her front had let her head go so suddenly, her chin had slammed into the wooden barrel and knocked her already over#- taxed brain into unconsciousness. The last thing she saw was the cook land on the ground with Duke on top of her. Then it was black. The next day she was reassigned to the laundry. She heard what had happened in the kitchen after Manu and Duke had arrived. Manu had dealt one blow to the fat son sending him crashing into the door. Duke, who had been on the heels of Manu, went for the cook as he saw her raise her hand to his Mistress. The two men ran for the door and were never heard from again. Manu managed to save the cook from having her neck ripped open by Duke. Manu fired both the cook and son and told them if he ever saw them again he would let Duke have them both. Unfortunately this did make Kate anymore popular with the household staff. Her days in the laundry were not much better, but they were fewer. Manu kept a closer eye on her this time and when he saw it was not working out, he removed her from further harm. He assigned her to work in the orphanage. And that was a godsend for Kate, or so she thought. The work was hard, but the people that worked there were earnestly trying to make a difference for the children and they respected anyone willing to work. They still gave her the most menial tasks, but they didn't beat her. The orphanage had a small resident staff of six monks. The eldest was hardly able to walk and spent most of his time in the garden. The monk-in-charge by his own decree, Kate had taken an immediate dislike to. Fortunately, he never seemed to be around, so she didn't have to worry that she would say the wrong thing and lose this opportunity to have her captivity amount to something. The other four monks were hardworking and treated Kate with some respect. The care of the 50 or so orphans was further handled by part-time help from a few members of the household staff and a few volunteers from the village. Kate hoped that one day they might let her teach in the orphanage. That hope kept her going for a while. It helped her tolerate the Lord's groping, and she could hide from her growing desire for him. At night, she tried not to think of him sleeping so close to her. She struggled to block out the picture of his mighty staff slowly sliding into her as she sat astride him in bed. Most of all, she put out of her head the sound of her own muffled screams as she finally reached her release in his arms. No, none of this was important - or real for that manner. "Stupid woman," she said to herself. "I've got the children to take care of that's enough. Enough to tolerate being poked every morning by some big brute of an English dog!" But even as she admonished herself, she thought of his hands reaching for her and pulling her to him by the collar. Then he'd pull her two leather cuffs together behind her back as he kneaded her breasts and pinched her nipples. Kate, the Lord Governor's sex slave, shuddered despite herself. ***************** A few weeks into her captivity Manu came to Kate and asked her to follow him. He was quite excited to show her something. She knew he had been working on some construction project, but had no idea what it was. When she entered the latest addition to the manor she was astonished. Manu had designed and had built a Roman bath. The room was completely done in tile. The tile, imported from Spain, was done in intricate Celtic patterns Manu had found. There were tile sconces holding candles surrounding the room. In the center of the room was a large sunken tub. She estimated six people could fit in it. Hot water, magically heated and transported to the room through some of Manu's ingenuity, filled the tub. She was sure a bath like this must have graced the palaces of Sodom and Gomorra. Irish Captive Ch. 3 Manu stood there like a proud papa. "It is wonderful, Manu. Really!" She tried to sound enthusiastic, but she was getting suspicious of why he had taken her here. She believed bathing in such extravagance was debauched, even heathen. Bathing itself was of questionable value. "You will be allowed to use this bath. The Lord insists that you bath each day." When he saw her frown he added, "You may find it quite pleasurable." And so Kate found herself going to the bathing room everyday, and she looked at it as her further slide into perversion. She usually bathed just before supper when most the staff was busy so she was assured she would be alone. She hung her clothes and towel (another wonderful import from Manu) on the rings inset in the walls, lowered herself into the tub, and Duke would stand guard at the door. One afternoon when she lay soaking in the tub she couldn't help running her hands over her body as thoughts of the Lord Governor floated through her mind. She stopped with a jerk when she heard Duke whimper at the door. Glancing up, she saw Teresa and Sonya come into the room. Kate was not sure they were allowed, but she still couldn't speak Spanish so she just sank neck deep in the tub and watch as they circled the tub. They seemed to be sizing up the situation. Kate had a funny feeling each time she saw the two young maids. She couldn't help feeling she knew them and that they were giggling about her behind her back. With all the abuse she had taken from the household, she eventually just put it out of her head. Now they looked more threatening than familiar. Kate was pretty sure she was in trouble when Teresa grabbed her clothes and the towel and threw them into the hall. Kate tried to stay calm. She moved against the wall of the tub, furthest from the two girls, who had stopped and were whispering to each other. Teresa and Sonya started to caress each other as if she wasn't there. They started by slowly undressing for each other, kissing and nuzzling their necks and shoulders as they slid the clothes from each other's body. They stepped out their clothes and continued to caress and kiss. They pulled the combs out of their hair, and it fell almost to their waists, thick straight and black. Kate could hear their soft moaning and was surprised when she noticed she was breathing rather rapidly. She was undeniably caught up in the excitement. Sonya seemed to be the more aggressive of the women. She backed Teresa against the wall and started roughly kneading her breasts. Teresa's moaning increased. She pulled Teresa's arms over her head and bent her own head to suck one of Teresa's hard brown nipples. A moan escaped Kate's mouth and she instinctively brought up her hand to cover her mouth. Sonya turned and looked at Kate. Holding her gaze, she reached down to the pile of clothes and pulled out an ivory phallus from her apron pocket. Pain flashed through Kate's mind as she remembered that weapon, the Lord’s favorite, from her first night on the rack. But still she could not look away. Sonya smiled at Kate and turned back to Teresa. She bent Teresa over and the nimble young girl grabbed her own knees, her hair dragging on the ground. Sonya whacked Teresa's ass cheek with an open hand, and Teresa sucked in her breath and then let out a sigh that sent chills down Kate's spine despite the warm water. It was clear that Teresa was getting just what she wanted, just what she yearned for. It was clearer still when Sonya turned Teresa so Kate could see her crotch. She could see her rosy hole and her swollen pink lips, wet with her excitement. Sonya gave Teresa a few more slaps that left red hand prints on her pale skin. Then she took the phallus and slowly slid it into Teresa's wet opening. Kate felt paralyzed in the water. She watched as the large rod slid in and out of the panting Teresa. Teresa brought her hands up to the tile wall to brace herself against the on slot. Kate could see that it was a tight fit, but Teresa still pushed against it with each stroke. Kate's own breathing was now coming in quick shallow pants. She didn't even notice Sonya watching her as she slid the horn in and out of the willing Teresa. With her eyes still on Kate, Sonya pulled the phallus out of Teresa. Teresa gave a frustrated moan, turned and slid down the tile wall. She sat the floor with her knees up and spread. She used her finger to rub herself with her own juices and started to rub in a steady rhythm. Kate now looked at Sonya, but couldn't help glancing back at Teresa as she was caught up in her mounting passion. Sonya gave the phallus to Teresa. Kate's breath hitched as Teresa greedily plunged the rod into her own cunt and started pumping herself. Sonya kept her eyes on Kate and lowered herself into the pool. Kate was so enraptured by Teresa that she didn't even know Sonya was moving toward her until she was nearly on top of her. Sonya reached down and lifted Kate to a standing position at the edge of the pool. Kate's breathing was now matched with Teresa as the young girl neared her climax. Sonya moved up to Kate's right side and abruptly brought her thigh up between Kate's legs. Kate barely paused to glance at Sonya and place her hands on the women's shoulders to steady herself. Teresa plunged the ivory dick harder and deeper and Kate matched her by grinding her crotch in the same rhythm against Sonya's thigh. As Teresa screamed out her climax, Kate gasped for air. Sonya dropped her thigh and pressed Kate against the side of the tub with her body. She put her arms around Kate and dipped her back into the tub as she lowered her mouth to meet Kate's. Kate was floating as she hungrily matched the intensity of Sonya's kiss. She had been weeks without a climax, a release of her pent up urges. She was literally blind with lust. Suddenly, Kate remembered the other times these women had explored each other. The images that flooded back in her mind left her weak. She gave into the warm water and the savage kiss. Kate didn't notice Teresa had come up behind her on the edge of the sunken tub. Teresa had produced a rope from somewhere and was running it through the ring in Kate's collar. Before she knew what was happening, Teresa had strung the rope through a ring on the wall and was pulling Kate from the water by her neck. Kate instinctively put her arms up to grab the rope. That allowed Teresa to tie her hands to the rope as well. Now she was at their mercy. If Teresa pulled any further, enough of Kate's body would be out of the water and the weight of it on the collar would strangle her. Teresa stopped pulling. Sonya stood back from Kate and admired Teresa's handy work. All Kate could do was try to get a grip on the rope with her hands to alleviate the pressure on her neck. The blood was throbbing in her temples as the collar put pressure against her neck. With a nod from Sonya, Teresa lowered Kate enough, so that her body floated and the pressure was off her neck. Kate was still quite helpless, but the throbbing in her throat stopped. She tried to catch her breath. Sonya and Teresa, now in the water as well, did not allow her much time to breathe. They took turns sliding up her body, kissing and biting their way to her mouth. They would ravage her mouth until she was out of breath. They'd stop and as she gasped for air the other one would be at her breasts biting at her nipples. It was all she could do to try to meet their rhythm and get enough air. Her conscious mind soon let go of her attempts to breathe. She knew she needed release or would die trying. And Teresa and Sonya were going to accommodate her one way or the other. Teresa worked her way up the heaving body of their victim one more time. She pulled herself out of the tub and went to the rope. Teresa pulled and Sonya pushed. Kate was now sitting on the edge of the tub. She was about an arm's length from the wall. Sonya got out of the tub and took the rope from Teresa. She straddled Kate's legs putting her bush right in front of Kate face. Teresa climbed back in the tub and started rubbing Kate's thighs. She soon moved her hand up to Kate's cunt and moved her fingers in and out to tease and frustrate Kate. Sonya pushed Kate's face into her bush, but Kate turned away. With a pull on the rope increased the pressure on Kate's collar. Then the rope was loosened the rope and Sonya pushed Kate's head against her again. As if to help Kate understand, Teresa spread Kate's thighs and started licking Kate's clit. Kate shuddered and stuck out her tongue to try to eat a cunt for the first time. If Sonya liked what she was doing, she kept the rope slack. If Kate did not please her, the rope would tighten. It was hard for Kate to concentrate. Teresa was licking and sucking very effectively. Soon, Kate was finding it hard to breathe. As Sonya's excitement increased, she pulled the rope without meaning to. Kate had her knees over the edge of the tub with Teresa holding her tight, her head buried in her crotch. As the rope had tightened, Kate had been pulled back to the wall at an angle, Sonya pushing down on her with her crotch. As Sonya started to climax, the collar was pulled so tight it virtually cut off the circulation to Kate's head. But Sonya's cries of release were not lost on Kate. Hearing the other women's climax, nearly losing consciousness, Kate finally has an orgasm. It was so strong she threw off Teresa in her thrall. Kate blacked out before she even finished convulsing. The Lord found her in his bathing room. She sat unconscious, naked on the floor, sitting with her back against the wall, her legs spread wide. Her hands were between her legs still clutching his ivory phallus as it lay inside her cunt. "So, my Vixen chooses to take her pleasure without my permission." He thought she should pay dearly for that. Groat went down on one knee and leaned over to pull the ivory horn from his slave's body. As he did, still in a dream, Kate's body reacted. She reached up and grabbed Groat around the neck. Her body convulsed as if needing to finish the orgasm she had started. Groat pulled her to him despite himself. He reveled in the feel of her skin made electric by her orgasm. Then as it subsided, he remembered the circumstances and let her go. Quiet and unconscious again, she fell to the floor. It was then that Groat noticed the rope attached to her collar and the bruises on her thighs and breasts. "So, someone in his house was using his slave." She was his alone to command. He left to find Manu. The Vixen needed tending, and Manu needed to find out who had abused his property. *************** Thank you for enjoying our Irish Captive. Thanks to abashed-dreamer for editing. Chapter 4 is just about finished and will be out in about out soon. In the next installment, Kate learns what evil lurks in the minds for Monks with too much time on their hands. It will not be for the faint of heart! If you like what you read, PLEASE VOTE. - J & V