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The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 01

By: rbobrien



We stood there, freezing and cold. They had stripped us naked for inspection. The men were rough and jovial; the war almost over. We were their spoils.

I had been taken prisoner on my wedding night. The soldiers stormed into my husband's home, stopping with huge grins when they saw the scene unfolding in front of them in our bedroom. They gave my husband a choice, because he was one of them, even though not a soldier: him or me. The fucking coward didn't hesitate, and they took me. I was naked, scared, and my heart turned black. I hated him. And he had left me a virgin. Losing my virginity to one of these animals made my cry on the spot, uncontrollably. I still have no idea what happened to my husband. I call myself a widow.

It had been about a week. We had been treated okay, very little attention paid to us, but they fed us and let us tend to our sanitary needs. But today would change everything. The men lined us up, naked, whips in their hands, wooden sticks at their belts. Some women screamed loudly, some whimpered, some stood silently shaking. I was the latter. I was trembling, but I refused to cry. I would not look up; fear gave me courage. 

Suddenly, I felt an intimidating presence standing before me. I stared at his filthy, black boots. I felt coarse, strong fingers grip my chin, as he forced me to look into his eyes. I begged myself not to cry, but as my head rose, I could no longer contain my deep despair. Tears began to fall as I shook violently. His eyes pierced mine, dark but kind. He wiped the tears away from my face.

"I will take her," he turned and three guards dragged me carelessly, as we followed behind him.

I was driven in the back of an army truck to a camp, still unclothed, cold, frightened. They gave me water; it tasted like the finest wine in that moment, and I savored it. I couldn't remember being given any sustenance that day. Somehow I lost consciousness . . . They must have drugged me.

When I awoke, I was inside, on a hard floor, cleaned and naked, bound with my legs secured together and my hands tied behind my back. Immediately, I began to cry again.

A voice from the shadows came forward. "Sssh." 

I was sure it was him, my captor.

"I am not going to hurt you," he said gently.

I was too afraid to speak. If he wasn't going to hurt me, why was I tied up and naked?

As if reading my mind, he spoke. "War is not pretty. But it has neared its end. This is how it is done. You are my reward. You are mine now." He paused as if allowing me time to process what he was saying. "Do you have any family left?"

I just trembled, trying to find my voice. "No," I whispered. "I don't think so."

My family had sold me to my husband to try to save me from the war. My husband was supposed to be our enemy, but we had a lot of money, and my parents just wanted me safe. If I married him, they felt I had a good chance of survival. I was their only child, and my people were dying en masse. They didn't want me to be a statistic. I had no idea where my family was, but rumor had it that they were taken and killed in the war themselves.

"Husband?"

"I was taken on my wedding night," I admitted. "My husband was . . ." I clenched my stomach, "one of you."

He creased his forehead, as if the memory or recollection of it became clear.

"You are mine now. Things do not have to be unpleasant . . . especially if you cooperate." He spoke softly and yet I feared him completely.

"Why?" I squeaked out.

"You have no rights anymore. All the women have become slaves or worse. I'd like to think you'll come to like your new status."

I just shivered, letting my predicament sink in. I closed my eyes tightly, counting in my head, telling myself that this couldn't possibly be real, this wasn't happening. Or worse? What could possibly be worse than being a slave?

"Had you been with your husband long before you married?" he questioned. 

This was just so surreal. I was tied up, helpless and naked, and this large, intimidating man towered above me, questioning me casually, as if we were out to dinner. I tried not to find him attractive, but he was striking in a classic way. He was beyond muscular and his dark, brooding eyes stared into me. He was naked from the waist up, and his light hair hung down into his face. I couldn't believe that my mind traveled toward wayward thoughts. I wanted to die. Death would be better than this humiliation.

"I am a patient man. It has helped me earn the rank I have. But I will expect that when I ask you a question, you do not hesitate. I know you are scared. But I demand an answer."

Any arousing thoughts I may have accidentally conjured were gone. Real fear gripped me instead. He could do anything he wanted. And truthfully, I didn't really want to die. 

"No. I met him the day I married him," I finally said, embarrassed. "My parents sold me to him," I tried to explain.

He sighed, mulling things around in his head. He ran a finger through his hair, as if fighting within himself. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

"How many men before your husband?" 

I turned my head to stare at the ground before me and closed my eyes from embarrassment. 

He knelt down to me and grabbed my chin, as he had when he first chose me. He forced my gaze upward into his eyes, uncomfortably. I didn't know how to respond. What would he do if he found out I was a virgin? 

"Answer me," he said, no trace of humor. He sounded angry, and it made me well up with an indescribable, profound fear.

"None," I admitted and then the dam broke. I really started to cry.

"So your husband was the only man you've been with?"

"Been with?" I asked timidly, knowing all too well what he was asking.

"Yes, Slave. Don't play coy." He seemed to be getting angry with me, exasperated.

I trembled, trying to find the courage to speak under these circumstances. "I have not been with any man," I paused, humiliated, "ever." I stared back down at the ground, fear palpable.

He stood up, pacing. "Are you telling me that you are a virgin?"

I just bowed my head in affirmation. I was devastated.

And then he left the room. I was alone, crying, and wishing I could just wake up from this horrible nightmare.

I could hear people talking outside of the room, muffled voices, voices of only men, as I lay there, vulnerable and helpless. But in the not-so-far distance, I could hear screams of women, tortured echoes. I heard the whack of whips and smacks, and loud, anguished begging. I heard men laughing and music and merriment at the women's expense. It was soon becoming clear what my fate would be. I was a slave or as he said, worse; I would be tortured. I tried to tune out what I was hearing, trying to visualize peaceful images from my childhood. 

I had no idea how long it had been. I had drifted off to sleep.

"Come on. Get up," the man said, untying me. "No one will believe that a person of your kind is a virgin. Be grateful I chose you. And be grateful I believe you."

"Please," I begged. "Where are you taking me? Please don't hurt me." Any pride I may have had was replaced with a sickness in the bottom of my stomach. I had never been more frightened in my life. 

He ignored my pleas. "What is your name?" he asked aloofly.

"Rosemary." I wanted to obey him; I didn't want to be whipped like some of the women were. I was truly a coward.

"You can call me Sir for now," he offered. "And I am not going to hurt you."

That was the second time he told me that he wouldn't hurt me. Could I trust him? Should I trust him? Why would I trust a man who had taken me prisoner?

When I was untied, he picked me up to carry me, naked and helpless in his strong grip. We went through what appeared to be a large compound. I couldn't believe my eyes. Women were tied up; some were being whipped, others fucked mercilessly. I closed my eyes as he carried me through the wails and moans. It was a mixture of torment and lust and sex and torture. Tears came uncontrollably again.

He took me outside. Many buildings surrounded the large, center compound. He brought me inside to one of them. It was warm and actually inviting. It was a small home in its own way. He placed me down on a soft, plush couch, exposing me fully. I shivered, even though the room was not at all cold. A fire had been lit.

"I do not want your first time to be painful, Rosemary," he said bluntly. "I want to learn your body."

Oh my god. He was going to rape me! I was no longer going to be a virgin, and I was going to lose my virginity to this . . . this barbarian! 

"Do I need to tie you down, or will you cooperate?" He spoke in a detached tone, but of course he did. I was his prisoner. He didn't know me. He certainly didn't care for me.

I had no idea what to say, how to respond. What choice did I have? He would do what he wanted, but he was asking, and I somehow felt my belly tighten. I was so scared and yet a part of me was aroused. It was so confusing.

"You hesitated again, Rosemary." He grabbed my hand, and we left the warmth of the living area. He brought me into a bedroom, accented with red and cream colors, soothing. How ironic.

He led me further into the bedroom, and then turned me around to face him, the back of my legs against the side of the bed. I stood naked in front of him and looked down, humiliated. I had been fully washed and shaven by god knows who when I was unconscious. I felt tears burning my eyes again.

"You are truly beautiful," he said, catching me off guard, and I stopped breathing. "Your virginity would not last long here, Rosemary. Trust me. It wouldn't be pretty if some of the other men found out. So I am happy to be your first. You will become my slave here. I can't very well have a slave without sex. And I can't very well control my slave if I do not know her body. Lie down," he ordered, but there was something kind in his voice. It was such a contradiction.

I didn't move. I wanted to run out of the room. But to where? No one to save me here. And much worse men lurked right outside the building. I shook.

"Now," he ordered again. This time kindness was no longer present in his voice. "Tonight will be about your pleasure, Rosemary. After tonight, it will be about mine."

I got on the bed on my back. I could not control my breathing and I quaked.

"I had no idea I would be getting such an innocent. We need to take care of that right now," he said as if the thought was unfathomable. But he looked down and smiled at me as he began tying me, spread eagle, to the bed, first my wrists and then my ankles. I was his to do as he pleased.

"What part of your body brings you the most pleasure, Rosemary?" he asked me, and I blushed profusely. I had no idea how to answer. I couldn't answer. What could I say? I liked being touched . . . I had a particularly sensitive body. I was confused at my feelings of arousal. I was almost panting. And yet, I was seriously frightened at the same time.

"Calm down," he said, and again, he smiled. He was unfortunately breathtaking. Why did he have to look like this? This just could not be happening. "I'll ask you a different way. How do you find orgasm? Obviously not through penetration."

I literally wanted to die. How could I tell this complete stranger who had taken me against my will that I had never reached orgasm? That I had never gone that far with a man. I had pleased men. But I had never gotten past petting for myself. I had never been pushed over that edge that everyone talked about, that I saw happen to men. I was waiting for my wedding day. Call me old-fashioned. Again, I was humiliated.

He laughed. "Please tell me you've had an orgasm before? Are you telling me you've haven't? Jesus, Rosemary. What I am going to do with you?"

I trembled and tried to steady my breathing. I felt like I might pass out.

"Relax," he could clearly see my distress. "Let's find out what you like, what part of your body is the most sensitive, and let's see if we can't get you to orgasm before I deflower and claim you."

Oh my god. Breathe, I told myself. I did not want to be aroused; I did not want to let go, to give this stranger, this kidnapper, this rapist, for god's sake, the pleasure of taking my virginity, and yet my body defied me. I could feel the wet drips of arousal pooling between my legs.

He began to lightly stroke between my legs with his fingers, slowly, tenderly. My embarrassment flushed my whole body as he smiled knowingly. My secret was out. He held his fingers up to my face, showing me the glistening juice. "It is clear that you like to be tied up. I will take note of that for our future. You are very wet," he smirked.

"Please . . . "But I didn't know what I was begging for.

"Tonight I will let you speak freely, moan, squirm, do as you will. I want to take note of every reaction you have. As time goes on, I will ask you to control your reactions, and if you can't, there will be consequences. Trust me. You learning to obey me is the only hope you have for safety. But tonight, control nothing. I want to see and hear you as I pleasure you. Do you have any questions?"

Holy shit. God help me. I didn't want this, and yet my body clenched and my belly tightened again in that longing way.

"You don't have to do this," I pleaded.

"Yes," and he paused. "I do. Trust me. I do."

My head was spinning, and my body was betraying me in humiliating ways. "So . . ." I squeaked. "Am I going to be your slave? Your sexual slave?" I paused, flushing and squirming as I spoke the words. "For how long?"

He just chuckled. "No. You will be my slave in all things, not just sex. You will do whatever I ask of you from cleaning to cooking to yes, sex. You will no longer have a say in anything you do."

"Oh." I felt a wave of helplessly that left me both panicked and excited. What was wrong with me? "And, when it's over? Where will I go? What will I do?" I suddenly lost my breathing again, fear gripping me, as I thought of what would become of me. I struggled to find air.

He stroked my cheek. He was so gentle. It was so disconcerting! "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Breathe. Don't think about anything except what I am going to do to your body right now. You can't control your future. I may not be able to control your future. But I can control right now. Be in this moment with me. Let yourself go. I promise you'll enjoy it. I can already tell that you do."

He sat down next to my helpless, secured body and stroked my breasts, around the large mounds, under them, around them, feather-like, gentle. I tried not to moan but failed. Again, he just smiled. It wasn't cruel, but it was smug, and it embarrassed me more than I can explain. Every part of me burned.

"Look at me at all times," he demanded. "I will be gentle and lenient with you tonight. I haven't had a woman in a long time, and I haven't had a virgin in many years. I don't want to hurt you. But let me repeat myself. As time goes on, you will need to learn to obey me if you want to remain as safe as is realistically possible here."

His statement was foreboding and tied my stomach in knots until he began to touch me again. I groaned as he lightly started to play with my nipples. He played and rolled the nipples around between his fingers, and I squirmed and moaned and struggled to close my legs. "Oh god, please," I whimpered.

"Your nipples bring you much pleasure," he said matter of factly. But he didn't leave them alone. Instead, he laid his heavy, strong body on top of mine and nuzzled his face between my heaving chest and flicked the tips of my nipples with his tongue.

"Aaah!" I struggled to break free, the teasing sending electric jabs of desire right between my throbbing legs.

"Try to stay still. You will need to learn to control your body's reactions. And the binds can hurt. I have never encountered such sensitivity. I like that. You feel good under me. But I'm afraid they will feel the same way I do. You are exactly what they look for."

I squirmed. They? I was aroused from his teasing but I was in knots with the fear of my future, my fate.

He sat back up but straddled me, sitting down on me, and gazed into my eyes, pausing to let me calm down, to relax. I had literally started to pant out of fear or was it lust? He stroked my cheek and my lips, as he looked intently into my eyes.

"Such beautiful, blue eyes. Emotional. Don't be afraid. Hard to believe that you're related to . . . them." And he rose, positioning his long body by my side.

He began to run his fingers up and down my body, finding my erogenous zones as I moaned and quivered under his touch. "Not one for poker, I can imagine," he joked. "I can read your body like a book," he said. "You will want to be careful about that when other men touch you."

I cringed but not for long.

He tickled up and down my body, pausing in between my legs to brush my sex lightly and stopping when he could see I was getting too aroused. "Oh, Rosemary. You are going to make a wonderful slave. You will be so easy to control," and with that, he spread my pussy lips open with one hand and began to tickle the insides of my folds with the other. He found a little sweet nub I had never known existed in me, only heard about, and lightly twirled a few fingers around it, delicately, gently, sweetly. 

I could feel my whole body tightening, building up to a crescendo. I began to tense, my breathing erratic, fearful, excited, out of my control, something I had never felt before. My body burned all the way up to my ears. What was happening to me?

"You are quite receptive. You are ready to have your first orgasm, Rosemary. Do you feel what your body is doing? How it's changing? 

"Yes!" I panted. And then, involuntarily, guiltily, "No!" 

He laughed and stopped. And I felt a pain so intense, a torture so excruciating, I began to cry, pulling on my binds frantically.

"These sensations are new for you. Sssh. Calm down. Relax. I want you to enjoy it. I want you to be wet and ready and open for me when I penetrate you. Your first time feeling cock will be slightly painful, and I'd like it not to be. The wetter you are, the better it will be for you." 

He paused as my pulse slowed a bit again, as I tried to force myself to find my equilibrium. I wanted to scream and cry and I wasn't sure if it was from lust or anger. How many women had he done this to? How had he become so skilled at exploring the female anatomy?

He continued, "I will let you come before I penetrate you. But you need to embrace it, enjoy it, let it happen. I know this is new for you. It makes you feel vulnerable, I'm sure, but you can't worry about that anymore. Enjoy it while I let you. There will be plenty of times when I deny you this beautiful release. Just like I did right then. I can take it away as fast as I give it. Remember that. Remember how you feel right now. I am in control of it. You are mine," he repeated again.

He began to stroke my pussy lips again, lightly, teasingly. It tickled and turned me on so much I couldn't stop writhing. I wanted to beg him to go back to that swollen piece of flesh he so expertly manipulated. I wanted to climb that precipice again. I wanted to fall over it, but he wasn't letting me yet. I was about to beg, but for what exactly, I really didn't know.

"Stay still," he said. "You're making my cock too hard. How many times do I have to tell you: I don't want to hurt you tonight."

God! He was so erotic and yet I was his slave. It just didn't make any sense. He liked watching me squirm. It made him hard. Somehow that scared and excited me at once. What was my new life going to entail?

He suddenly stuck a finger inside of me, and I squealed in delight, involuntarily. This was the very first time I had anything in me . . . there. He curled his finger and then lengthened it over and over inside of me, and I felt that build again, that sweet tightening. I was panting again, squeezing his finger with the inside of my body involuntarily, trying to lift my hips. I was climbing, climbing, climbing to some indescribable feeling. I moaned and from somewhere deep down inside of me, I heard, "Sir, please . . . please . . . Sir . . . please." I was not myself. I was not in control of what I was saying or doing. I was possessed.


The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 01



"You are so tight. Mmmm." 

"Please!" I didn't even recognize my voice. I was having an out-of-body experience. All reality faded into the background.

He continued with his slow, deliberate torture and took his other hand and began to stroke my pleasure point again, circling the nub, my clitoris, tickling it, and I screamed out, suddenly tipping over, diving off, crashing into his fingers violently. "Oh, god!" I yelled.

"Aaah. You are having your first orgasm. You like it, don't you?" 

I squeezed my muscles and shook, and he stopped when he felt my body go limp. I was sweating and spasming a bit as my body came down from the most excruciating pleasure I have ever felt.

I looked down to find him naked, hovering over me, predatorily, intimidatingly. I grew scared now that my body had found that release. I was back in the now, realizing what I had done.

"Don't be scared," he said. "I am not done with you. Not by a long shot. Calm down, and we'll begin again."

Again? Was he crazy? I couldn't repeat that feeling, at least not right then, could I? Oh god. How could this be happening to me?

He began to kiss my body. He started at my neck and rained light, feather-soft kisses down my throat and chest, around my nipples, over my belly, down the inside of my thighs and calves and repeated over and over until I was squirming and moaning all over again.

He laughed at me, but not in a cruel manner, in a content way, a satisfied way. I blushed and just wanted to cover myself and crawl under the covers.

He continued to trail his kisses. "You are truly divine," he breathed onto my skin. "I am going to enjoy deflowering you. You are going to enjoy it too. You're going to want me to give it to you every day, and I am going to revel in it."

"Stop," I moaned, but even I didn't believe me.

He kissed my nipples as his hands found my pussy lips again. He played with my pleasure spot and now I knew the signs and the exquisite feeling that was building, and I wanted it so bad I knew I might to anything to feel it again. My anticipation was mounting, my breathing out of control. I wanted it. More importantly, I needed it. 

"I want you to feel my control, my slave. I will take you to the edge, and I will take it away. This is your new life. Mine to control. Feel it."

I wanted to beg, I wanted to scream out. I hated myself for wanting this. I held back my tears of frustration as he coaxed me to the edge of orgasm over and over, stopping short.

"How does this feel?" he asked.

"Please!"

"You didn't answer me," he said with a menacing edge to it. "Answer me."

I struggled. I was close to having that exquisite release again. He held me there, on the edge. "I want . . ." I tried to speak. "I want . . . to feel . . . that . . . no . . . I want you to stop!"

And he stopped all contact. "That did not answer my question. Answer me. Rosemary, you need to learn to obey me. Your life may come to depend it."

I struggled to find my words. I was so flushed, so hot, so full of need and humiliation. I was lost, dazed. "It feels both heavenly and tortuous. I am so scared and so aroused. Why are you doing this me? Please. I don't know how it feels. I just know I want to feel that rush again, and at the same time, I want you to stop. I want to feel an orgasm again! And I don't want to want it!" I sobbed, defeated.

"That's a good slave. That's a good, honest answer, Rosemary. I can imagine your contradictions of feelings. But, I am going to take away your virginity now. You can yell and be as loud as you need to be this time. And I will be gentle and slow and you will get to orgasm again. This I promise."

He positioned his body over mine, as I closed my eyes. I tensed up. I was nervous.

"It's okay. Let me in. Relax."

He pushed the head of his erect cock slowly into me. And pushed in, slowly, gently. And then he took it out. His cock was only halfway in me as I opened my eyes to watch in fascination. It hurt and it felt unbelievable at once. My ache still lurked but his penetration eased it some. My intense longing was being satiated as he dipped in and out of me, slowly, deliberately. I wanted more but didn't dare ask. I wanted to pretend I didn't want it as desperately as I truly did.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

How could I admit what I was feeling? I was a prisoner of war. I was humiliated that I was liking this. "Yes," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut again.

"Good. So do I. You are hot and tight and I want to really feel you. I am going to go a little faster."

He sped up. Oh my god. I felt that feeling again, that warm flush of deep need, burning deep in my belly and between my legs. It hurt so good.

"Sssh. Calm down."

I hadn't realized that I was screaming, yelling, garbling out "Sir" and "Please," like an animal in heat. How could I be acting like this?

He stopped and began to untie me. What? No! He was done? What happened? My eyes started to water.

"Bend over," he commanded.

Oh no. I was worried suddenly. He sensed it.

"Rosemary, on all fours. I am not going to hurt you. You will enjoy this. "

I just complied. What was the point of thinking? I had no choice.

I hung my head down as I positioned my ass in the air for him.

"Lovely," he smiled and began to stroke my ass. Oh my god, it felt good. I squirmed and tried to position his hand into my dripping, hot sex, and he just laughed warmly.

He continued to stroke my ass with one hand and then began to rub the tip of his cock over my pussy lips, front to back across my slit. He rubbed it up against my swollen clitoris that he had teased so mercilessly. I moaned, long and loud.

He stopped and said, "Kneel up."

Oh god. Now what? But I did, willingly at this point.

He fondled my breasts as he knelt his body behind me, his chest against my back. His hot breath kissed the back of my neck. He kissed and licked my neck and began to lightly pinch my nipples. Goosebumps appeared all over my body. I writhed, the slight pain of his pinches arousing me. I needed to feel that release again. I had never felt any of these feelings before. It was painful and beautiful and humiliating at once. I wanted to beg him, and I couldn't bring myself to do it.

"Go ahead," he said as if clairvoyant. "Beg me. I quite like to hear it."

His fingers continued to pinch my nipples, and I continued to squirm. I grabbed his strong, tan forearms to try to get him to relent, but even with all my strength, I couldn't remotely remove his hold on me. The notion of his strength sent desire jolting down to my sex. No! I yelled in my head.

With one hand he alternated between my breasts, and with his other, he stroked my clit. Oh dear god. I couldn't take it anymore. 

"Please," I just lost all sense of myself. "Please . . . Sir."

"Please what?" he teased.

I was heaving, panting, writhing. And he relented. He bent me back over so I was back on all fours and he gently pushed his cock inside of me, tickling my clit, tortuously, not moving a muscle.

"Please!" This time I screamed and this time I meant it. I knew exactly what I was begging for. In and out, hard then slow, then fast and hard, and I squeezed and tensed and accepted his assault. I screamed out in pure pleasure as he put one hand on my waist and the other on my clit. I built up and up and yelled out, "Yes! It's happening again! I'm there! Oh please!"

I convulsed on his cock as I orgasmed, once, twice, three times, over and over it seemed. Tears were streaming down my face, a trickle of blood flowing down my legs. I had been deflowered. I had been fucked. I had been used. And I shuddered to think at how much I loved it.

I felt him tense and then felt a hot stream over my ass and lower back, as I looked back to see his thick, white come shooting out of it. I looked into his dark, brown eyes, and he smiled at me. For a moment, I felt loved, and then I remembered where I was, what I was, and what he was, and I collapsed on the bed, crying into a ball.

He crawled around me. "Hey . . .you okay? Did I hurt you? You're bleeding," he said, stating the obvious.

I was so humiliated; I couldn't even look up and curled tighter. "Of course I'm bleeding. I was a virgin for Christ's sake!" 

"Not anymore," he stated plainly. "And never speak to me in that tone of voice again, Rosemary. I will let it go this time. But don't you dare ever do it again. I will not warn you again."

I began to cry and somehow the words, "I'm sorry," slipped from my lips. 

"It's okay," he said. And he held me. It was so strange, so unexpected. He had basically raped me and yet he was tender, almost loving. I remembered the scene I had witnessed with the other women, and the torture they were enduring. I shook and realized my fate was somehow . . . lucky.

A knock was heard at the door, "Erik! You in there? We have a . . . situation . . . "

He stood up and threw his bottoms back on. He went to open the door as I watched his back muscles flex and stiffen. "What is it Stephen?" He spoke authoritatively.

"We have found an enemy. We need your . . . um . . . expertise."

"I will be right there." He looked from me to the man named Stephen. Stephen smiled wickedly. What did he mean "expertise"? And my stomach turned to knots. 

He turned to me. The gentle look he had shown me in his eyes was replaced with something like anger, hatred. He spoke as he dressed. "There is food in the kitchen. After you take a bath to clean up, prepare us a meal. I will see you when I return. There are guards everywhere and much crueler men than I. I would stay put if I were you. I can't protect you at all times, and I won't if you disobey me. Do you understand? I am extremely serious right now. I'd like to come back to find you safe, to find you . . . unharmed."

"Yes," I whispered and trembled at the reality of my situation. 

"Good," he paused, buttoning up his shirt, peeking at me through the hair that had fallen in his face. "Are you okay?" He paused slightly as I squeezed my legs together tightly, embarrassed. "Expect to be sore."

Was I okay? Like he cared! How to even begin to answer that? I just shook my head in a yes nod to say that I was, indeed, okay, even though I was anything but.

He sat down on the bed in his uniform and his face softened a bit, as he ran his hands through his hair with a look of confusion and kindness in his eyes. He sighed long and hard. "Rosemary, I am of a very high rank, as I'm sure you've gathered. However, I am not the highest ranking official here. And you must remember, you are seen as our enemy, our prisoner, unfortunately, mostly as a whore. Do not forget that. Not everyone will show you the same latitude as I might. I am sorry to leave you right now. But I must. We shall eat when I return. I will enjoy seeing your talents in the kitchen. Don't disappoint me."

And he left me on the bed and exited without looking back at me. I drew myself into a tight ball and cried.

All I heard out into the night air was arguing between men. I heard Erik, the man who had deflowered me, the man I called Sir only minutes before, faintly, "Well . . . taking all their clothes away was not the smartest idea. They might catch the death of them, for god's sakes!"

I heard a chuckle. "And . . . So what if they do?"

I trembled, as I forced myself to walk out into the kitchen to see what I might make for dinner. I would bathe first and then I would do exactly as he instructed. What choice did I have?



The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 02



When he returned, I was stirring a chicken soup I had made, shivering, worried if he would be as gentle towards me as he was before and if my cooking would please him. I had wrapped a sheet around my body, having no clothes of my own.

When he didn't come into the kitchen, I found him seated in a large, brown leather chair in the living area, his head held in his large, competent hands. He did not rise when I entered, and I froze, wondering if I should speak or not. I noticed blood on his hands and wondered what in god's name it was from.

Finally, his gaze found mine, and I saw a deep sadness behind his eyes. He spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence between us. "Please go run me a bath, Rosemary," he said slowly, trailing his eyes up and down my covered body. "Remove the sheet. You are not allowed to cover yourself at any time. I understand it must feel humiliating, but you are a slave now, Rosemary. You are not allowed to do anything you're not instructed to do. They will want you naked, at their mercy, at all times." His body shifted. "I also happen to enjoy looking at your body. I haven't seen one so perfect in my entire life."

My feet kept me in place. He said things that made my belly twitch and tighten and yet, he was my captor, aloof and hard to read. I couldn't help but think of what would happen if I chose to disobey him.

When I saw him glare at me, I slowly removed the sheet that had given me some comfort. Any thoughts of disobeying this intimidating man vanished. I turned to go run his bath. I paused, "I made a soup, Sir. Do you mind if I turn it to simmer while I draw your bath?" 

I couldn't believe my voice, my acquiescence to him. I'm not sure if fear or desire motivated me. But I had a strong pull not to disappoint this man.

"Thank you," he spoke softly. "You may do what you need to do before drawing my bath." He stood and began to undress himself, as he walked over to his bedroom. I tried not to stare at his tan skin, his masculine, strong frame. "I will leave my clothes on the chair in the bedroom for you to wash."

I scurried out, naked, and turned the soup down and walked over to the bathtub I had been in only a little while before, trying to remove the blood stains of my lost virginity. I bent over to turn the water on, and then he was suddenly there. I felt him move behind me, and I lost my breath. I felt his erection before I even had a chance to turn around. I froze again in place, immobile, waiting for instructions. 

"Please," he spoke in almost a whisper. "Join me."

"I . . . " I stuttered. I was quaking again, and I wasn't exactly sure why. I didn't feel as if I was in any immediate danger, and then I felt the moisture between my legs, and I knew exactly why I trembled. I hated myself again for feeling this way, for not being able to control my body's reaction to his close proximity.

"You will be punished, Slave, if you continue to defy me, to hesitate. I will train you starting tonight. You will understand why I must very soon."

"I'm sorry," and tears flowed down my cheeks. "I've never been in a situation like this before, obviously. I am scared. I . . . " I didn't know how to finish. I yelled in my head: I shouldn't be letting you do this to me! I should be fighting you! But I didn't dare say it aloud.

"It's okay. Come here." And he actually took me into his arms and held me while I cried. His erection was pressing against my stomach, he was so tall, but he wasn't raping me and he easily could have. His actions were so confusing, so . . . kind and comforting and . . . terrifying.

After several, long minutes, he spoke again. "Sssh. Please. It's okay. But I will have to make you behave. The cruelty you might endure at the hands of others will be far less worse if you obey and listen, and say and do the right things. If you show any signs of weakness, they will capitalize on it. Now, when I tell you to join me in something, as I've asked you now, you do so without hesitation."

"Yes Sir," I replied, sheepishly and entered the tub. 

He poured something into the large bathtub, and it smelled of almond and coconut. 

"Did it sting the last time you were in here? he asked, a look of real concern on his face. "These oils might help," he added. 

"Yes," I admitted. How did he know?

When I had drawn my own bath to wash away my guilty loss of virginity, it stung fiercely. But I did not need a reminder of what he had done to me; I did not need the stain to remind me that my body actually liked it.

I sunk into the warm water, tensing as the sting came back. I flinched but sat down deeper into the water, and I could feel the soothing effects of the oils, and somehow I began to relax.

He sat down in front of me, faced away from me, and I couldn't help by stare at the wide expanse of his back. The muscles bulged with even his slightest movement. He had scars and battle wounds and in that moment I wanted to kiss them all, one by one, and I loathed myself for feeling such desire. 

He turned slightly to pass me a cloth and some soap. "Wash me," he ordered.

I slowly began with his back, his shoulders. I was aroused looking at his chiseled body, and I was thankful that I didn't have to look into his eyes. When he was pleased with how I had washed his back, he stood, his ass facing me, and I continued to wash him, all the way down to his feet.

Slowly he turned, his erection large, and I tried not to make eye contact with him as I caught a smile spreading slightly across his face. But he sat down to face me, took the cloth back, rinsed it, and added more soap. He laid his back against the back of the tub, hoisted his arms along the sides, drew his head back, and closed his eyes. 

I continued to wash his body, trying to contain my admiration for it. God. This man was, quite simply, an exquisite specimen. I was so thankful he kept his eyes shut lest he see my true thoughts. 

I washed his neck, his chest, his torso. I went up to his shoulders, his arms, lingering on his huge forearms. The contrast of his tan skin with his light hair on his chest and forearms was striking; deep down inside of me, I fought the waves of desire pulsing through my body and pounding between my legs. When I got to his hands, I shivered and stopped. The blood there was evident, fresh. I cringed in that moment. What had he been doing when I was cooking dinner? I literally shivered at the thought. Had he killed someone? I couldn't bury the horrid image that forced its way into my mind.

His eyes flew open and his brown, almost black, eyes bore a hole through me. "Rosemary, continue."

"I . . . Yes, Sir," I was losing myself to anguish and fear suddenly. 

I began to wash his hands, forcefully, trying to remove his blood in the same way I had tried to remove my own. Somehow boldness found me as he closed his eyes and sank back against the tub again. "What happened here?" I asked, my voice barely audible, as I stared at his hands.

"Trust me, Rosemary. You don't want to know. No questions. Mind your place." I shuddered. He stared at me in such a way that told me to shut up lest my blood be on his hands.

When all the blood was removed, his eyes found mine, amused. "Keep going," he smiled. He had caught my eyes as they landed on his rock-hard cock, sitting firmly against his tight, toned stomach. I abruptly rinsed the cloth, re-soaped it and went to his thighs, his calves, lingering on his feet, his toes, washing nervously. He didn't stop me or make me go back up to the one body part I had skipped. I breathed a sigh of relief.

When I was finished, I stopped. "Sir?"

He opened his eyes. "Are you quite done?" That playful look still danced in his eyes.

"Um . . .yes, I believe I am," I squeaked. Time stood still as I held my breath to see what he would do.

He laughed loud. "Breathe, Slave. You are quite done. Now please dry me off and feed me. I'm starving. You must be too."

I dried him and he left me there, alone and naked. For some reason I was panting. Was I disappointed? I hated to admit it, but I think I was. I sulked into the kitchen, shivering, still naked. I removed the towel I had used to dry myself off, trying to follow his orders, his previous instructions.

I waited, seated at a kitchen chair, as he finally entered the kitchen, fully clothed, relaxed. I sat, timid, a little cold, and fully embarrassed. I tried to position my arms and hands to cover myself the best I could. He sat down, and instinctually, I immediately got up to serve him his food. He smiled up at me as I placed the bowl in front of him and sat down.

He took a bite and moaned. "This is absolutely perfect, Rosemary. Thank you. Please help yourself as well." 

I relaxed a bit and rose again to get myself some too.

We ate in silence. I tried to devour my food surreptitiously, but it could have been anything, and I would have inhaled it, I was that hungry. I felt like an animal. I found his gaze, soup dripping down my chin, and I stilled, humiliated at how I was acting, at how I must have looked to him. Why did I even care? He left the room, and I became frightened. Tears poured forth, inconsolable. 

To my surprise, he came back with a blanket. "It's okay," he assured me. "I'm sorry." He looked pained watching me. I was so humiliated, and even through my devastating hunger, I lost my appetite. What was I becoming?

I convulsed through my tears, gasping for air, trying to breathe. I was a fucking slave, naked, starving practically, and it all just hit me in a painful, crushing wave.

He stepped around to my chair and picked me up. He sat back down in his chair and held me in his arms for a long time. I struggled to push away from him, and it only made him hold me tighter. I didn't want this . . . this . . .kidnapper, this brute, holding me, and yet I found myself succumbing to his hold, thrusting my face against his chest, letting all my emotions spill over onto him, letting him soothe me. When I calmed, he took my face between his calloused hands and made me look into his eyes. They held a hard-to-fathom emotion.

He spoke in almost a whisper, but it was stern. "Rosemary, you will need to toughen up. You need to be stronger. I need to make you stronger. You are going to think that I'm being cruel; I'm trying to save your life. Tonight will be less gentle. Know that it is not to be cruel. I am hoping that you even come to like it. Go stand in the living room and wait for me. Remove the blanket."

I did as he asked and stood silently shaking in the living area. When he returned, I noticed some sort of whip in his hand, and immediately, my eyes watered and I trembled again. I whispered, "No . . . please. I'll do whatever you say."

"I know you will," he said a little coolly. "You will learn that you have no choice."

He tied my arms behind my back before I could say anything else. I almost lost my balance.

"Sssh. Calm down. This does not have to be painful. But you need to control yourself. You need to obey. Spread your legs."

I stood facing him, my legs spread and my arms tightly secured behind my back. 

He paused, sighing. I saw him squeezing his fists by his sides. He spoke slowly, softly, again, as if in pain. "My god, Rosemary. You have a beautiful body. You make me feel weak."

Holy shit. I couldn't believe my ears, and my body reacted all too viscerally to his words. It oozed with desire, the traitor it was, and I cringed that I had had the same exact thoughts about him earlier in the bathtub. Jesus. What was this?

He slowly began to touch my body, starting at my feet. He drew his fingers up the inside of my legs, until he got to my inner thighs. He stopped, closed his eyes tightly and again, as if pained, he spoke. "Rosemary, you are wet. Very wet. I haven't done anything yet. In a normal situation, this would please me. It would please me very much. But we are in anything but a normal situation. I almost can't remember what normal is."

Moans traitorously escaped from my lips at his mere words, and he continued his delicious torture. He used both hands as he found my sex and lightly brushed my lips, lingering only to move on far too quickly.

I moaned again, involuntarily. God I was pathetic. I was so angry with myself.

"Slave," he stated firmly. When he used that as my name, it reminded me of my true situation, where and what I was, and made me beyond nervous. "No moaning," he instructed. "If you moan again, I will have to whip you. Please work on it."

Why? I wondered in my mind. Who cared? Who could hear? I didn't understand, but I didn't dare ask.

He moved up over my belly and I clenched my teeth tightly. It made me drip as he dragged his fingertips up over my breasts. He wasted no time and lightly took my nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, kneading them. I squirmed uncontrollably, trying not to moan. God it felt good.

It felt like he would never stop, and I let out a scream of pleasure without even realizing it.

His eyes found mine. There was no humor, no playfulness and he picked up the whip.

"No," I begged. "I am sorry. Please. Please don't hurt me. I didn't mean to scream."

"I know," and he walked behind me and rained a heavy blow across my ass, biting into my skin.

"Aaaah!" I screamed again, but not from pleasure. I had never, ever, been hit in my life. It stung, bad, long after the strike. Tears pricked my eyes. Desire had left me; anger replaced it. How dare he do this to me?

"Listen to me. We will try again. You can't control how wet you are, but you need to learn to control your outbursts, your noises. Tomorrow night we will work on your squirming, your movement. Tonight, noises. You have to be able to control yourself, especially when I ask you to."

He began touching me again, and I didn't move; I didn't try to stop him. He went right back to my nipples. This was unfair, impossible. My anger dissipated and arousal lay in its wake. I hated him in that moment, and yet I couldn't control my longing for him, my aching need for him to please me, to pleasure me, to put that pulsating, pounding drumbeat between my legs to rest. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but to say what exactly, I wasn't sure.

He touched and pinched, and I struggled to stay still and quiet, trying not to move, trying not to react to these things I should have despised. I was panting, remembering that sweet ecstasy he had brought me earlier. I burned inside thinking about it, even as I willed myself not to. Would I ever be able to forget that feeling? That feeling of absolute out-of-control, blinding bliss? 

"Control, Rosemary. You like this, and it's too obvious. Settle yourself."

Oh. Jesus. I didn't want to like it. I didn't want to show that I liked it! He played and played and I couldn't stay still. I groaned, really loud, and screamed out, "Sir, please! Please!"

"Please what?" He didn't stop.

"Please stop!" But what I really wanted to say was Take me! Use me! Make me dive over that edge again! But my pride wouldn't allow me to say that. And it was I who I hated, not him.

"What do you want?" He asked, never removing his touch from my rock-hard nipples or his gaze from my eyes.

I lost my train of thought as I could feel myself rising to that beautiful place again, just from the touches he gave me on my nipples. I was ready to tip over the edge. I caved. "I want what you brought me earlier. I want to feel that . . . "

And before I could finish, he stopped abruptly. I fell to the ground. He grabbed my chin in between his fingers. "Wrong answer, Rosemary. Let's try again."

"What? What do you mean? What should I answer? Please tell me. Please!" I wailed.

"Stand up, Slave," he ordered, ignoring my pleas. "Spread your legs again."

I did, shakily, unsteadily.

He traced his fingers up and down my thighs, lightly, smiling at me, but his eyes couldn't hide their slight sadness. I knew I was dripping wet. I was so embarrassed. How could I be so turned on?

He lightly stroked my slit up and down. 

"Oh god!" I accidentally moaned.

He looked forlorn and picked up the whip. He said nothing but came to stand behind me again and bent me over at the waist. "Count," he ordered.

Smack! The whip struck me across my ass. "Count!" he yelled.

"One!" I screamed.

Whack!

"Two!" I panted.

Slap!

"Three!" I squealed like a pig and tears flowed down my face. It hurt like hell. It stung far worse than I could have imagined. 

He spun me around to face him. "Quiet, Slave. Do you understand?"

"No! No! I don't understand. Help me to understand. Please!" I begged and panted.

"Turn around," he ordered again. Where was this gentle man from earlier? What happened to him?

I shook and took position. What choice did I have?

"Let's try again. No noise!"

He was cruel then. He went right to my pleasure spot between my thighs as I writhed. It felt so good and I felt so betrayed. How could this feel good when he had just whipped me? Tortured me? 

I stood, silent, as I could feel my orgasm build. Oh no! I screamed inside. I am going to come. I am going to explode. This monster is going to make me come, again! And I want him to! I held my breath as he continued to bring me closer, closer, so close I was almost seeing blackness. I didn't make a sound. I didn't want to be whipped again and truthfully, I didn't want him to stop short.

And much to my dismay, he stopped and I screamed, "Please no!"

"Oh, Rosemary," he used my name, "You did so well. I am so proud of you . . . until you just yelled out. You cannot do that. I know you were close. I am getting to know you and your body now. I know your signs. I know you are in pain. I know you need release, but we must work on this. Even if I stop, you must contain yourself. You mustn't let us know."

Us? What was he even talking about? I was panting, hysterical almost. "Why? Please. Sir. Tell me why! Let me understand!" 

"I would, Rosemary. If only we had more time. But we don't. We have no time. You need to learn it by feeling it. I know this seems cruel. I cannot deny that it brings me some pleasure to see you like this. It's been a long time since I've felt a woman's body, and it's been more than a long time since any woman has ever been so responsive and receptive to my touches. But trust me, I am doing this for your own good. If you want to come, to tip over, you will have to fight for it. Bend over." And I knew he was going to whip me again.

Oh dear god in heaven. Make it stop.

When he whipped me five more times and stopped, I collapsed again. He drew me in his arms and held me, untying the binds behind my back. He kissed my hair. It was so fucking confusing! I wanted to kick him, to scratch him, to bite him. I wanted to tell him how much I hated him in that moment, and yet I found myself being soothed by his strong arms, by his caresses, by his kisses against my head.

"You've had enough for tonight. Go lay down in my bed. I will be there shortly."

I didn't even dare attempt to fight him. I walked into the bedroom and got onto the bed. I was too upset and exhausted to do anything else. I felt welts on my ass. I lied on my stomach, trying to make sanity of this situation. I bit my lip as hard as I could instead of letting the pain escape through my tears.

He came in. As usual, he was allowed to be clothed; I was still naked. He looked sad again, torn.

"Rosemary, you must understand something. The only way you will not be tortured or worse, killed, is if you can grow to abide by obeying me. Whenever I ask you what you want, your stock answer must always come back to what I want. No matter what you are feeling. Do you understand? You need to be trained to care about only pleasing me, and you must respond as such. But it is much more than that, Rosemary . . . "

Oh my god. What? My stomach clenched, as I felt I might vomit from fear. 




The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 02



"We need to practice. I wish there was more time. No whip this time. It does not please me to have to punish you this way, but others will."

He saw my eyes well up in both fear and confusion. I was slowly piecing things together and yet things remained unclear.

He continued, "You need to build up your tolerance. I can only protect you so much. The better prepared you are, the better you will be able to handle it. I am hoping you won't have to endure much from the others. But Rosemary, you are a tempting, beautiful woman, a curse perhaps here. Even though I have claimed you as mine, and they will respect that mostly, my superior can do as he wishes. War has made some men animals. You are the enemy. Some will see you only as that, nothing more."

Holy god. It was sinking in. Other men would find pleasure in torturing me here, but my reactions and responses could sway my fate.

He began to remove his clothes.

"I would prefer to leave you untied, but if you can't control yourself enough, I will tie you. Is that fair?"

I literally laughed, a nervous, loud laugh.

"Why is that funny, Rosemary?" he asked.

"Fair, Sir? Is there any such thing?"

He looked sad; somehow I felt bad, but then I snapped out it. He had taken me prisoner for god sakes. He was torturing me in a way I never knew possible until this morning. He whipped me. Good. I hope he felt bad for what he was doing.

He came to sit beside me. He lightly traced the marks he had made on my body from the whip, slowly, gingerly, as I lie there, naked and vulnerable. He kissed each small welt he had made, coming far too close to my sex, and it made me shudder and tense with desire. He rolled me over and pushed his body against mine. He kissed me, hard, passionately, and I struggled to find my breath, as I found myself leaning into his kisses, mirroring his passion. Something like a groan snuck out of my mouth, and I froze in fear that his punishment would ensue.

"It's okay. You'll never be kissed by anyone other than me. That I am sure of. I'm glad you like the way this feels. I like the way you taste." He spoke so seductively. I should hate this man, and yet I clenched with a yearning for him. I could not control or change my reaction.

He continued and trailed his hand down to my sex. "Spread for me," he demanded, and I did.

He stroked me perfectly, never letting his lips leave mine, matching the rhythm of his tongue in my mouth. I pulled away from him. "Oh please," I begged.

"Do not beg me right now. Remember what I said."

He tickled my swollen clit, that glorious pleasure spot I had only just met, and I moaned into his mouth, losing all sense of reality. 

"I am going to stop kissing you. When I do, remember yourself. No moaning. No begging. Do not speak. Try not to react."

"I will not be able to," I breathed. "I can't do this," and I felt that lump build again in my throat as I fought back tears.

"You must try," he warned.

He brought his head down between my legs and began to lick me to excruciating ecstasy. I flushed with embarrassment, losing my breath, panting, squirming with unimaginable desire, and brought my legs together.

"Shall I tie you?" he asked.

I didn't answer but my eyes spoke for me. I was scared. I wanted him to tie me. I couldn't willingly allow him to do this to me, and yet, I didn't want him to stop.

"Okay," he laughed as if he understood, and I placed my arms over my face to cover its flush of humiliation. He rose and before I knew it, my legs were bound apart on the bed, but he left my hands free. He sighed, long and heavy, as he stared down at my body. "God, Rosemary. I don't ever want to share you."

He began licking exquisitely again, and I moaned and began to writhe. 

"Slave!" he was all business again. "I shall have to stop."

I brought my hands down to cover my sex. I involuntarily pushed down on my pelvis to release some pressure. Immediately, he grabbed my hands, and I was again, tied, completely helpless, my wrists now also secure to the bedposts. I was spread eagle.

"You are really starting to worry me, Rosemary."

I welled up but forced myself not to cry.

His skillful tongue began again, and he twirled it precisely where I needed it. He positioned his head so that his eyes could stare into mine, as his expert fingers found my nipples again. Oh god. I was so close. I was screaming in my head. Blood pulsed through my body at a fast, uncontrollable beat. I knew he could feel my ascent. I kept myself quiet. I wanted to go over the edge.

He stopped. "What do you want?"

"You!" And I screamed it! All my breath came out at once. "You! Please!" I didn't care what he thought of me anymore. I didn't care what I thought of myself.

And he drew himself off of me and sighed heavily again, and then I remembered. I stuttered, "I mean, whatever pleases you Sir," I panted, embarrassment coursing through my body.

He wasn't smiling. "It's too late, Rosemary. You would have been whipped into oblivion by now."

"What? Why? What do you mean?"

"I mean, Rosemary, that you must say those words no matter how you are feeling. You must say them to me if and when I ask, or they will see your weakness and possibly take you from me for good. You must obey and act like a slave, Rosemary. That is what you are now. You cannot let your passion cloud yourself. And if they should want you, you mustn't react." He paused to let what he was saying sink it. He continued, "Again, Rosemary. Let's try again."

"No. I can't. Please . . ." I was so confused, trying to understand.

"Slave," he said sternly. "You do not have a choice. This is the only way you have a chance. I am bringing you to this brink because I know you can't think when you are there. You need to suppress your needs, no matter what kind of duress you are under. Men will have a field day with you if you can't. To them, the weaker you are, the more pleasure for them."

He stroked my cheek to calm my trembling body and then he began again with what he called "training." Over and over, he twirled his tongue across my slit, lapping up the juices between my legs, until I felt myself again rising, in spite of myself. He flicked my pleasure spot, swollen from teasing, and I climbed to the precipice. I concentrated as hard as I could to keep myself quiet, something I did not think I could do only moments ago. And surely I could remember to pretend to put his needs before my own. 

I was close again, and he stopped to toy only with my nipples. He pinched them, harder than he had before, as I panted. "What do you want, Slave?"

"I want . . ." I almost forgot myself again, as my body ached and my head throbbed with dizzying desire. "I want whatever pleases you."

"Good Slave," he stated. "It pleases me to watch you squirm."

What? No! This was not fair. I did what he asked, and my will power not to cry vanished. I sobbed. "Please! Please. Why? Don't do this!" I was borderline hysterical.

"Sssh," he said, pained, running his hands through his hair. "No more crying." He untied my legs, leaving my arms still tightly fastened, as my chest heaved up and down at an unhealthy pace. He stroked my body, my stomach, my sides, my cheeks, and I felt myself calming, melting into his touch.

"Why? Why are you doing this to me?" I breathed and find my equilibrium again.

He looked tenderly into my bloodshot eyes. "You will see soon. I just hope tomorrow they are easy on you. I hope you are not chosen to be touched by the other men. I hope you can obey me in front of the others. You're not ready. And I don't have the heart to continue to do this to you anymore right now. I hope I don't live to regret this. Let's get some rest. To your bedroom, Rosemary."

"Please . . ." What was I begging for?

He closed his eyes as if in deep meditation and ran his fingers across his chin. "What am I going to do with you?"

I looked up, trying to be cute. I couldn't believe myself. "Whatever pleases you, Sir," I said, and I meant it.

He kissed me. "It pleases me to fuck you right now."

I moaned and stopped myself halfway.

"You are doomed, Rosemary, and it worries me greatly. I may be doomed as well. You are unraveling me. I cannot resist you. Now lay down on your back. Put your legs above your head. I'd like to fully enjoy you."

He began to tie each of my ankles to my bound wrists above my head as I panted and lost myself in contradictory excitement. Oh god.

He stroked my pussy lips. I thought I would absolutely die. It felt so erotic, so good. I was burning from the insides of my body to every inch of the outside. But I didn't beg; I tried to remain quiet.

"Good, Slave," he said, watching the struggle in my eyes. "Does this feel good to you?"

I froze. I didn't know how to answer. 

He saw my fear. "It's okay. Answer me."

"Yes," I exhaled.

He stuck a finger in me, bending it in that perfectly agonizing way. "Aaah!" It snuck out.

"Rosemary, please. Please try to remain silent. Please try to control yourself."

I was going to come. He saw the red flush crawling up over my face and he smiled. "What do you want, my Rosemary, my Slave?"

I wanted to scream, I want you to fuck me!

And instead, I found my wits about me. "What . . . e . . .ver . . .pleeeee . . . es . . . you, S . . .sss . . ir." I could barely speak as another finger joined with the other and he stroked me into a fever-pitched frenzy.

"Good answer. It pleases me to stop." He glared at me to see if I had learned anything from his last torture, and I bit my tongue not to yell and writhe and moan.

He smiled. "Aaah. We have learned something today. For that, a reward is due."

Yes! I screamed in my head. And no! I scolded myself. Stop liking this! Stop wanting this!

He positioned his cock on my hole and rubbed it in a circle. Oh dear god. I balled my hands into tight fists and closed my eyes tight.

"Open your eyes, Slave."

Oh god. Tears began to trickle down. Oh please.

His eyes held hope, expectancy as I looked into them. They were not cruel. He wasn't doing this to be cruel. But it felt cruel. He wanted me to learn what he was trying to teach me, though the reason for the lesson still remained nebulous, out of reach.

I stared at him boldly and he thrust his cock deep in me. He held it there. I squirmed squeezing my legs together at the knees. "Would you like me continue?"

Yes!! God yes!! But I heard myself, "If that is what you desire, Sir."

"I desire for you to come for me." And he gently pulled in and out of me, picking up the pace, as I held my breath, building and building and building to ecstasy. I looked painfully into his eyes, begging him to let me release. "Go ahead, Rosemary, let me hear you," he relented and kissed me deeply, as I lost my breath to his mouth.

"Oh yes!" I screamed it so loud, and I came so violently that I shook for long minutes afterward. He came on my chest, over my heaving breasts, as I continued to squeeze and groan and call out his allowed name. "Sir! Sir! Yes!"

"Sssh," and he smiled but left me tied in this uncomfortable ball. "Calm down. You did well, but not well enough. You have a long way to go. I will try to protect you to the best of my ability. God, Rosemary, I don't want to see any harm come to you." And there, again, I saw that sadness behind his eyes.

He moved my long, blonde hair away from my face. "I wish I had met you under different circumstances, Rosemary." His breathing was heavy. He whispered, tucking a loose hair behind my ear. "You have my mother's eyes."

I inhaled, surprised by his admission. "Is that why you chose me, Sir?" I asked boldly.

A deep despair crossed his face, as he lightly traced the welts he had made on my ass again, as I lay helplessly tied at his mercy. "Yes," he admitted. "And I'm so glad I did. You are making me feel human again, Rosemary, like maybe I don't have to be the monster I thought I'd become. And please, call me by my given name. My name is Erik."

I melted. Fuck pride. Fuck war. Fuck being his prisoner. I was falling for him. He wasn't a monster. The war was the monster. He too was taken prisoner. I was slowly realizing that. 

"Thank you," I said, and I could feel desire building in me again, as his fingers twirled like whispers over my vulnerable body.

"For what?" he looked perplexed.

"For trying to help me. For trying to protect me."

Out of nowhere, his light, feather-like touches turned more sexual, forceful, determined, as he began to stroke my slit up and down. It shocked me, and I tensed. The mood had completely shifted. I quivered and let out a small groan of pleasure. 

He stated sternly, "I am clearly not trying hard enough. You need to be quiet. And it worries me to the depths of my soul. I think perhaps we should continue to practice."

I couldn't believe my ears when I heard myself say, "Yes. Perhaps we should."

He let out a laugh that sounded beautiful in that moment. "Would you like to come again?" He asked, mischief all over his face.

"Y . . . " Oh shit. I almost forgot. "If you would like that, Sir . . . Erik."

Again he smiled down at me. "I would like it very much."

And he stroked my pussy and my sweet pleasure spot until I was right there again.

"Now Rosemary, not a sound when you come. When you are coming, and I can see how very close you are, try not to scream out the way you like to. Though I would love to hear you, you need to obey me if the time should come. Not a sound, or you will have a ruined orgasm because I will stop when you have dipped just over the precipice. Trust me, you don't want that, and they'd like to give that to you over and over if they have their way. It brings many men great pleasure here to torture women this way. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Yes. Whatever pleases you, Sir . . .Yes." I was a rambling basket case, my breathing shallow and clipped, from having been teased yet again by him. But it was worse because I now knew what orgasm felt like, what that release would do for me.

He laughed. "Oh, Rosemary."

And he let me reach the top, the climax, the tip, and over it I went, holding my breath, stifling my screams and moans, coming and coming and coming. I shook and then steadied, opening my eyes, and letting out all my breath, panting.

"Wow. I may have misjudged you. There is hope for you yet." And finally, he untied me.

We lay there silently, his arms wrapped around me like a warm sweater for many, many minutes and then he finally spoke, breaking my peaceful reverie, something I hadn't felt in months.

"I am not going to make you go to the main compound to sleep like many of the other women have to. You are mine to stay here, but you should go to the other bedroom. If you get caught in my bed, they may think I actually care about you."

Did he? Care about me? Did I care about him?

"Oh," I stammered. Okay," I whispered, sadness gripping me. I felt so foolish, so used. Why would I even think he cared about me? Of course he didn't. And I shouldn't care about him . . . this rapist . . . this animal. How could I have let myself get so carried away.

"Good night, then, Rosemary. There are some toiletries you can use in the bathroom."

I rose to leave his side. "Good night, Erik," I said, trying not to show how disappointed and scared I felt in that moment. 

When I looked back to him to see if he had changed his mind, I only saw that deep torn emotion in his eyes, and it made me want to run to him, to comfort him, to soothe him. 

When he caught my gaze, his eyes turned to stone in a flash. "To bed, Slave."

It made me shiver, and I didn't look back a second time. When I made it to the other bedroom, the bed sheets had been folded down for me, and it made my belly twitch to think he had thought to do that for me. Could he be anymore confounding? And then I remembered again what he had just done to me, what he put me through, and for what? I worried what the morning might bring, and a chill gripped me with tight fingers. I cried myself to sleep, lonely, and naked, wishing, much to my dismay, that I was in Erik's strong, soothing arms.



The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 03



I awoke and could feel a presence in my room. The light shone just enough that I could make out a figure sitting in the chair in the room in which I slept. I had no idea what time it was, and the reality of my situation engulfed me. I felt sick to my stomach, felt sick about my predicament. It felt almost surreal. This couldn't really be happening to me. I couldn't really be a slave. I drew my arms around my body, as tears escaped my eyes without a chance for me to control it. I felt a sense of dread, of unease, of simple, plain fear.

"Good morning, Rosemary." Erik's deep voice broke into my bleak thoughts, startling me. He pulled open the curtains, letting the light shine through the windows, illuminating the room, illuminating him. God. He really was a masterpiece. His strong, wide back was uncovered as I tried to pry my eyes from the expanse of his shoulders and neck.

I spoke meekly, trying to hide the tears that had so quickly risen in me. "Good morning."

He came over to my bed and sat down, causing my body to roll against him. He smiled and pushed my hair from out of my eyes. "You've been crying," he said matter-of-factly.

"No," I lied. "I'm just tired." I didn't dare look into his eyes. "How long have you been sitting here? Why?"

He kissed my forehead and my body tensed, tensed again from arousal, from his close proximity, from the tenderness he never failed to surprise me with. "It's okay, Rosemary. I know you were crying. I know why, and I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep. I've just been watching you, waiting for you to wake. I wish things were different . . . I wish . . ." And he stopped himself and rose, leaving an empty imprint next to me. "Please go take care of your personal things. We have been requested in the main hall," and he left me alone, shivering in bed.

Luckily, the weather was warming up, but still, having no clothes was painstaking, embarrassing, humiliating. Would this nightmare ever end? I took my time in the bathroom, taking care of my hygiene, letting the shower run over my body for what seemed like an eternity. I did not want to get out; I did not want to face whatever it was that awaited my arrival in the main compound.

Erik knocked on the door. "Slave," he spoke coolly. "We mustn't be late. We need to go. Meet me in the living area."

I shut off the water and slowly walked into the living area, covering myself as best I could, allowing my wet hair to fall over my breasts. I heard him sigh heavily as I entered.

"Come here," he ordered.

I walked over to where he sat and fidgeted foolishly, trying to figure out what to do. Should I stand? Sit? I wasn't really cold, and yet my whole body shivered from nerves.

"Still so shy," he whispered, "It's okay. Come here. I need to check you."

Check me? Oh god. Now what?

I stood mere inches from him, the stubble on his face making him look even more intimidating than he was. "Relax," he said softly as his fingers trailed down between my legs. 

He spread me and ran his fingers around my private area, delicately, smoothly, as I tried to remain quiet, unaffected, but my breath betrayed me and I gasped from holding my breath. He didn't seem to notice or care.

"Still smooth as can be down here, Slave. That will be something they could punish you for if you weren't. Come. We must go. We don't want to draw undue attention to you by being late."

I froze. I didn't want to go. I had been safe here with him. What would happen to me? Would I no longer be safe? "Please," I heard myself whisper. "Don't make me go."

"Rosemary, now. Try to remember what I've taught you. I have no choice. We've been specifically asked for. We must go. Come."

"No!" I actually screamed. And I ran into the bedroom in which I had slept, slamming the door. I ran into the corner.

He came in, and calmly walked over to me. He squeezed my arms tightly, almost hurting me, and lifted me up off of the floor. I held back tears; I would not give him the satisfaction. "Look at me," he ordered. "Listen to me carefully, closely."

I had no choice. I looked into his tortured eyes.

"You do not want me to leave you here. You do not want them to come for you. If you choose this path, I cannot remotely protect you. You are my slave, Rosemary. If you disobey me, someone will come for you; and someone will take you to do as he pleases. I will not ask again. This is no time to be stubborn. Stop it. Right. Now."

My will crumpled and tears streamed down my face as I tried to breathe. I was so terrified. I was so helpless. I wanted to die; quite literally, my will to live was being drained from me. He was being so cold, so uncaring, so . . . exactly as a Slave Master should be. Why I had hopes that he would be any different was a figment of my imagination and hopes.

He drew me in his arms and held me so that I almost suffocated against his warmth. "Stop!" I screamed at him. I tried to slap him, claw him, kick him, but he held me so tightly, I could barely move.

"Calm down, Rosemary," he said soothingly. "I am going to try my hardest to protect you. I am going to take care of you." And he gripped me until I was forced to calm down.

Even I could hear the doubt behind his words, but I was falsely lulled by his embrace, by his warm breath against my ears and neck. Before I knew it, he was kissing me, his hands in my hair, tugging, pulling me closer into him, and I was kissing him back as if my life depended on it. I hated myself in that moment for kissing him, for feeling so attached to him, for needing his comfort. 

"No," I said and pulled away breathless. "Stop it."

He held my face between his hands. We were both panting, as he stared intensely into my eyes, right into my soul. Whatever my soul told him I don't know but he abruptly let me go and stood. He ran his fingers through his hair, and I tried to regain composure.

"Okay," he started slowly. "Remember yesterday and all I put you through. Do your best not to react, Rosemary, if the time should come. Do not be stubborn either. Promise me. Look to me for guidance."

I shook. I was so frightened about leaving his side, about what was to become of me. I almost spoke inaudibly but somehow managed. I finally admitted, "Erik, I'm so scared. Please don't let them hurt me. Please, Erik . . ." Tears fell yet again.

"Sssh, Rosemary. I know. Come here. Do not fight me." 

And again he swept me into his arms, my naked, trembling body caving in, against my better judgment, pushing into him, as my arms found his neck and pulled him hard into me. 

"Do not show emotion. Try your hardest. Come," he ordered, and he put me down, and we headed out the door.

We arrived into the main complex to find about ten slaves with their new masters, seated. I'm not sure how they were chosen but they varied in size and shape. Most had been chained, collared, and sat in deference to the man who had claimed them. Erik and I entered to find only two seats remaining. A large, foreboding man stood at the head of the table, holding up his glass. "Aah, Erik. We save the best for last I see. I was about to send Stephen to see what was keeping you."

I looked to the other head of the table and recognized Stephen right away. He, like Malachi, without a slave. He looked at me with such dripping desire it could have been mistaken as anger. 

He had an enormous scar that ran the length of his face, from his forehead to his chin, the scar running right through his lip. I tensed at the way he smiled at me. I tried to keep my eyes lowered. The dark circles under his eyes were menacing.

"Yes, Malachi. My slave was not as cooperative as I would have liked," Erik replied. I couldn't believe he was telling him the truth. I shrunk, as Erik pulled out my chair and turned his attention to me. "Sit, Slave. You have wasted enough time."

The man name Malachi chuckled loudly and sat back down. "Regretting your choice, Erik? She's a beauty. I could see how you might have been lured. Do not hesitate to give her over for punishment. I can take her off your hands today."

Erik smiled, pushing me in and then taking the seat next to me. He abruptly grabbed one of my breasts between his right hand, squeezing it tightly, his eyes penetrating me, as if to say, don't say a word. He then released his gaze and found Malachi's, never removing his grip from my breast, as I struggled to remain calm.

"I enjoy a challenge, Malachi. You know that about me."

The men at the table erupted at that, and Erik released my breast, leaving me breathless. With a clap of his hands, Malachi drew his eyes to another group of naked women, not seated, who began to serve food to all of us. I recognized several of them and did not make eye contact. They served fruit and cheese and salmon and poached eggs, and my mouth watered. I couldn't believe the spread; I couldn't believe slaves were being treated this way. I imagined coming over here to be whipped, tortured, I didn't know. But I certainly did not expect to be fed like a queen. Waves of guilt washed over me as I longed for the food.

Erik made sure our plates were full, talking with the other men in a language I did not understand, while the women ate silently, except for an occasional yelp from a slap or touch they received from their masters. As I opened my mouth to sip the most decadent, freshly-squeezed orange juice, a woman was suddenly thrown across the table on her stomach, forced to bend over, her ass high in the air. The mood shifted and everyone almost froze in place like a tableau. I gasped and almost choked on my juice. Erik squeezed my knee, hard, under the table.

Malachi smiled broadly again. "Arthur," clearly addressing the man who had violently thrust his slave over the table, "Couldn't you wait until after breakfast for the festivities?"

My heart literally stopped beating. I had no idea what festivities he was referring to, but I knew they would be anything but festive to us. 

"She needs to be punished, Malachi. She refuses to keep her legs open for me, as I've requested several times. She doesn't seem to understand her position here. She is far too proud."

"I see," Malachi said. "And what do you propose?"

"She needs to be spanked. I think everyone here should have a chance," he said and a sadistic smile crept across Malachi's face. 

I tried not to stare, but Malachi caught my gaze. "You like this idea, Slave?" He was looking directly at me.

I looked to Erik for guidance but he was not looking at me; instead, he ignored me, and I floundered to find the right thing to say.

"Erik, it seems your slave needs reminding to speak when spoken to."

Erik glared at me, and I immediately spoke up, "I am sorry, Sir."

Malachi smiled, seemingly appeased for the moment, bringing his attention back to Arthur and his slave. 

The woman was panting, her ass high in the air, Arthur's hands already stroking her round ass cheeks in front of all of us. I couldn't tell if she was aroused or scared. The emotions seemed to be so closely connected here.

"Stay still, Slave," Arthur ordered, continuing to stroke her, as he harshly pushed her legs apart. I heard her gasp and saw her tremble, and I couldn't help but feel both aroused and sorry for her.

Without preamble, Arthur lifted his hand and smacked her very hard between her legs, directly on her sex. She screamed out, and his hand harshly came down again on her in the same place. I shifted uncomfortably and looked away. 

"Look at this everyone," Arthur said. "She is dripping wet. Just look at my hand," and he laughed cruelly.

Like a dog drawn to a bone, I couldn't help but look again. Tears were flowing freely down her red, crimson face. She squeezed her eyes shut as he slapped her there a few more times. We could all hear her wetness against his slaps. I was utterly embarrassed for her.

Malachi stood at this point, holding his glass again. "Men!" he announced. "This slave needs to be taught a lesson." He turned to Arthur, "Shall we tie her up over in the corner and let everyone have a chance to punish her?"

"Yes, Malachi. I think she deserves no less," Arthur said, and I noticed the cruelty he had exhibited was merely replaced with lust.

"Erik," Malachi said. "Would you please go tie her up in the corner? You are the best with restraints. Arthur, what do you recommend for punishment?"

He smiled down at his slave. "Hmmm," he started to thrust his fingers into her, slowly, as she squirmed. She flailed her body to get away from him or to get closer to him, I wasn't sure. "She needs to be taught to do as I wish always. She likes to come too much, as you can all see here. I think she should be whipped and slapped through her rise to orgasm, only to be denied orgasm over and over, while the other women watch and learn what they can look forward to should they wish to disobey their master."

The woman began to beg at this point, and again I looked away, flushed, embarrassed, and thankful this wasn't happening to me. Erik had left my side to approach the woman, and I thought I might throw up. Would he actually tie her up? Follow Malachi's instructions? I was disgusted and sickened that he was known as "the best with restraints." Who was this man?

"Just feel her slit, Erik?"

And he complied. I wanted to scream! Was he acting? Was he enjoying himself? I was repulsed that he would act this way, and yet, somehow, I was mildly aroused and almost jealous. I was moist between my legs and tried to push down my involuntary reaction. Oh god. What was wrong with me?

"Very wet, indeed," Erik said, as he dragged her over to the corner and began to tie her up tautly. He found my eyes momentarily, and I looked away embarrassed. Oh god. Please make this end. 

Malachi drew our attention back to himself. "Before we begin this slave's torture, I'd like to borrow one of your slaves for tonight, for my pleasure. You," he pointed directly towards me. "You," he pointed to another woman, a much taller woman than me, but also with long, blonde hair. "Each of you, come sit on my lap during the show. One of you will be lucky enough to come home with me." He smiled wickedly.

Nobody said a word. I was half hoping Erik would chime in, rescue me, but he said nothing as he strung up the poor guinea pig before us. Her arms were secured above her head, her legs spread and secured to rings in the floor. Any thought of arousal was completely replaced with dread and fear as I thought about the prospect of having to spend a night or more with this man known as Malachi. I was repulsed by him, and I knew he wielded the most power of any man here. He was unattractive in every way; his face littered with pock marks, his arms covered in a forest of dark, course hair. 

I looked to Erik for help, for direction. He nodded slowly. The other slave woman walked right over to him, without hesitation, even smiling. She wanted to please him. Perhaps she thought she'd be safer that way, but I knew what Erik had tried to teach me: 'Do not react', I chanted in my head as my mantra, as I too walked over to Malachi. I would have no problem not reacting sexually, no question about that, but I might want to bite his face off, the bastard was so disgusting. 

He touched the other slave's nipples, alternately, as she sat on his knee. He took my nipples the same way with his other hand, as I sat on his opposite knee. I wanted to spit in his face. He dipped his fingers between our legs, and I heard a slight moan escape the other woman's mouth. She looked at me with fear in her eyes as they welled up. I didn't react at all.

Malachi just laughed. "Erik," he spoke cruelly. "Your slave is a dead fish. I think she should be punished later for it. If you'd like to get rid of her I understand. Though she is an exquisite beauty, unparalleled really, I can't imagine she has brought you much pleasure. Let Stephen take her off your hands. You can have this one." He turned to the other slave on his lap. "She is sopping wet with arousal. I think we could get her to do just about anything," and again, he laughed. "I can find someone else."

Erik came over to me and looked me in my eyes, and then looked at Malachi. "I told you. I enjoy a challenge, Malachi. I will keep her," he paused, smiling at Malachi, "for now."

"Fine," Malachi released me. "She is all yours," and then he paused, mimicking Erik's works, "for now." He licked his lips, and looked me up and down, slowly, humiliatingly. "Mmmm. Mmmmm. I can understand why you want to keep her." His composure changed. "But too much work for me right now," and he turned his attention back to the squirming woman on his lap. "Yes. I think I've found my plaything for the night, maybe longer. Sorry Gregory." He spoke to a man who had relinquished his slave willingly.

"No problem! I would like to begin with this woman tied helplessly, if you don't mind?" Gregory turned to Arthur. "May I?"

"By all means," Arthur went to her. He slowly drew his fingers up and down the front of her body. She struggled and moaned, and again, I couldn't tell if she was enjoying herself or not. He looked to her. "You tell me when you're about to come, Victoria," he spoke to her sternly. "If you should come, I will leave you to fend for yourself. You are mine until I decide otherwise. But if you choose to disobey me, you will stay here, in the main compound, alone and helpless. You have earned this punishment."

"Yes, Sir," she said, trembling. She was a gorgeous woman. She looked very different from many of us. We were very faired-skinned people; she was darker, more exotic looking. She was one of us, but it wasn't clear where she had gotten her tan complexion from. Her curves were exaggerated, making her waist tiny. I looked at Erik who looked aroused by the woman in front of us. I pushed down feelings of jealousy, how absurd, but I couldn't help the flush of envy stirring within me, as I saw Erik paying attention to another woman. He didn't even look in my direction.

Gregory chose to pinch her several times from behind, on her ass and inner thighs, as he laughed against her squirming body. Arthur had to ask him to stop; he was getting so overzealous. A softer side to Arthur was slowly being revealed.

Stephen was the next to approach the woman from behind. He stood there doing nothing, as she panted, and then he slapped her ass, suddenly, harshly, as she screamed, and Arthur stroked her nipples. She writhed into her master as he smiled down at her helpless body through Stephen's cruel slaps.

And so it went. Man after man approached her, slapping her from behind, some with their belts, others with whips, and some with their bare hands like Stephen; the whole time, Arthur toyed with her nipples, her belly, her sex, her pleasure point on her clit. 

At several points she told him she was about to come, and I couldn't believe my ears. I couldn't believe she would be able to come through all this. Her body was drenched in sweat, covered in red welts and marks. Each time she told him, Arthur stopped all contact. "Good girl. Good slave," he would say.

I squirmed in my chair, knowing all too well these feelings of excruciating torment. I knew the feeling of not being allowed orgasm. Erik had shown me. I felt dirty watching this poor woman be tortured this way, but again, I also felt slightly aroused. The poor, confused, tortured young thing. I felt for her. I couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same, confounding way I felt about Erik.

Suddenly, I felt Erik looking at me and his fingers brushed between my legs under the table. I gasped as he began to lightly run the tips of his fingers through my slit, burning me with his eyes. I was completely taken off guard, humiliated at how wet I was. He stopped and just smiled down at me, and then rose, knowing my secret. I was devastated with embarrassment.

It was his turn to punish the woman. I hadn't even thought about him doing this; I had half thought he wouldn't have to touch her at all. I felt my stomach tighten. No. I thought in my mind. I didn't want him to touch her. I begged him with my eyes not to touch her. Was I jealous? Or was it that I didn't want to see him be cruel? I wanted to imagine him kind, gentle, not a part of this brutality. What was I even thinking? This was the man who took my virginity, who raped me, who had whipped me. He wasn't kind, and I needed to remind myself of that. 




The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 03



Arthur was stroking her head through her tears and pants, as Erik approached her from behind. "Finish her off," Malachi yelled. He still had his poor, helpless slave of his lap, and I shuddered. He was cruel, her nipples, red and swollen from his torture. And while Arthur seemed to be being cruel, I couldn't help to think that there was something about Arthur and his slave that seemed mutual.

Erik looked to Arthur. "What does she need, Arthur?" The two men seemed to have an understanding between them. 

He laughed. "She needs to come, Erik, clearly. And yet, she has been so disobedient towards me, I can't allow it."

She looked at both men and I heard her voice, "Please . . . "

"Please what, Victoria?" I heard Arthur say.

"Please have mercy on me. I will obey you from now on, whatever pleases you, just," she struggled to breathe. "Please."

Erik traced his fingers across her backside, over her welts. I saw her shift and relax a bit into his touch. Did he have this effect on every woman? I hated and craved him in that moment. 

"I think she's had enough," I heard Erik say in a whisper to Arthur and continued to caress her body.

Arthur followed suit from the front, showering her with gentle, nurturing touches. She moaned at the touches of the two men, and they didn't relent. I couldn't stand watching him with her and yet I couldn't look away. She swayed and moaned. This time, I was sure it was in ecstasy.

One of the other men yelled out, "Let her come! I want to see her come!"

Malachi stood up. "You are all too soft. Untie her. Enough! I need to go take care of my needs in private. Then we have meetings and work to do. We are still not safe. Take your slaves back. Be sure they have done all their chores. Gentlemen, we shall meet back after suppertime to go over strategy. Until then." He stood to go. "And Arthur, get your slave in line, under control, or I will. Be sure she understands that your word, your order, is the law. I will expect to see her obedience exhibited more satisfactorily upon request, or you will both pay the price."

With that, Malachi lifted his new slave into his embrace, biting her shoulder hard as she yelped out. "You, my dear, you will be shown what it means to be a slave." I cringed in cowardice, doing nothing to attempt to save her.

When Malachi left, Erik tenderly kissed the woman on her neck and began to untie her. He looked at Arthur, "You made the right choice to stop now. I do believe she has learned her lesson. Take her back. Please her, Arthur. She has earned it."

When she was released, she collapsed into Arthur's arms. He kissed her face and mouth. "We shall see about you," he said to her, and I thought I saw a smile on her lips but I couldn't be sure.

Everyone left, some slaves being dragged by their hair, other slaves walking silently beside their masters. Erik turned to me. "Have you had enough to eat?" 

My emotions, my arousal, my feelings . . . I was so jumbled, so confused. I both despised and stood in awe of this man in front of me. I wanted to punch him and jump into his arms all at once. Would he have spanked her? Whipped her? Would he have fucked her if asked? I was sure time would tell; I was sure this was not to be an isolated incident. The "training" Erik had put me through was too intense. No. I knew there was much more to come.

What had become crystal clear to me, however, was that I certainly would not be the only woman he'd be with, and I saddened at the thought. What? Did I think I would be his lover? His only conquest? That he would somehow grow to love me, or that I would grow to love him? How could I even care or think of such things? I was a slave. There were many of us, too many to count, so many for him to choose from. I was nothing to him. He just had a gentle nature. He didn't enjoy torturing women, but I was not special to him. And the realization hurt me more than I cared to admit.

I started to cry. God. How weak could I possibly be? He took me in his arms. "Come. Let's go back. We can talk there."

"No!" I yelled at him. "I'll stay here, Erik. I don't want or need to go back with you." I was borderline hysterical.

"Rosemary, lower your voice, right now. You know not what you say. Stop it, before you get us both killed."

He grabbed a long, cloth napkin and tied it into my mouth, securing it behind my head. I had been gagged, as he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder. It made me furious and I stopped crying. 

As we exited, Stephen stood in the doorway and glared at Erik and then me, with that erotic look in his eyes that scared me. What was I thinking? Stay here? In the main compound? Thank god Erik had a stronger will than me. I couldn't have been more stupid, as Stephen's stare sent chills to the very pits of my naked body.

He ran his fingers across my ass that hung in the air as he stopped Erik. "Careful, Erik. Do you hear me? I see the signs. Do not let her get under your skin. It will make you weak. Remember who she is, what her people have done to us. I want her. I think I would be a stronger teacher. I happen to know she's not a dead fish," and he grinned knowingly, evilly. "Just because Malachi doesn't know, doesn't mean he won't soon. I have no feelings for this slave. Give her to me before you get too deep."

"Stephen, I don't know what you're talking about," Erik barked back to him. "Remember who your superior is. Get out of my way. I have a slave to punish." And he pushed past Stephen.

Punish? Was he just covering, or was he going to put me through what I had witnessed with Victoria? Why did the thought somehow excite me? Oh god. What was happening to me?

He didn't put me down until we were safely back at his place, in his small compound. He removed his self-made gag from my mouth, and I was ready to give him a piece of my mind when he spoke.

"You have pushed my limits today, Rosemary. I have work to do. I expect the laundry done, the beds made, the compound cleaned, and dinner ready by 4:00. Be bathed and have my bath drawn." 

He spoke so coldly, so distantly, I simply responded with, "Yes, sir." My eyes welled up. I didn't really know why. I was so lonely, so confused. I wanted to feel loved, to feel safe. I wanted to feel it with him, and I hated that I felt this way. I had totally pushed him away, and that was my intention only moments before, until Stephen reminded me of the reality of my situation. 

"Do not think about leaving here, for god's sakes, Rosemary. I don't think you really understand the severity of your situation, and I'm losing patience. Thank god you controlled yourself with Malachi, and . . . "

I accidentally cut him off. "It wasn't hard, Sir," I paused to see how angry he still was. "I don't have to worry about reacting to him."

He couldn't help but smile at that for some reason, and he turned to leave. I couldn't help but feel a longing for him to stay.

"Erik," I called to him. I hoped he didn't hear the desperation in my voice. I couldn't believe how needy I felt, how scared I was for him to leave. "Please don't go."

"Please don't go?" he questioned. "Rosemary, two minutes ago, I had to carry you back here. Or have you forgotten? I don't understand you," he spoke, exasperated.

"Neither do I," I said more forcefully than I intended, emotions welling up and bubbling over. I just felt so alone, so confused at my mixed and conflicting emotions. There was no other way to describe it. I should hate this man; I should despise what he had done to me. "I'm scared, Erik. I'm trying not to be, but I can't believe who I am now, what I've become. I feel so weak, so confused." I tried to stifle my tears that threatened to push forth. 

He stepped in closer to me, and I felt my breath hitch. He took my hair in his hands to place it gently down my back, out of my face. "I know, Rosemary. I'm sorry. You have every right to be scared."

I continued, trying to find courage, "And watching your tenderness with that other woman . . . " I trailed. I wasn't sure what I was trying to tell him.

"Do not judge to me when I am with the other soldiers, Rosemary. I do what I need to do. It is not always the man I am or want to be."

"But . . . " I struggled to finish. "You cared for her. You made him stop. Do you care for all of us that way?" I realized I was both proud of the person he was and envious at the same time. It was a selfish, awful feeling to have. Of course I wanted him to be kind to others, and yet, I only wanted him to take care of me.

He grabbed my chin. "Rosemary. Arthur got carried away. I believe he cares for Victoria and was trying to teach her a lesson. Not all of the soldiers do. I was helping him to come back to reality. Power is a great trip, a great sense of control. It feels good to have power. We can all get carried away when we feel in control like that; we can feel invincible, above common sense. But I know Arthur. He is not a monster the way Malachi or Stephen is." 

"I didn't expect you to . . . " my voice teetered on a whisper, "touch her."

He looked into my eyes like he was searching for some deep answer to the mystery of life. "If I didn't know better, I would think you are feeling jealous, Rosemary. Are you? Feeling jealous? Would you prefer I touch only you?" I couldn't tell if he was sincere or mocking me, and I realized how absurd I was being. How vulnerable I was making myself.

"No, of course not," I reasoned. "I was just trying to make sense of things." I tried to change the subject. "Today was . . . intense. Scary. That's all. How many times will I be subjected to things like that?" I trembled at the thought.

His demeanor changed. "I don't know, Rosemary. I really don't know. Hopefully not a lot. I'd like to keep you with me here, but with outbursts like you had today, you're going to jeopardize your safety. Arthur's rouse was the best thing that could have happened today. There was something unspoken between Arthur and Victoria, something erotic. Wouldn"t you agree, Rosemary?" he paused knowingly to make me look into his eyes. 

He continued, "But Malachi was sniffing you out. Stephen wants you. You are beautiful, Rosemary, very, very beautiful. It amazes me just how naïve you are. Arthur distracted the attention of the table. If Arthur hadn't lost control like that, I don't know what the day would have brought. I've seen Malachi at his worst, and this didn't even scratch the surface."

"Oh," I conceded, and he turned to leave. I wanted to beg him to stay, to ask him if he found Victoria attractive, if he would make love to me again, but I didn't. 

He sighed. He must have read my mind. I wanted him to kiss me. I couldn't believe I felt that way, but I did. I wanted to be loved . . . by him, and I knew the minute I thought it how absurd the idea was. I knew it wasn't really love, but a sense of security, safety, care. He drew me in an embrace and kissed my forehead. "Chores, Rosemary. Be a good slave. I will see you at dinnertime."

"Yes, Sir," I said, swallowing hard, as I watched him leave.

He turned back, a small smirk spreading across his face. "And Rosemary, perhaps later this evening, we can do something about what I felt under that table today."

My skin burned from my toes to my forehead in embarrassment, as I watched him walk out the door, leaving me standing there in a pool of guilt.



The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 04



When he left, I immediately began my chores. I did not want to think about my feelings, my situation, my new existence. I needed to be distracted, busy. I started with his laundry and found myself inhaling his shirts, taking in his scent, looking over my shoulder guiltily. I didn't want to feel it, but his smell intoxicated me, and I shook from desire, thinking about him, feeling his hands on me, the memory of orgasm flushing hotly over my body. I didn't want to admit it, but I wanted him to take me, to soothe me, to make me forget about all I had witnessed, to make me feel like I was different from the rest, somehow safe and cared for. I thrust myself into cleaning and pushed the ridiculous thoughts from my mind. I couldn't possibly care for someone who had taken me to be his slave. More pointedly, he couldn't possibly care for me.

By 4:30, I had finally finished everything. The small compound was clean, all the laundry was done, I had scrubbed every nook and cranny of the place, and clean sheets were on both beds. My body ached, everywhere, and then I heard someone at the door, as I was about to head to the kitchen to make dinner. I hadn't eaten lunch, I realized, and I was famished. I expectantly and nervously waited for Erik to enter, and when he did, I felt every muscle tighten in my body. I felt myself wanting to run into his arms, to kiss him, to beg him to hold me. I couldn't explain it, but I longed for him, for his touch, his voice. How absolutely absurd, I thought to myself. But none of my feelings mattered, because right behind him was Malachi, and I froze.

They were in a heated dialogue, whispering as they entered. Both men's eyes found mine, as I stood, naked, trembling, unsure of what was expected of me. 

Erik looked tired, worn-out, and yet, all him, all man, all confidence. His eyes said so much and yet so little. If only I could crawl into his mind to know what he was thinking. It made me crave him all the more. He spoke, "Go draw my bath, Rosemary. After I bathe, we will eat in the main compound." He was distant, cold, and I shivered at his aloofness.

Malachi came up behind me and slapped my ass, and I yelped, totally surprised and taken off guard. He grinned. "Aaah," he grumbled, "a rise out of that perfect little mouth yet. Perhaps you are not a dead fish after all. Perhaps I just need more time with you to discover what really makes you tick. Not tonight. But soon. Tonight, you will watch what happens to dirty little slaves like you, and you will watch your master's talents with another woman. Maybe then he can get a rise out of you."

I visibly halted, fear gripping every part of my body. I stood frozen, looking desperately into Erik's eyes. Erik firmly said, "Go run my bath, Slave. Now!" He then turned to Malachi. "We shall see you tonight?"

"Yes," Malachi said, finally removing his gaze from my trembling, vulnerable body, focusing back on Erik. "Fine work today, Erik, and always. You are truly the finest soldier we have here. We will bestow you with the medals you so deserve this evening. And your reward will be my little slave I took today. She has had a rather," he paused and laughed evilly, "difficult day."

I tried not to gasp at what I heard, but couldn't stop myself from straining to hear more of what Malachi said.

"She has been bound and tortured by other slaves the entire day. Every time I checked in on her today, she was either screaming or moaning or begging them to stop or begging them to let her come." Again, he laughed. "I may not tire of her for quite some time, but you may borrow her for the evening. I promise, she will be primed and ready for you."

"I look forward to it, Malachi," Erik said straight-faced, and I wanted to cry right then. Was he serious? Would he fuck another woman who had been tortured all day? Would he enjoy it? Would she? I fell apart as I rushed to draw his bath.

When Malachi had gone, I felt Erik's presence. "Your bath is ready, Sir," I said meekly, trying to hide my emotional turmoil, my sadness, my fear, and what could only be described as a form of jealousy.

"Thank you, Rosemary," he whispered but didn't try to touch me. 

I held back tears.

He took steps towards me and stood mere inches from my exposed, shivering body. He lifted my chin that way he did, and I refused to make eye contact. "Look at me, Rosemary," he ordered.

I refused. I couldn't let him see my emotions, my turmoil. 

"Rosemary," he started again. "Obey me or pay the consequences. It's been a very long, trying day. My patience is at its wit ends."

Something in his voice made me obey and I looked into his chocolate brown eyes to see that tenderness, that kindness that always lay just below the surface, muted with sadness and distress. I wanted to cry. I wanted to melt. I wanted to beg him to take me in his arms. I wanted to ask him to take me right there, hard and fast. Instead, I stood motionless.

"Tonight will be . . ." he struggled for the right words. "Unpleasant." 

I refused to cry. I refused to show him any emotion. Instead, I haughtily said, "Then don't do it." And even as I said "it," I wondered what it really was.

He sighed, long and heavy. "If only I had a choice, Rosemary. Now go. Get ready for tonight."

I desperately hoped he'd ask me to join him, but he didn't, so I turned to go get ready, whatever that meant. I didn't have clothes and I had already bathed myself. I felt lost, so alone, so cold.

But before I left, he cautioned, "Rosemary, obey me tonight in everything, starting with that tone of voice. Do you understand?" He spoke as if angry with me, disappointed with me.

I slunk out of the bathroom, barely able to speak, the lump in my throat huge and unwavering. "Yes, Sir."

I went to the other bedroom that had become mine and let the tears flow. 

I must have fallen asleep, and I felt a light touch on my cheek, as I looked to see Erik brushing my long, blonde hair from my wet face. "Oh, Rosemary," he soothed. "Come. Sit on my lap." He held a brush. He was so hot and cold that my mind wanted to refuse him, and yet my body wouldn't allow it.

I couldn't control it and I did as he asked, needing to feel his comfort. My insides were in knots, my head ached, and I just wanted to crawl onto his lap and continue to cry, even though I knew I shouldn't feel that way.

He didn't say anything else, as he stroked the brush through my hair, gently, sweetly, and I tried not to moan at how good it felt. I felt like a cat snuggling into his warm touch and hated myself for how needy and weak I had come to feel.

He broke my self-berating and spoke softly. "I need to ask you some things, Rosemary, and I need your honesty."

The calm he had created vanished as tension seized my body again. "Okay," I simply said.

"Explain to me how you felt when I touched Arthur's slave. I need to know."

My pride was up on guard, full-force. I would never admit I had felt jealousy, and then again, I'm not even sure what I felt.

I remained silent. "Answer me, Rosemary. Were you jealous? Or did it arouse you? How did it make you feel?"

Oh dear god! Aroused? Was I? Was I aroused and jealous? Jesus. I spoke a bit too loudly, that even I knew I was protesting too much. "No, of course not! I already told you that!"

"No? No to what? So you weren't jealous? Or you weren't aroused?"

"Stop it, Erik!" I was beginning to sweat, uncomfortably embarrassed.

"Suit yourself, Rosemary," he said, putting the brush down. "You are only hurting yourself by not being honest with me. It does not please me to see you cry. But I warn you. Tonight I will be asked to do things that may make you uncomfortable. I may have no choice in the matter. If I do not follow orders, I can be demoted, I can be exiled. And that would not bode well for you. Chances are very slim that either of those things would happen, but I don't want to take any chances."

He waited for me to speak, to give me another chance to tell him how I truly felt, to bare a part of my soul to him. But somehow, I felt an indescribable rage and said nothing. I wouldn't allow him to see just how weak I had become. I just couldn't.

"Come. It is time. Again, don't forget to keep your emotions in check. Do not forget what I have taught you. I was hoping tonight we could continue with your training, but we are called for, I am called for."

My rage ebbed and fear grew in the pit of my stomach, as there was no way to avoid the night's events. Slowly, I left the comfort of his lap, and we made our way over.

Before we even arrived back in the main compound, I heard shrieks, and I instantly knew it was the slave from the morning who had shared Malachi's lap with me. I shuttered and grabbed Erik's hand instinctively, trembling. 

"No, Rosemary," he scolded and removed my hand from his. He looked down at my face and I began to well up.

"Erik," I couldn't help it. "I'm scared."

"Sssh," he said, his face softening sending tremors down my spine, stopping to stare into my eyes. "You are a very prideful person, Rosemary. This pride of yours is something you are going to need to let go of, sooner rather than later. It puts you in danger." He let out a long sigh. "And it frustrates me. I never truly know what you're feeling."

I couldn't speak, pushing the lump down, as I swallowed and swallowed, trying to look away from his eyes. They melted me every time, and it wasn't fair.

He forced my gaze back up, holding my chin in place. "Whatever I do tonight, do not weigh it too heavily. What I will do I do because I have to, not necessarily because I want to."

At once, I saw what the shrieks were from. The slave was tied in the center of the room, and at least fifteen other slaves surrounded her. Everything imaginable was being done to her. I hated my fellow people in that moment, that they would do this to one of their own, and then I realized I would probably do the same thing, lest it be me. There really was no choice in the matter.

The woman tied was sweating and panting, welts and marks everywhere on her body. Her long hair stuck to her torso when two slaves pulled it back tautly, cruelly, exposing her neck and breasts in an awkward and uncomfortable position for easy access and abuse from the others. While immobile completely, several slaves kissed her or bit her. Others flicked whips around her and on her while giggling and taunting her. She screamed out, each and every time she was bit or whipped, drool pooling around her mouth, and it only seemed to egg on her tormenters.

They took turns in groups to tease and torture her, alternating between pain and pleasure. A new group of slaves took turns twisting, sucking and biting her nipples, while others licked and tickled her pussy, as she bucked and jumped and struggled as best she could in her tight restraints. She groaned and moaned with a different tone when they inflicted this sadistic teasing on her, and she squeaked out pleas, begging, but for what I couldn't be sure. A few slaves had feathers and were tickling her squirming, red, hot, marked body. Almost inaudible, she begged, "Please," but the gang of slaves seemed entranced with their manipulations, too far gone to think of stopping, cruelly giddy, no sight of her torture ending in sight. 

She continued to pant and scream and beg. Malachi and other soldiers watched, drinking and laughing, spurring on the slaves, heightening their fervor. Malachi yelled out, "If one of you slaves accidentally makes her come, you will be so severely punished, you will wish you weren't born. And if any of you relents or goes easy on her, you will be next!!" 

Everyone laughed and cheered. 

I froze at the spectacle, sick and nervous and cowardly grateful. Malachi called Erik over. "Stay seated at the table with the other slaves and their masters," Erik whispered into my ear. Malachi handed him a beer. "To the guest of honor!!" He cheered. "For finding what appears to be our enemy's last camp!" 

"Cheers!" They all yelled in great mirth and happiness, except for Stephen who I saw approaching me, and I shivered, sinking down in my chair.

"Hello," he began, sitting on the edge of the table. "Rosemary, is it?" he questioned. 

I didn't know whether to ignore him or be polite. I trembled without Erik's presence and direction.

"Yes," I mustered, looking down at my knotted hands.

"You are quite a prize for Erik. You like him, don't you?" he teased.

"Sir?" I feigned innocence.

"Don't worry. Your secret will be safe with me, as long as you please me. I will give you plenty of opportunities to do so. Soon you will have my fat cock stuffed down your throat, choking the breath right out of your pretty, little body. After tonight, you won't be so fond of Erik, when you see what he's truly capable of. You don't really know him at all, do you?"

I tensed and visibly shook out of pure fear. 

"Stephen!" I hadn't even noticed Erik until he was squarely in front of Stephen. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Stephen smiled. "So testy, possessive. I was just having a lovely conversation with your slave, Erik, you know, SLAVE," he emphasized my status.

"Yes, Stephen. MY slave. You would best remember that," Erik growled. 

"Yes, Erik. Your slave. But I want a piece of her, and I intend to get it, sooner rather than later," and he stormed away.

He looked at my shaking body. "Did he hurt you?" Erik asked, as if he truly cared.

"No," I admitted.

"Good." Erik looked me up and down. "God damn you, Rosemary. You are so fucking beautiful, it's hard for you not to garner attention, even if you're not trying. If only I could cover you up, but I can't. God, I worry. I . . ." he seemed to be warring with his emotions. He ran his fingers threw his tousled hair, "I want to take you right now, right here . . ."

I gasped. I never knew which way he would go, what he would say. It was so unnerving. And yet I felt the moist, wet drops between my legs from his words. "Erik, I . . . "

"Erik. Come. Your reward is waiting," Malachi interrupted. "Please everyone take a seat on the carpet over here. Our little slave girl will be allowed some respite in a few minutes, but let's see how much more desperate we can make her."

"Come, Rosemary. Do NOT disobey me," Erik glared down at me.

We walked over and Erik pointed for me to sit down. The young slave was drooling and swaying, alone in the center of the room. The other slaves had backed away, also seated on the floor. Malachi yanked things from her body, first something in her anus, and then something from her pussy. Streams of liquid shot forth from her holes, and she moaned. Malachi laughed, cruelly. "Been a long day for you, my dear?" Malachi growled in her ear. "Your time with me is just beginning. Maybe you will be put out of your misery in just a bit, or maybe not. Such is the life of a slave."

Her former master, Gregory, yelled out, "She LOVES to come! This must be absolute torture for her!" He laughed loudly and others followed.

"Let us begin again, then, one by one," Malachi held up his mug. He turned to the tied slave, "The other slaves I have chosen to torture you, do so, so that they, themselves, will be spared. So they will do whatever I want. And I want them to bring you to the brink of orgasm over and over again, endlessly, until you think you might lose your mind. Then and only then will I release you to Erik to do with as he chooses. But tomorrow and the next and the next, you will be mine again, until I am sick of you. And I'm not sure what will happen to you after I tire of you, but I promise, it will be worse than this," he chuckled deeply. "You have your ancestors to thank for your predicament, Slave." He turned back to the crowd. "Alas! Let the festivities continue. Be creative, slaves, or your fate will be crueler than any of you could imagine."

Slowly, one by one, each of the slaves brought the tied, tortured soul to the brink of orgasm in different ways. Some stroked between her legs, focusing on her pleasure spot, others played inside of her until she tensed and trembled about to explode, others did both, and still others sucked and licked her. It was difficult to watch and yet mesmerizing at once. I wondered how she could be so aroused, so wet in such a humiliatingly brutal situation. But her arousal was visible and obvious, her scent, her sound, the dripping white cream between her thighs, was evident to all. 

"Please," she begged, each and every time she approached orgasm, dripping in sweat, drool flowing down her chin, and the streams of her arousal and the strained pain in her face unhidden. "Please!" she yelled, hoarse, squirming, crying. "Please, I can't take any more. Please! It hurts. It pounds! Please, I will do anything."

And no one did anything to stop it. Some of the soldiers played with their own slaves, making them squirm and beg in time to the show of torture in front of them.

Finally, Malachi got her some water. "Halfway there, slave. Who would like to whip her pussy for intermission?" He laughed viciously, feeding her some water.

Gregory jumped up and began. He whipped her pussy, sending a loud, wet snap echoing in the large room. He paused to let the pain sink in, and then he continued without respite as she screamed out.

"Please, please . . ." she whimpered, looking pleadingly at Malachi, begging him to make it stop. She sobbed uncontrollably now, no scream left in her. But he smiled and motioned for Greg's cruel whipping to continue.

"Erik," Malachi said, completely ignoring the pleas of the girl. "It is up to you. Shall we stop here? Would you like to take her? Whip her?" Malachi, at last, held up his hand for Gregory to stop. He approached the helpless girl and drew his finger up into her. She was audibly dripping and wet, and she blushed and trembled in utter humiliation.

. Malachi simply laughed and licked his finger. "Careful, Erik, she might actually burn your dick off. Her pussy is a furnace!" He looked sadistically into her eyes, "Knowing how much you enjoy torture, I will be certain not to stop."

"No," she begged, pleading, hysterical.

Erik stood, interrupting them. My Erik. What would he do? He spoke softly, "Yes. I think I'll take her now. Let me untie her."

"Certainly," Malachi stated. "Untie her, girls." He turned to the slave. "Erik is much kinder than I with the ladies, but he's a discerning soldier on all levels, so I will let him have his way with you, for now. He has earned it."

They untied her and she literally fell into Erik's arms. He picked her up and she shuddered and trembled in his arms. "Thank you, thank you. Please no more. Please." She could barely speak and he brought her over to a couch to sit on his lap.

As if nothing had happened, the festivities continued, a new slave being whipped and teased, soldiers playing with the slaves, some tender, some brutal, and I sat shivering watching Erik. I just wanted to run from the room. I just wanted to cry. I just wanted to scream and punch someone. I didn't know what to feel, how to behave, and Erik sat across the room from me, comforting and touching someone else. 

He got up suddenly, leaving the frightened, fragile slave alone momentarily and came over to me. "I prefer to take you back to my compound, Rosemary," he said. "I cannot concentrate on you right now." He spoke to me in a mixture of sadness, empathy, kindness. I just never knew with him, and somehow I felt myself angry.

"Why, so you can fuck her?" I said without control, almost crying, at my emotional last straw. "You think she's a virgin too?" I continued as if possessed. "You like that, right?" I hissed.

I willed myself to stop talking, to shut up, and yet I watched myself as if it were an out-of-body experience, where I couldn't control the person speaking. I knew I sounded jealous and foolish and absurd. I was a slave for god's sake! I meant nothing to him, and here I was acting like some jealous wife, whose husband was about to be unfaithful.




The Capture of Rosemary Ch. 04



"Rosemary, enough. Lower your voice or pay the consequence when I get you back alone. Do you want Stephen to take you home tonight instead? Is that what you're hoping happens?" he said menacingly. "If you keep acting out like this . . ." And then I saw his face change, as if pleading with me. "I don't want that to happen to you . . . but my attention cannot be with you tonight. If you choose to stay, that's your decision. But it is not wise."

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I couldn't handle this. This situation, this life. This couldn't really be happening. I couldn't really be feeling anything but hatred towards this brute! And yet, I was. I was so jealous, so unnerved, and somewhere, somehow, all the stimulation aroused me. I was panting and wet and wanted to jump on him and take him back to his bedroom. I did not want him consoling or touching another woman. But what did I want? For her torture to just continue? God! Just kill me now. What kind of monster was I? How could I feel anything but disgust over this situation? How could I not hate him entirely?

My emotions flooded me, an anguish so strong, it swept me up and carried me away. My head swirled with fear and longing and sadness. I stood up. "Please," I begged. I willed him to stay with me. "Please don't do this. I don't think my heart can handle this," my eyes welled and my lower lip trembled, as I held back a flood of tears.

"What?" he swung around. "Your heart, Rosemary?" 

I was humiliated. I don't know what possessed me to say that, and yet it was too late. "I don't know what I meant to say, I just . . ."

He exhaled. "That's what I thought. You are maddening. I don't know what I've gotten myself into with you," he stormed back over to the waiting woman on the couch. 

I watched like I would an accident. I shouldn't watch and yet I did. He stroked her hair, her naked body, and she trembled into him. He stared at me the entire time. I couldn't read his emotions, and I abruptly looked away, a flood of tears streaming down my face without any hope of them stopping.

He picked her up, said something to Stephen with her in his arms, and left the room. I shook without him in sight. What would happen to me if he didn't come back, if he left me alone to fend for myself? What if I was to stay here for the rest of my enslavement instead of with him? Oh god, I shook and cried, curling myself in a ball.

When I looked up, Stephen glared down at me. "Alone, my pretty? No precious Erik to protect you? He's off with another slave? Did you think you'd be the only one, silly girl?"

I dared not speak without Erik nearby and I thought I might throw up. I stared at his sadistic, cruel eyes, marked with humor and ill intent. His scar seemed to have grown in size, grotesque, frightening. 

"Come on," he grabbed my hand. "I will feed you. I will not do anything to you tonight. Erik duly warned me before he left. But let this be a warning to you. You can only be protected for so long."

I went with him out of fear and hunger. The smell of soups and bread clouded my judgment. I was starving. All at once, he took a rope from behind his back, and I tried to flee. 

"Uh uh uh. Not so fast."

And before I could do anything, he had tied my arms behind my back and sat me back down. "Mmmm. Mmmm," he stared at my breasts. "So large and firm. Someday, someday soon, I will torture these until you scream."

"Please, stop. Please," I whimpered, deep fear gripping every part of my body. Why would Erik leave me like this? Undefended? He was not the man I thought he was! And who was he? I didn't know him one tiny iota. He couldn't care less about my fate. Stephen was right. He left me alone and unguarded while he was fucking another woman. Wait. Let me rephrase. Another slave.

"So shy. So scared. I can see why Erik wants to protect you. You act like a virgin. Act. There's no such thing of your kind, is there?" Lust and hatred mixed in his eyes, and he began to stroke the undersides of my breasts. His hands were rough and calloused and I wanted to spit in his face. His thumbs found my nipples as he pushed them in forcefully, painfully. I didn't react. I didn't dare say a word. I tried to show nothing, as Erik had tried to teach me in that short night.

"Stephen!" Erik stormed across the room, and before anything else could happen, he punched Stephen square in the jaw, forcing him to tumble backwards.

"Oh fuck you, Erik! I was just teasing her. Jesus Christ. She's a fucking slave. Stop acting like she's your goddam sweetheart or something. She's a fuck-toy, Erik! And you just left her here to go play with a different one!"

Erik raised his arm to punch him again, when Malachi came flying over. "What the fuck is going on here?"

Stephen wiped the blood from his face. "Ask Erik. Ask his slave."

Malachi looked at Erik for an answer. 

"I don't want to be in the same fucking room with this prick again. I want him demoted. I will not serve this division for another minute with him present," Erik spat.

"Okay. Okay. I don't know what happened here, but clearly this is some kind of pissing contest. Over what? This slave here?" He stared at me with full-on hatred. "Are you kidding me? No slave is going to cause a rift between my men, no matter what she may look like. She need not live past tonight."

Erik did not relent. "This has nothing to do with my slave, Malachi," Erik lied evenly. "I can't trust him. If there is no trust between follow soldiers, there is no chance in winning this war fully. He has stepped out of line, out of rank, and has disobeyed my orders. I will not tolerate it."

"We will discuss this in the morning. We will have to postpone your honorary award until tomorrow, until you can both cool down. Where is my slave? Go take your frustration out on her. Keep her for the night and the next few if you wish. We will all see how we feel in the morning. Both of you. Go back to your compounds. Leave this slave here with me."

But Erik picked me up without another word and carried me out, roughly, angrily, and I saw a hair-raising smile spread across Stephen's lips.

He threw me down onto my feet when we arrived back at his compound. I was still bound by Stephen's doing. I, again, was shaking. Overwhelmed, confused, scared, lonely, you name it, I felt it.

I broke the silence. "Please untie me," I asked quietly.

He stepped towards me as if angry. I shrunk.

"Look at me," he ordered. I could feel heat emanating off of his body.

I didn't dare disobey him. 

He grabbed my face roughly between his hands and assaulted my lips, passionately, hard and soft at once. 

I couldn't breathe. He took my breath away. I longed to wrap my arms around him but I was secured, my breasts rubbing against the coarseness of his shirt.

He took a step back, ran his fingers through his hair exasperated, and just stared at me. He burned me through with the lustful searing of his smoldering eyes.

"Look at you," he whispered. "How could I have trusted Stephen to leave you alone there?" he scolded himself. "He promised. I should have never trusted him," he paused, anguish across his face. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, painfully.

I welled up, unable to find any words. I wanted him. I needed him. I didn't understand why. He had just been with another woman, and I craved him. 

"Don't cry," he said, pleadingly, taking me in his arms and then releasing me to look at me again. He drew circles around my breasts, gently, slowly with the tips of his fingers, as if possessed, as if he couldn't stop himself.

I moaned loudly with need.

"Sssh," he said. "Not a sound or I will not be able to resist you."

"I don't want you to resist me. I want you. I need you." I caved and didn't care.

He tweaked my nipples and then drew his hands down my body, pausing at my opening, and drawing his fingers up through my slit. "I want you too," he said, continuing to touch my most sensitive spot over and over. I moaned into him, pressing against him. He kissed me, and it was almost painful. 

"Please, please, Erik," I begged, losing my breath into him, sucking his breath into me, dripping my juices of arousal against his fingers, completely lost and out of control, squirming and throbbing into his body. The blood pounded in my ears. 

I thought I might faint when he abruptly stopped and forced my face to look up into his wild, untamed eyes, as he exhaled shakily. "Not tonight. Now is not the time. Go to bed. I will be right in."

"What? Why?" I said it with too much hurt in my voice and teetered back, dizzily, trying to get my breathing and equilibrium back. I had lost all pride and had made a fool of myself, giving myself to him like that. I huffed towards my room, when I heard a voice coming from it. "Erik, is that you?"

I froze and whipped around to face Erik. "Who the fuck is that?" I hissed.

"You know who it is," he said frankly. "Now go. To my bed. You will sleep with me tonight."

"You fucking bastard," and I willed myself not to cry.

"Rosemary, stop it! To my bed now! You are so infuriating." He was forceful but kept his voice low.

"You worn out, Erik?" I spoke quietly, angrily. I was losing all semblance of cool.

"Rosemary. I will not ask again. Go to bed, or you will force me to punish you. This kind of behavior will not be tolerated any longer. Don't make me do it."

He didn't even let me respond, as he went into the room where she lay. I heard him, "It's okay. You will stay here tonight. No worries tonight." I watched him stroke her hair, and I flew towards his bedroom, flung my tied-up body on the bed and just lost it. I pushed my face into his pillow and sobbed and sobbed.

He finally came back to his bedroom.

"Untie me!" I ordered.

"No," he said coolly. "Not another word out of that mouth tonight, Rosemary." But then he suddenly softened as he wiped my eyes with his thumb. He reached for the covers to gently put over me. "No more tears."

I couldn't respond, tears flowing down my face and into the sheets.

"Oh, Jesus, Rosemary. You are an emotional wreck. And it's my fault." He didn't ask for permission and took me in his arms.

"Why don't you just go in the other bedroom and sleep with your new lover. I'm sure she would like that!" I spat out venomously, trying to push his warm, strong body away from me.

"Is that what you really want, Rosemary? Would you rather sleep alone tonight?"

Again, I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or facetious.

"Was she good? Did she satisfy you? Is she much more experienced than I was?" I quipped. "Or did you deflower her too?" And I choked on my words, breathing becoming harder and harder. I felt as if I might pass out.

"Rosemary. Stop. Don't torture yourself like this. Let me hold you."

"You just love to be everyone's knight in shining armor, don't you? Mr. Savior, Mr. Kind. Well. Good for you. I don't need it! I don't want it."

"Do I need to gag you tonight as well, Rosemary? Or are you going to stop this?"

He couldn't be serious! I was furious and tied up and yes, god damn it, mildly aroused, and emotionally unstable in every way. "So, answer me, then, and then I'll shut up! How was she? Did you enjoy fucking her?"

"I'm not doing this, Rosemary," and he stood up. "You are my slave, who is earning punishment. You have no right to talk to me this way. I will not tolerate it."

That stung. That stung hard. And yet, I knew it was true. I was a slave. Nothing more. And it shut me up. I whimpered into myself, feeling like I had been broken in two.

Several long minutes passed, and then I heard him undressing. I lost all will to argue or fight. He slid back into bed behind me and tightened his arms around me, and I tried not to exhale with the comfort it brought me. I had never slept with him and it was excruciating to be next to him, arms still secured, vulnerable, humiliated, helpless. I felt his erection against my naked body and felt my heart race as moisture continued to pool between my legs. I wanted him so badly and hated him and myself for it. How could I??

He kissed my neck over and over and inhaled the back of my hair, as I willed myself not to squirm, not to moan, and to, instead, breathe more steadily. 

"Good girl. Breathe," he soothed. 

I began to melt into him, I just couldn't help it, but damn him if I'd let him know that. 

"Sssh," he whispered in my ear, sending goose bumps up and down my body. "Go to sleep, Rosemary," he said gently and sleepily. "Tomorrow I will decide what to do with you...I am too tired right now . . . but something needs to be done about your behavior. It is too dangerous."

Finally, he rolled over, and the minute he did, I wanted his body touching mine again. I was pathetic. I heard the rhythm of his breathing before I really let go. And then I cried and cried until there were no more tears to be had. I stared into the night with a longing and emptiness that I thought might kill me. And in that moment, I truly thought being dead might be a better fate.