****** Serad Surrender ******
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Synopsis: A princess is captured and forced to marry her captor.


















                           Surrender

                            by Abe





     I, and two of my ladies, set out for Arstby, where the peace

was to made.  The roads were poor.  We traveled in covered

chairs, carried by slaves, with a baggage train of pack horses,

laden with my clothes, fine furniture, and a chest of gold.

Twenty armed foot soldiers, half the remaining garrison of the

castle, escorted us.  The going was hard, especially as the rain

had turned the road to mud.

     On the second day, we came to a river, swollen with rain.

Ten of my escort waded across the stream and assured that all was

safe on the other bank.  Then the slaves carried Lady Aila, my

senior attendant, through the raging waters, to prove the

crossing could be made.  All eyes followed the difficult progress

of the covered chair, which more than once was wet by the

swirling, muddy waters.  It was at that point that Gart, Baron

Thorn, struck.

     My guard of only ten men, not arrayed for battle, was

quickly overcome, while archers prevented the others from

entering the battle.  Before Lady Aila reached the opposite bank,

my guards were begging for mercy.  The seven surviving guardsmen

were stripped of their armor and allowed to cross the river.

     I stepped from my chair and confronted the outlaw.

"Princess Serad," he said, "I claim you as my bride, by right of

capture.  Surrender to me, and you shall be Baroness Thorn.  I

will accept your baggage train and slaves as dowry."

     "I am promised to Arad, Prince of Erst, as part of the peace

agreement, and I do not consent to be your baroness.  We do not

recognize marriage by capture, you Godless pagan.  No marriage is

valid without consent, the sacramental blessing, and

consummation."

     "Well, then," he said, "do you consent to be my bride?  I

can find a priest."

     "Never."

     "Then you shall be my slave."

     The baron picked me up and placed me astride a horse.  Then

he tied my feet to the stirrups and bound my wrists.  For three

days, I suffered terribly, travelling by day bound to the back of

a horse, chilled by the rain, forced to soil myself, for the

baron would not release me to attend to the inevitable calls of

nature.  For sustenance, I had only bread and water.  Each night,

when the men made camp in the forest, the saddle would be removed

from the horse, but I would not be removed from the saddle.  My

hands were always bound together, and I was forced to sleep

sitting in my own filth, my legs spread by the saddle.  In the

morning, the saddle, with me on it, would be placed on a fresh

horse, and my torment would continue.  I saw Lady Else but once,

and we were not allowed to speak, but I saw that she was free to

walk.

     About sundown of the third day, we came to the baron's

castle, on a rocky island in a river which flowed between the

farms of his serfs.  The horses trotted noisily across a narrow,

easily defended wooden bridge which spanned the river from the

near bank to the island.  When all of our party had entered the

castle, a section of the bridge was drawn up, and I realized that

escape would be impossible.  But I kept hope.  Surely my father's

army would soon appear to rescue me and punish the outlaw baron.

     The baron's manservants removed me from the saddle and

carried me to a tower which rose up from the river.  I was

carried because I would not cooperate with my captors, though, in

truth, I doubt I could have walked, so painful were my limbs from

three days in the saddle.

     The room was comfortably furnished, with tables, chairs, and

a huge canopied bed.  A brazier of coals took the chill off.  The

windows were arrow slits, but there was a privy closet, which

extended from the wall and emptied into the river.  I could smell

my own filth.  The baron's chamberlain, an aging knight, stood

there, his expression distorted with disgust.

     Gart, Baron Thorn strode into the room.  Even in his mud-

spattered traveling armor, he was a handsome man.  But cruel.

"Serad, will you marry me?"

     "Never, Gart."

     I imagined contempt in his manner.  "Slave," he said, "you

may address me as Baron Thorn, or My Lord, or Master.  If you

show disrespect, you will be punished.  If you feel that I treat

you badly, unfairly, slave, you have only to tell me you consent

to marriage.  I shall not ask you again.  So, you see, the choice

is yours, slave, to obey me as a slave, or to obey me as a

dutiful wife."

     I said nothing.

     "Take off those filthy clothes."

     I did nothing.  I was a willful woman, born a princess, not

one to disrobe in front of men.

     "I will count to ten.  One...two..."

     I stood still, making no move to unlace my bodice.

     The baron nodded to his servants, and they forcibly removed

my clothes.  I struggled, but it was useless.  When I was naked,

they put me on the cold floor, face down, and the baron stood

with his boot on my back, holding me down.  I was ashamed to be

so displayed, naked, the more so as I must have been ugly, with a

red rash between my legs and filth adhering to my buttocks.

     Manservants brought a wooden tub, and buckets of water.

They paid no more attention to me than they would have had I been

a dog at my master's feet.  A smile played across the

chamberlain's lips.  The baron removed his foot and said, "Wash,

slave."

     I refused to move.  "One... two...  ten."  Two manservants

lifted me and stood me in the tub while Gart, Baron Thorn, washed

me himself.  I had never been more degraded, to be displayed thus

before men and to have a man's hands wash me.  Never had a man

touched me where the baron did.

     The wash water was replaced several times, and I was,

eventually, clean, my hair dripping, my body shivering.  The

baron dried me, gently, with soft cloths, and then, with his

hands, he rubbed my body with scented oil.  Never would I

willingly have allowed a man to touch me, certainly not to rub

oil into my breasts and buttocks and pubic hair.  But, of course,

I was a captive, a slave.  I was too proud and willful to

protest.  I had resolved to bear any pain, rather than consent to

marry an outlaw.  I stood, passive, motionless, as the baron

touched me in such a disgusting way.  I prayed silently for

strength to resist surrender.

     The manservants attended the baron while he undressed and

washed.  I had, on occasion, seen a man naked, as when I watched

a slave put to torture, but this was a more moving, even fearful

situation, for I stood there naked, shivering, my nipples hard in

the chill evening air, while my captor, free, confident, washed

himself.  He put on a soft nightshirt and called for food.

     The baron's armorer arrived, with a helper to carry his

tools.  While the baron ate, the armorer fitted an iron collar

around my neck, and riveted iron bands around my wrists and

ankles, while I stood there, naked, but not ashamed.  I prayed

for the pride to resist surrender.

     The baron refilled his goblet with wine and put it and his

plate, with plenty of food left over, on the floor at my feet.

"Slave," he said, "you may eat."

     I had nothing to drink since morning, and my thirst was

dire.  I resolved I would not eat this man's leavings, but I

could not resist the wine.  I bent down, drained the goblet, and

remained standing, defiantly passive.  The baron whispered to his

chamberlain, and the men left the room.  I was alone with a

strong man who had declared he wanted my maidenhead.  For the

first time, perhaps, anger was replaced by fear.

     By now, the room was getting dark, with only the glow of the

brazier and two rushlights.  The baron reclined on his great bed,

while I stoodwhere the armorer had left me, unmoving except to

shiver.   I could not know how much time passed, but it seemed to

pass very slowly.  Then there was a knock on the heavy oaken

door.

     "Enter."

     A slave girl came in.  She was no older than I, a bit

thinner, and dressed in a simple shift, no slippers.  The baron

indicated the plate on the floor, and she removed it.  Soon she

was back.

     "Bet," he said, "that is my new slave, Serad.  She does not

speak, so you must anticipate her needs.  When I dine in the

great hall, you may bring her my leavings.  There must always be

water here, for her to drink.  She may not leave the room without

my permission.  If she is being punished, you may not relieve her

suffering, beyond giving her water to drink.  Is that clear?"

     "Yes, master.  Will you be wanting my services tonight?"  He

looked thoughtful.  "You have been gone many days," she

continued.  "Surely you need physical relief."

     "Yes, but first, bring a blanket for the slave, Serad."

     Soon the slave girl, Bet, was back with a scratchy, wool

blanket, which she placed at my feet.  Cold as I was, I ignored

it, standing, defiantly.  Bet pulled her shift off over her head,

shamelessly, as if it were the most natural thing to do.  She put

out the lights, though there was still a faint glow from the

brazier, and climbed onto the bed with the baron.  He caressed

her for a while, as I watched, both fascinated and embarrassed,

for I had never before seen a man and woman indulging in such

sin.  Then they pulled the bed clothes up over themselves, and I

watched them moving, like cats in a bag, under the covers.

Finally, I heard Bet make mewling noises like a kittten, and then

everything was quiet.  The coals in the brazier grew cold, and

the darkness deep.  At last, I bent down, picked up the blanket,

covered myself, and slept on the floor.

     I did not wake, until Bet brought food and drink for the

baron.  I drank some beer, but I declined to eat.  I had a

strange notion that I would starve myself to death, dying a

virgin and going to Heaven, while the baron was left with nothing

but my dowry, which he had stolen.

     "Master," said Bet, "the slave does not eat.  Shall I remove

the dishes?"

     "Yes."

     When she returned, she said, "Master, why does the slave not

speak?"

     "I suppose she has nothing to say to me.  Fetch me a whip.

We will find out if she can speak."  He led me by the hand to the

bed, and, with leather thongs, he tied one of my wrist bands to

each of the bed posts at the foot of the bed, high up, so my arms

were lifted and widespread.  Then he tied my ankles to the bottom

of the posts, so my legs were widespread as well.  The bindings

were slack enough that I could move, slightly, but not more than

a handsbreadth.

     Bet came in with a whip, a thing longer than my arm, braided

leather, with knotted leather tails on the end.  "Slave Serad,"

he said.  "It gives me no pleasure to inflict pain upon you.  But

you must be trained.  I desire you to speak to me.  You might,

for example, say, 'Master, please, do not beat me.'"

     Of course, I gritted my teeth and refused to speak.  As Bet

watched, the baron swung the whip and made it crack across my

buttocks.  There was the instant burning sting, and then a

painful ache, where the whip had bruised my tender flesh.  I

refused to cry out.

     "One," he said to Bet.  "It is not the first time she has

been beaten.  My spies tell me she was a willful child, often in

need of chastisement.  But, once she showed the signs of

womanhood, her father, the king, softened, and he indulged her."

     "Master, the king?" said Bet.

     "Oh, yes, Bet.  Before she was my slave, she was a princess.

Someday, she shall be my wife, your mistress."

     "Truly, master?"

     "Yes."  The pain was fading, but then whip swished through

the air and struck me again, on both buttocks, with the knotted

tails wrapping around by hip.  Pain convulsed my body, causing me

to writhe and groan, in spite of myself.

     I prayed, silently, "Mother of God, give me strength to

endure.  I will not surrender."

     "Two," said the baron.

     Our blessed Mother did not give me strength.  Each blow

seemed more painful than the last, and my body seemed beyond my

willful control.  At the eighth stroke, I called out, "Ahh!

Master, please do not beat me."

     The whipping stopped.  As the slave, Bet, watched, the baron

anointed my bruises with oil, stroking my sore buttocks.  Then,

his hand wet with oil, he reached between my legs and anointed my

most private place, my feminine cleft.  I squirmed against my

bindings, but that only increased the friction of his fingers.

It was neither painful nor pleasurable, in itself, but it angered

me that he could do that, touch me so intimately, and I was

helpless to resist.  I could only bear it.

     "Bet," he said, "you have seen what I have just done?"

     "Yes, master.  You have done that to me."

     "There is plenty of oil.  I want you to continue to rub her

there, until I tell you to stop.  Do not allow your fingers to

enter her, but you may oil the inner sides of her cleft, if you

find it convenient.  You may begin."

     The girl slave slipped her little hand between my spread

legs and began to stroke me, adding oil from time to time, until

it was dripping on the floor.  The baron reclined on the bed,

directly in front of me, propped up with pillows, and he watched,

a subtle smile on his face.

     At first, to be treated such, by a slave, in front of the

baron, was merely disgusting.  I closed my eyes and tried to put

my mind elsewhere, imagining I was in the chapel, at home, in my

father's castle.  However, just as blow upon blow upon blow at

the same point of the body increases the pain of each subsequent

stroke, so the continuous rubbing of my cleft became more and

more distressing.  I seemed to get more and more sensitive to

touch, and Bet continued to press my slippery lower lips and push

them to and fro.  I could no longer keep my mind detached, could

think only of what was happening to me, the sensations which

seemed to fill my lower body.  Bet switched hands and continued,

and I struggled at my restraints, tormented by her touch.  I felt

flushed with warmth, and my breathing became deeper, as I

struggled to resist this new and subtle torture.

     "Stop," said the baron.  He got up off the bed and said to

me, "Slave Serad, you will discover that I can find torments ever

more difficult for your willfulness to withstand.  I will leave

you here, for a while, to contemplate your condition.  If you

want to change your status here, you have only to surrender to

me."

     He took Bet with him, and left me, spread at the foot of the

bed.  To my surprise, I realized that I wanted Bet to touch me

more, or, even better, the baron.  It was very puzzling.

     Later, the baron returned and released me.  He gave me some

bread to eat, but I refused it, silently.  I had not eaten since

the day before, and I was hungry, but I was willful.  By not

eating, I could defy him.  He told Bet to teach me to spin.  Of

course, I knew how; I am accomplished in all the household arts,

though I grew up with servants to do the work.  However, to defy

the baron, I refused to spin.

     In the evening, Bet left to eat with the other slaves, and

later, she brought me food, which I refused to eat.  Left alone

in the room, I paced the floor, naked and barefoot, praying for

the strength to resist surrender.  Thus strengthened in my

resolve, I wrapped myself in my blanket and waited.

     It was almost dark when the baron returned to his room.

"Serad, Serad, you are so slow to learn."  I did not reply.  "Why

did you refuse to spin the wool?  Any slave, any wife, should

spin.  Speak to me."  I did not.  "Well, tired as I am, I suppose

you must be trained."  He took up the whip, and looked at me.

"Speak."  I did not.

     Again, he bound me, legs spread, to the bed posts.  "One...

two..." he counted, as he whipped me.  He mostly avoided my

already bruised backside, thrashing my back, my bely, my thighs.

With each stroke, pain flashed through my body, and my mind went

blank, aware only of the way my body responded to torture.  The

pain was almost unbearable, but I bore it, until the eleventh

stroke, this time.  Then I said, "Master, please do not beat me."

     "She speaks," he said and put away the whip.

     He got out the oil and rubbed it over my bruised flesh, my

bottom, my belly, my thighs.  I discovered my womanly cleft was

growing damp and sensitive, in anticipation of the continuing

torture.  Then I felt his hand upon my sensitive parts, and he

tortured me, until I was writhing, straining against my bonds,

angry that he should abuse me thus.  His touch  -- he knew

exactly where I was most sensitive -- drove me out of control.

My heart raced.  My skin flushed.  My very insides seemed to

rebel.  I took pleasure in my resistance to his torture.  I

wanted to prove he could not break my spirit, but the feelings

grew so intense that I could stand them no longer.  "Master," I

gasped, "please stop.  I am losing my mind.  It is agony."

     "She speaks," he said, and stopped tormenting me.  He

released my wrist bands from the bedposts but left me standing

with my legs spread.  I could continue to stand thus, or I could

fall backward and lie upon the floor on my back with my legs

spread, or I could bend forward at the waist and rest my breast

upon the bed.  I chose to stand, stoically bearing the memory of

my torture; my body seemed still to ache from the rubbing he had

given me.

     The baron undressed and climbed into bed.  There was a knock

on the door.  "Enter," he called.

     Bet came in, bearing a rushlight.  "Please, master, have I

not been an obedient slave?"

     "Of course you have, Bet."

     "Please, master, a favor?"

     The outlaw baron smiled and said, "Very well, Bet, come

here."  She put the rushlight in a holder and climbed onto the

bed, taking off her shift.  The baron held her, cupping one

breast, while his other hand went between her legs, and he

tortured her as he had tortured me, rubbing her cleft with his

fingers, without even the oil to lessen the friction.  I watched

in horror, as Bet seemed to withstand more pain than I could.  By

the light of the rushlight, I could see her cleft gaping, an

angry red, wet.  Her skin flushed, her breasts quivered, as if

she were in agony.  She called out, as if in pain, but the baron

did not say, "She speaks," and stop.

     He continued, even thrust his finger into her, and she

writhed and struggled, called out, "Ah. Oh. Oh, master!"  When he

stopped, it took her some time to recover from the punishment he

had given her.  I wondered if he would be so cruel with me.

     "Master," said Bet, "thank you, very much.  Is there

anything I can do to serve you?"

     "Not tonight, Bet."  He pushed her off the bed.  She put on

her shift and left the room.  My master slipped under the covers

and went to sleep.  At last, I bent forward, resting my breast

against the soft bed, and slept.

     In the morning, the baron released my ankles, and I hurried

to use the privy, having been in some discomfort from first

light.  I did not like sleeping while bound like that.  Bet

brought bread and cheese and beer for our breakfast, but I drank

only water.  I felt weak from hunger, but I had learned to master

my needs, and I refused the food, to show that my will was

strong.

     Manservants brought a strange thing into the room.  It was a

stand, with a bucket about the height of my head.  There were two

other buckets, one empty, one full of water.  The baron put an

empty bucket on the floor and poured the water from the full

bucket into the raised bucket.  The water flowed into the bottom

bucket.  Then he put the empty bucket where the full one was and

poured the water from the full bucket into the raised bucket.

     "Serad," he said.  "Slaves must work.  If you will not do

women's work, you can do this.  Otherwise, never leaving this

room, you will get flabby.  I know it is useless work.  It's only

reason is that it is work, and you must be trained.  Now, repeat

what I did.  I will keep count.  When you have done it one

hundred times, I will let you rest a while.  If you stop, or if

you spill any, I will whip you."  He sat on a chair, with the

whip on his lap, and he watched and counted.

     By the time I had lifted and poured a hundred heavy buckets,

I was very tired, and my arms and shoulders and back were sore.

The baron said I might rest.  "Are your arms tired?"  I nodded.

"All right, run back and forth from wall to wall," he said,

gesturing with the whip.  I ran until I dropped, exhausted, and

lay on the floor, panting, my body slick with sweat.  He came and

stood over me, whip in hand, but he did not strike me.  He left

the room.

     I drank water and rested, feeling light-headed.  Bet brought

food, a bowl of soup, and I ate it.  I was so hungry, and the

baron wasn't there to see me eat it.  Later, I wondered at my

lack of will power.  "Bet," I said softly, breaking my silence as

well as my fast, "why did your master punish you last night?"

     "Punish?"

     "The way he rubbed you."

     "Because I asked him to, as a favor to me."

     "Why did you ask him to do that?"  

     "Serad!  I did it because I enjoy his doing that."

     "You enjoy his torturing you?  Why?"

     "Serad, my master is a baron, a great warrior, yet he delays

his sleeping to give me pleasure.  It makes me feel important,

even loved, to have such a man rub me."

     "But he hurt you.  You writhed in agony, cried out in pain."

     "No, Serad, I enjoyed it.  It feels good.  Don't you enjoy

it when he oils you?  He is trying to please you, to make up for

the beating."

     "I...I...I don't know," I said.

     That evening, the baron ate in his room, and gave his

leavings to me, and I ate them.  He offered me wine, rather than

water, and I drank a lot.  "Speak," he said.  I did not.  Again,

I was tied with my arms and legs spread.  Again, he whipped my

behind and belly until, I confess, when a knotted lash struck my

sensitive cleft, I screamed and begged him to stop.  I discovered

that my womanly cleft, stinging from the lash, was already damp

and sensitive, waiting for the oil.  He did not disappoint me.  I

felt him rubbing the oil into my bruised buttocks, a mixture of

pain and pleasure.  And then he began to oil my cleft, there

between my legs.  I gritted my teeth and tried not to think of it

as a punishment, but as his favor to me; I assumed he was trying

to please me, as Bet believed.  That strange feeling came, that

sensitivity which was almost painful, so that my body quivered,

but I would not beg him to stop.

     Suddenly, almost like a religious conversion, I realized it

did feel good.  I felt, with exquisite sensitivity, each movement

of his fingers, and my viscera responded to his touch.  The

thrilling sensations became almost more than I could comprehend,

but I kept quiet and was rewarded with ecstasy, a sense of

heavenly bliss such as I had never known.

     Since I did not ask him to stop, and perhaps he did not

realize the effect he was having, the baron continued the

"torture," and I experienced such waves of passion that, when he

did stop, I hung limp from my bindings, exhausted and serene.

     When Bet appeared, to ask her master for another favor, she

found me in her place, in bed, beside her master.  She was

leaving, when the baron called, "Bet, come here."

     His slave approached the bed.  "You wanted something,

slave?"

     "Master, I see you are busy.  You don't need me."

     "Serad is half asleep, and I am not.  Here, slip into bed

beside me."

     Baron Thorn rubbed his slave until she writhed and cried

with ecstasy.  Then he bade her sit on his legs, facing him, and

she took him into her with great enthusiasm, squealing with

delight as she bobbed up and down, until he, too, was transported

from ordinary reality and experienced that religious joy which

comes from physical intimacy.

     All this I witnessed, not an arm's length away, and while I

refused to speak of it, it made a deep impression on me.  It

seemed that all my training as a princess, and my indoctrination

in religion, and particularly teachings about men and women, were

somehow in error, incomplete.  I had been told that Christian

happiness comes from chastity.  However, since a princess is

expected to marry, I was told that I must forego happiness, to

the extent that my husband required me to bear his children.  Any

contact between man and woman which is not dedicated to the

production of children is sinful, hence painful.  Certainly, the

baron's touching of my female cleft, or Bet's, with no intention

of conceiving a child, was mortally sinful.

     Sin equals pain.  How was it that I, a virginal Christian,

found enjoyment in sin?  How was it that the baron's kindness to

Bet, which she so appreciated, was sinful?  All this confused me.

     Somehow, perhaps even as I slept, I came to believe that, in

God's plan for the world, pain is offset with pleasure, and

pleasure with pain.  One cannot have one without the other,

ultimately, and to seek one is to seek the other.

     The next day, I was worked to exhaustion, but I relished my

aches and soreness, lifting two hundred buckets and running until

I dropped, even after my baron had left the room.  Panting on the

floor, I felt a transcendent joy.  When my baron fed me, I ate as

three.  He sent Bet to fetch more food from the kitchens.  I

drank six flagons of wine.

     There came that time in the evening when the baron commanded

me to speak.

     "Master," I said, "what would you have me say?"

     He seemed surprised.  "Say what is on your mind.  Say what

you desire."

     "Master," I said, "please beat me."

     From that night until now, I have known happiness.  There is

joy in obeying my master, in dedicating myself to him, perhaps

something akin to the joy of a monk, in giving himself to serving

God.  He has trained me, trained my body, so that, at the first

flick of the lash, I respond with exquisite sensitivity.  My

womanly parts quiver as the pain radiates through my body, it is

like dying and going to heaven.  Can you understand that?  No,

you can't.

     My father, my king, please, make peace with Baron Thorn.

Gart, Baron Thorn, is my husband, my master, and I am Serad,

Baroness Thorn.  If you war against him, you war against me.

     You do not believe.  You look in vain for the golden ring on

my finger.  Can you not see my wedding band?  It is here, around

my throat, and it is iron.



                              [END]


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