Black Dorn [submission/punishment/bondage] (12 page)

Leah nodded and sought to
compose herself.

Branwyn glanced out the
window. "It is a bright, warm day. Let us go enjoy the sun and last
of the flowers before the cold winter winds arrive."

Leah agreed and followed her
mistress to the garden. The final blooms of gold and bronze were
all that remained of the summers flowers. Branwyn gingerly sat on a
stone bench. She caught Leah's momentary smile. "What pleases
you?"

"Oh, it does not please me."
She dropped to her knees.

"Please sit, Leah. We are
alone." Branwyn hesitated. She understood Malack's statement and
reasoning. When alone with a friend or lover, both are equals.
"Leah, I am going to ask you to do something. When we are alone,
like now, please do not kneel. Again, I am alone at Black Dorn. I
may no longer keep company with the dunes. And the noble ladies…"
She sighed.

"They are angry the gon-dra
chose you."

"The rules of court are
confusing. I fear I will make many mistakes and embarrass or anger
Malack."

"Is that why he…" Leah
clamped her hand to her mouth.

"Why he what?" Branwyn
insisted.

"Not too long ago, I was the
one who had been instructed. And now your flesh is pink. It hurts
you to sit upon the hard stone."

Branwyn laughed. "Yes, I
remember. No, Malack did not instruct me out of anger. This was
play between a man and his love."

"Is he…does he…oh, I fear I
should not ask this. It is not my place."

"He pleasures me greatly. He
has taught me the difference between the man you see as the gon-dra
and the man I call Malack."

"Duncan has spoken of this.
But I do not understand how it could be so."

Branwyn carefully shifted
her position. "The last dune he bedded—Sasha. He was angry and Duna
Trea asked him to bed her to help instruct her. Trea knew Malack
would take her as a gon-dra should—powerfully, with no concern for
her needs. If he is to rule someday, he must have the respect of
everyone in the castle. He does not bed me the same
way."

"I have another question?
Duncan—"

"Does he desire to bed with
you?"

"Yes."

"Do you desire to wed
him?

Leah shook her head. "We
cannot. We must have permission."

"I grant you
mine."

"But then I would have to
leave you."

"I do not wish to lose you."
Branwyn placed a hand on Leah's arm. "When he returns, I will speak
with Malack. Now, to keep ourselves occupied, we each get new
dresses. My waiting-lady shall be dressed as beautifully as the
ones who serve the gonness."

"Oh, Mistress, thank you."
Leah looked at her dull brown dress.

"Let us return and prepare
for supper." They returned to the castle.

The first evening meal
without the soldiers turned into a quiet, somber affair. A red-eyed
gonness sat next to a stone-faced gon as they presided over the
meal. No entertainers performed. When she had completed her meal,
Branwyn visited Trea. Hearing the cries of someone receiving
instruction, she entered. A dune was bent over the instruction
chair and Trea wielded the horsewhip with vigor.

Trea looked up, stopped and
dropped to a curtsey. "Hush," she snarled at the howling
dune.

This one was new and young.
Branwyn did not know her. "May we speak?"

"Do not move," Trea told the
dune. "Your instruction will continue when I return."

Relaxing on the pillows,
Branwyn said, "I do not know if this is proper, but I wish to
complete a part of my training. I remember you told me about
Malack's favorite way of release. I wish to continue learning how
to use the lune, so I may pleasure him this way on our wedding
night."

"You will make our gon-dra a
wonderful wife. I will come to your chambers tomorrow."

"Thank you, Trea." She stood
and walked next to the dune. "Do not howl so. Accept you have
erred. Accept your instruction. Learn tragor."

As Branwyn settled into her
bed, Leah blew out the candles about the room. As each light
dimmed, Branwyn slipped deeper into sleep.

After breakfast the next
day, the seamstresses returned to Branwyn's chambers. With a queasy
stomach, Branwyn sat and discussed what she wanted for her
waiting-lady. Leah could barely stand still as they measured and
placed cloths about her. She protested against two new dresses, but
Branwyn insisted her waiting-lady look like she tends to a future
gonness-dra.

Next, the most experienced
seamstress discussed the gown Branwyn would wear on her wedding
day. "We must begin soon as it will take weeks to sew on the beads
and pearls. I shall embroider the bodice with silver and gold
threads.

During the afternoon, Trea
arrived. Both sat in front of the fire. "You have grown so, since
you arrived."

"I feel I was but a mere
babe then and have since become a woman."

Trea unwrapped a gold lune.
It had a small bulb on top and was lined with ridges. "Do you
remember what to do?"

Branwyn settled herself on
the floor, pulled her skirts high and poured oil onto herself. She
rubbed it around and spread it onto the lune. Inserting the bulb,
she tried to find the muscles.

"Remember, think of it as if
you are sucking in soup. Pull the lune into you."

"Do not make me giggle. I
will not be able to hold it."

With persistence, Branwyn
was able to pull the lune in the length of one ridge.

"Let us practice the next
part. Push it in all the way and hold. Your grip on his manhood
will be very pleasurable to the gon-dra."

Branwyn did as requested and
stood. The lune held.

"Now let it drop, one
ridge." The lune crashed to the floor.

Branwyn tossed back her head
laughed. "I shall get this. It is for Malack."

For two hours, they worked
on the skill while Trea offered every piece of advice and
assistance she had learned in her many years of training Dunes.
Trea's voice was wistful as she spoke, "Of all the people in the
castle, Gon-Dra Malack is my favorite. We have spent many hours
together. Me pleasuring him and him, often, pleasuring me as his
skills increased. I will guide you in the ways of the castle, the
delights of pleasuring and will listen when you wish to
talk."

"I tire." Branwyn sighed. "I
did not feel well this morning. Worry about Malack has left me
uneasy and ill."

"Much has happened in the
past few days. Rest." Duna Trea started for the door, but turned.
"I leave knowing my beloved Malack will be much pleased with his
choice of wife.”

The warm days of autumn
turned to cool, gray, rainy days. Fires burned in the castle
fireplaces warding off the chill. Branwyn practiced with her lune.
She had learned how to pull it into her, but still struggled with
releasing it. Kneeling, she inserted her lune, held it and tried to
drop it a bit at a time. It fell to the floor.

When she inserted it, a
shiver slid up her spine. She remembered Radella telling her to use
the lune like a manhood—the ridges increase pleasure. She slid it
in and out. Her body instantly responded. Curious, she repeatedly
thrust the lune into her pleasure place. A shudder passed through
her body, her breath quickened as she moaned. Heat rose in
her.

She moved to the edge of her
chair, and continued thrusting it into herself. Using her other
hand, Branwyn fondled her clit. Her moves were not as skilled as
Malack's. She fumbled but continued. Her pressure built. It was not
as it was with him. Her surrender was small. A tear trickled down
her cheek. Her whole body missed him.

The days were short as
winter settled in and night came early. Outside, cold winds
howled.

Branwyn went to visit her
mentor. "Duna Trea." She called as she entered the dune's training
room. It was dark and quiet.

Trea sat next to Branwyn.
"Are you still having problems with your lune?"

"No. I am able to do what
you instructed and am impatient for Malack to return."

"Have you pleasured yourself
with it as I suggested?"

"It does not give me the
same enjoyment."

"Malack is
skilled."

Branwyn smoothed the
wrinkles on her dress. "I have a new question. And it bothers me
so. Can having a grieving heart make my bleeding time
stop?"

Trea's eyebrows rose. "When
did you bleed last?"

"When Malack took me the
first time, there was blood. But he said that was to be. Since he
has left, I have not bled."

"We must visit the
gon."

Puzzled, Branwyn followed
Trea out of the room.

In the gon's chamber, Trea
knelt and Branwyn curtsied. Ministers and nobles sat in small
groups about the room. The gonness sat by the fire, embroidering a
new scarf to keep the winter chill off her shoulders.

"I have news." Trea waited
for the chatter to cease.

"Of the battle?" someone
asked.

The gonness looked
up.

"No, not of the battle.
Branwyn is with child. She has not bled since the gon-dra
left."

"But someone with a heart as
heavy as hers—the bleeding time…" The gonness stepped
closer.

Trea smoothed Branwyn's
dress over her belly. A small bulge had grown where once she was
flat. "Branwyn is with child," Trea insisted.

Heart hearted soar with
joy."I am carrying Malack's child?" Her hands went to her belly. It
felt rounder and fuller than when she had arrived at Black Dorn.
Her heart soared with joy. She slowly turned in a circle, making
eye contact with everyone. "I carry Gon-Dra Malack's child! It will
be a son and he will be strong and brave." She bowed her head to
the gonness. "And he will be handsome like his father." Placing her
hand on her belly, she looked into the gaze of the gon. "The future
of Black Dorn."

Chapter Eight

The bright spring sun warmed
Branwyn's face. It had been a long time since the sun shone so
brightly. Branwyn rubbed the growing bulge in her stomach. Spring
meant hope. Hope that Malack would return.

She heard the trumpet's call
and hurried from the garden to the courtyard, as did others. A lone
rider rode into the yard, handed his reins to a page, stopped by
the well, grabbed the ladle, splashed his face, took a long drink,
then walked over to the gon, who had just stepped onto the dais.
The rider dropped to his knees. "They arrive tomorrow or the day
after. Some are wounded. They travel slow."

"Uplands has been returned
to Black Dorn?"

"Yes, Gon."

A spontaneous cheer broke
out among the people.

"What of my sons?" asked the
gonness.

The rider looked at the
ground. "Pettra was wounded, but lives. He shall return with the
others. Nalar was taken prisoner. The gon-dra has gone to rescue
him."

Branwyn held her gasp.
Malack lived. He would not return with the others, but he
lived.

"Nalar?" The gonness' voice
trembled.

"He was betrayed. The
traitor captured him and dragged him away in chains."

"What of this
traitor?"

"The gon-dra brought him
back to Uplands then gutted him like a fish and tossed him over the
battlements."

"As it should be." The gon
stood tall. "Go to your quarters. Rest. Food will be brought to
you." He signaled a guard, who hurried over to help the messenger
stand.

Excited chatter filled the
hallways long into the night as people gossiped about the return of
the soldiers and Malack's justified treatment of a traitor. Morning
came, midday passed with no sign of the soldiers. The slightest
noise brought people to their windows and doors. Castle life did
not run smoothly. Evening came, and no soldiers arrived. The castle
fell asleep knowing that the next day would bring their loved ones
back.

It was almost midday when a
shout from the battlement announced the soldiers. The news raced
throughout the castle and surrounding farms. People poured into the
courtyard—excited and anxious. Excited for the return of their
loved ones, but anxious he might be among the dead.

Branwyn stood next to
Malack's mother. She did not speak. Like Branwyn, the gonness was
taut with emotion. The first soldiers rode into the courtyard. They
left their horses by the water troughs, knelt before the gon then
hurried to their waiting families.

The gonness stiffened as a
rider jumped off his horse, staggered, then limped toward the gon.
He bowed his head. The gon pointed to a guard. "Escort Pettra to
his chamber. Eat. Rest. We will join you later."

While the gon remained noble
and calm, the gonness hugged her son in a tight, mother's embrace
and kissed his dusty cheek. She did not leave with her son. She
remained in her position, next to her husband.