Read Bondmaiden Online

Authors: B.A. Bradbury

Tags: #chimera, #erotic, #ebook, #historical, #fiction, #domination, #submission, #damsel in distress, #corporal punishment, #spanking, #BDSM, #S&M, #bondage, #master, #discipline, #Slave, #mistress, #castle. Soldiers, #princess

Bondmaiden (26 page)

‘Aye,’ he said in a quiet, grim voice, ‘all is clear, for you have opened my eyes to her wickedness. Her mother’s blood runs in her veins, and no man is safe from her malice, I see that now.’

‘Eh?’ Lothar said. ‘What’s that you say?’

‘Her mother, my lord bishop. She poisoned her first husband. I’d thought this one free of the contagion, but I realise now that I was wrong. It’s fortunate that you didn’t allow her to prepare your food, or even let her near it. Most fortunate indeed. Death from certain toadstools can be agonising, I understand, and far from swift. The victim lingers in unspeakable pain for many days.’

Now it was Lia’s turn to stare, for she had never heard anyone speak ill of her mother, who died when Lia was just a baby. Indeed, her father had told Helma and Lia often that their mother was a kind, gentle woman who never harmed a soul. But now she knew the terrible truth, for Father Adalard would never lie, not even to save his own life. Her mother had been a murderess!

‘My food?’ Lothar spluttered. ‘But… she often prepares my food.’

Adalard winced and sucked in a breath. ‘For myself I wouldn’t dare to risk it,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘but then you’re far more courageous than I, as anyone can see. Are you a light sleeper too, may I ask? If not, I think you should have a care at night, for Lia’s mother blinded her second husband. She jabbed sharpened sticks in his eyes while he slept.’

He made a violent downward motion with his two clenched fists, and bishop Lothar shot straight up out of his chair, his face white as a sheet. ‘Take her!’ he shrieked. ‘I want naught more to do with her! You take her, and the devil take her soul!’

‘I’ll take her if you command it, of course,’ Adalard said in consternation, ‘but—’

‘No buts!’ Lothar cried. ‘She’s yours to deal with as you see fit. I’ll not stay a single night under the same roof as the witch. Bruno, fetch the horse, we’re leaving.’ Bruno hurried out of the room with the bishop close on his heels.

‘Father Adalard,’ Lia moaned, ‘these clamps on my nipples… I can’t take them off.’

‘How so, my child?’ the priest asked in dismay.

‘It requires a key. The bishop keeps it on a chain around his neck.’

Father Adalard crossed himself and ran out after them, but soon returned, and to Lia’s relief he was holding the key.

‘Quickly father,’ she gasped, opening the cloak once more.

‘Nay,’ Adalard said, looking away. ‘I cannot touch you there, my child. I cannot even look without imperilling my soul. You will have to do it.’

With his eyes averted he held out the key, which Lia took with fumbling fingers and fitted onto the screws in turn, finally able to release herself. With a sigh of relief she dropped the clamps on the floor and covered herself once more. ‘You can turn around now, father,’ she said.

He did so, his face troubled. ‘Lia, I have some dreadful news,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your father is dead.’

‘Dead?’ she murmured, barely able to take it in.

‘Yes. The soldiers from Osburg killed him. You remember I said I sent all the women and children to hide in the forest? Well, three or four of the men took it in turns to take food to them, your father included. One day the soldiers caught him with a sack of bread and guessed his errand. They tried to make him tell where the women were hiding, but he refused to speak, even when they beat him savagely. They beat him to death, and he defied them to the very end. It was a courageous thing your father did, and you should be proud of him.’

Lia supposed she should, and despite feeling mostly empty, she thought it was good that her father had done something brave and noble, and would be remembered forever as a hero and a martyr. Few serfs could hope for such distinction.

‘And Helma, father?’ she asked. ‘What of her?’

‘Your sister is well, thank the Lord,’ Adalard said with a smile, ‘though naturally sad at your father’s death, and sad too for losing you. Go to her now, Lia, for nothing will heal her heart faster than the sight of your sweet face.’

‘Thank you, father. Will you come too?’

He shook his head sadly. ‘I must go straight to the church to pray. Your mother was no criminal, Lia, but a good devout Christian and a kindly soul. I lied to the bishop, and would do so again and more to wrest you from his grasp; but now I must atone for my sin. Come see me later when you are rested and we will talk, for I am eager to hear of your adventures.’

As Lia ran through the village, her weariness forgotten, she thought she would have to edit her tale considerably if poor Father Adalard wasn’t to faint from shock. But now here was her hut, and her door. She went in and saw Helma by the fire, beautiful as ever, though her eyes were sad. Helma gasped, first startled, then astonished, then overjoyed to see her. They hugged each other, weeping, and Lia knew she was home.

A few days later, in the evening, as they were resting after a long day in the fields, the door opened. Lia turned, expecting to see Father Adalard or perhaps a neighbour, but at the sight of their visitors her heart sank. It was the three soldiers who used to visit Helma each week for sex; and Lia remembered then that it was Friday. Both girls jumped to their feet, and Helma moved in front of Lia to shield her.

‘Aye,’ one of the men, a sergeant, said with a grin, ‘we’re back. Did you miss us?’

‘My cock certainly missed you,’ another said, at which the third man sniggered.

‘Who’s that hiding behind you?’ the sergeant asked. ‘Not little Lia, surely?’

She stepped out and faced him, and he moved closer and looked her up and down. ‘Not so little any more, by the saints. Let’s have a proper look at you, sweetheart.’

As he tugged at her smock Helma tried to push between them. ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘don’t hurt her. Take me—’

‘Oh we will, never fear. Her too, I’m thinking.’

Helma wrapped her arms around Lia, her little sister, who would always be a child in her eyes, but Lia extricated herself gently. ‘It’s all right,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m a woman now. There’s nothing to fear.’

She took off her smock, forcing a smile for her sister’s sake. Helma nodded sadly, her eyes moist, and undressed as well. The men watched them hungrily, their eyes full of lust.

‘Kneel down,’ the sergeant said when they were naked, which they did, and were promptly offered a cock to suck. Lia received the sergeant’s, and he groaned with pleasure and reached down to maul her breasts as she sucked and licked. ‘That feels fucking good,’ he muttered thickly.

‘You reckon you’re her first?’ the waiting soldier asked.

‘No chance of that,’ the sergeant said. ‘She’s done this a good few times, isn’t that right, Lia? Been fucked a good few times too, I’m guessing.’

‘She’ll be fucked a lot more before the night’s out, arse and cunt both,’ the other soldier grunted coarsely, pushing his cock deep into Helma’s throat.

This was the way it would be, Lia knew, each Friday night from now on. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, all the time she was a prisoner longing for her home, but she’d suffered worse and survived. At least she was there to take some of the burden from Helma, who previously had to suffer all three of them on her own. Certainly there was no point resisting the men’s advances, for that would only earn them a beating, after which the men would still have their way with them. They were serfs, after all; and for serfs, as Lia had learned through pain and suffering, nothing ever truly changed.

‘Swallow it, sweetheart,’ the sergeant said, ‘when it comes.’

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