Lord Blackwell's Afternoon

Far north, beyond the borders of the northern kingdom, a dark tower penetrated the sky, reaching up into the heavy, steel-colored clouds. Lightning flashed in the near distance, illuminating the chamber at the top of the tower where a man clad all in black sat upon a throne, chin in his hand, elbow on his knee, as he considered all the news that had been delivered to him only hours ago through his network of mage spies. So many potentials, so many possibilities.

Lord Gaius Blackwell was not an ugly man, but time and cruelty had made him hard. Black hair was long, hanging down his back, tied back with a leather thong, and laced with wire barbed with sharp glass. An enemy would do well to think twice about using his hair as a handhold in combat. The planes of his face were hard, his jaw square and very masculine. Right now his teeth were clenched in thought as he sat there on his throne, and his free hand was resting on one granite arm, long strong fingers tapping against the stone in a rhythmic motion, a motion that seemed to comfort him somehow.

“My lord?” His lieutenant’s voice was nearly drowned out by the thunder that followed that one bright flash, but he heard it. Steel gray eyes, the same color of the clouds that surrounded the tower and the lands around it, lifted from deep thought and locked onto the man that had just entered through the arched door of his throne room.

“Report.” His voice was a rich baritone, the sort of voice that made women’s knees go weak, or had at one time. The days of silliness at court were long past. He was an exile, a warlord, and not the kind of man that cared for things like love or affection or courtship.

The man came further into the room, dropping to one knee in front of the throne, several paces out, and bowed his head with fist to his chest. After a moment, his head lifted, but he did not rise. He knew better than to do so without explicit permission. “The preparations are all made, my lord, for your journey to Tyriel.”

“Excellent. We shall depart in the morning. See that your men are given access to whatever they might require tonight, but remind them that those who are too drunk or tired to ride, are too drunk or tired to continue in my service.” The dark-haired man gave a cruel smile, fingers still tapping on the arm of the throne even if he had shifted to sitting up straight. Those that were unfit to continue in the Lord Blackwell’s service were quite often deemed by the dark lord to be unfit to continue in life as well, and his forces all knew it. “Have I made myself clear?”

His lieutenant looked at him, almost scrutinizing, and when he found no trace of jest in his liege, he bowed his head again. “Yes, my lord. It will be as you say.”

“Good. Dismissed.” Lord Blackwell made a little wave of his hand, indicating that the lieutenant should depart now and carry out the orders that he had been given.

The lieutenant pushed up to his feet, straightened, bowed with fist to heart once more, and then straightened again. Doing an about-face, he quickly fled from the room, glad to have caught his liege lord in a good mood. Lord Blackwell watched him go, a thoughtful look in those steel-colored eyes that were just as hard as the metal they resembled. Soon it would all fall into place, and King Daevyd would find himself faced with a foe that he could not defeat. He simply needed that last piece of the puzzle, the piece that his men in the south were working on by besieging the Alchemist enclaves. A child… a child should be easy enough to mold to his purposes, to use. Once he had the Crown, then the new order would begin, with Gaius Blackwell at its head.

He stirred in his throne, seeming to come to a sort of wakefulness, even arousal. The brothel near the barracks had been cleared of the sick and old, and refilled with new women captured from all the lands where his campaigns were in progress. The liquor closets were full, wine and ale in abundance throughout the fortress-town. His men would be given what they needed tonight. His officers would see to that, and he had no doubts of it. His clothes were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight as he thought of all that he had accomplished. What about his needs? Someone needed to take care of this.

Ah, yes. There was that redhead in the dungeon. The warrior bitch that had given him the scar across his chest so many years ago. It had been such a pleasant surprise when she was captured in the south, and brought to her knees in front of him only a couple of weeks ago. He needed to vent his rage and lust on someone; she needed to be reminded that there would be no mercy for her save for what he offered. She still had not figured this fact out yet. That cruel smile on his lips, he rose from the throne, feeling the strain against his trousers, that slow heat that had started within him at the very thought of showing her what her place here was.

Passing through the doorway, his guards snapped to attention from their stance of at ease. He paid them very little attention, except to issue a single order. “I will be in the lower dungeon. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir.” The reply came promptly as his personal guards, clad in the dull, spiky black armor of his elite squad, fell into step behind him. They descended the spiral staircase that filled the outer girth of the tower. A brisk walk, rather than taking the rope elevators that traveled the height of the tower’s inner ring. Anticipation, and the delay, would only make it that much better when he arrived.

It was not that long, maybe only five minutes, before he arrived at the bottom of the stairwell, in the lower of the two dungeons that he kept. This one had more guards, more locked doors to pass through, and was where the more important prisoners were kept. The upper dungeon was for those who violated some civil law of the fortress-town. Those people mattered not to the Lord Blackwell. He let the magistrates he had appointed deal with them. It was the lower dungeon that opened its doors to a person that had managed to catch his attention.

The place was set up as a maze underneath the town, spreading away from the tower so as to not weaken its foundations. He knew every torch-lit corridor intimately, knew which prisoner was where. Did not want to lose track of those that he had down here for a reason, after all. He was smarter than to think that those he deemed important, or a threat, would cease to be so just because he managed to have them imprisoned.

He turned a corner, and came upon the guards playing cards at the table outside a thick steel door. They jumped to attention as they realized just who had stumbled upon them. “Don’t you have reports to be writing?” Lord Blackwell fixed them both with a steely gaze, expecting an answer, hiding his satisfaction as he saw that the three young men were licking their lips and looking nervous. Maybe even fearful.

“Done already, my lord.” The oldest, most seasoned-looking of the three finally got up the guts to answer. “Would you like us to look them over again?”

“I think that would be a good idea. Leave us. My guard will suffice.” The dark lord gestured dismissively, and the young men were quick to shuffle off to retrieve their reports and undoubtedly double-check every last detail in them. He himself was still toying with the idea of checking their reports for errors personally. But that would just have to wait. He had other business that was infinitely more important.

He collected an oil lamp from a shelf bolted into the stone near the table, and lit a long stick using the lamp that was already lit, hanging above the guards’ table. The stick was touched to the wick of the lamp in his hand, and he adjusted the brightness so that it did not dazzle his eyes. He withdrew the key from his pocket, one of two that opened the door. The other was with the prison warden, on his person at all times. This prisoner was too valuable to be entrusted to anyone else, except for feedings. Another key was also taken from his pocket, its purpose known to him alone at the moment. He inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and then undid the bolts on the outside of the door. Lifting the lantern high, he entered the cell, letting his guards close the door behind him.

The woman was curled up in the pile of straw that served as a bed in one corner of the room. Her red curls were just as vivid as he remembered, her body as pale and slender. Some of the suppleness of her curves had been lost to time, but that did not stop the reaction that she always brought up in him. Seeing her in only that iron collar and cuffs attached by chains to a contraption in the middle of the room only caused the source of heat in his trousers to remind him painfully just why he was here. He took advantage of her dazzled eyes and blinking against the light to set the lantern hanging on a hook and turn the key in the controls of the contraption on the far wall, out of her reach.

He turned a wheel on the control box, and she made a choking sound as she found that the chains were being tightened by a system of gears and pulleys, drawing her toward the center of the room. The barbarian woman, of course, struggled against this, fighting back against the pull of the collar, of the chains bound to her mancles. “You can fight it, Terria, if you would like, but don’t think that I have any qualms about letting you choke yourself to death.”

She went deathly still as she recognized his voice, and then surrendered to the pull of the chains, following their tug to the center of the room underneath one end of the contraption. Her hands were spread and bound above her head, collar pulled tightly enough that with her feet flat on the ground that it would offer a threat of being strangled without actually being that dangerous. He let it stay at that tension long enough to make sure that she understood that he meant business, that he was the one in control here, and then he slowly relaxed it.

“Good girl.” His voice was soft, almost a murmur now, as he locked the chains in place, moving to where ankle shackles were set into the ground. “If you kick me, I will hang you.” It was not a threat, it was a promise, as he approached her from one side and reached out to let his fingers brush against her inner thigh, causing her to flinch in a way that only brought more anticipation to his dark heart. He let his hand drift over the pale, freckled flesh, feeling the tremble of the body under his hand, the coolness of her skin from being naked in this dungeon.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance, all those years ago.” The woman’s voice was harsh, thick with a lack of use. She had been down here for two weeks, after all, and deprived of some of the most basic comforts.

“But you didn’t. I have to say, I’m grateful for it.” His hand drifted lower against her skin, feather-light touch traveling over her knee, brushing her calf, before seizing her ankle in a firm grasp, pulling her leg toward him with a sudden, strong jerk. She made a sound of protest as she struggled to keep her balance and avoid being hanged by her iron collar, and he smirked. Her ankle was soon locked within the shackle, and he was moving around behind her, letting his fingers brush across her hips and the small of her back, before traveling down the outside of her other leg, binding the other ankle in a similar fashion as the first.

His actions left her spread-eagled in the center of the room, completely helpless, red curls spilling down over her breasts, those gray eyes not too unlike his own staring at him in the dim light, full of contempt, resentment… and fear. He was quite happy to see that there was fear there, and felt a throb against the tightened fabric of his pants. “Worried what I’ll do to you? Is that what that look is for?”

“Go jump off your tower, you bastard.” The woman spit in his direction, and he deftly stepped aside as it fell to the ground, returning to the contraption to tighten the chain attached to the collar, now that her feet were bound right where he wanted them. He could see the panic in her eyes as it became harder for her to breathe, her chin lifted by the pull, and his breathing became more shallow.

“That’s not a very kind thing to say. Can you keep your ‘pleasantries’ to yourself, or will I have to gag you, as well?” And goodness knew he had ways to gag her. He reached to a leather strap that hung at his belt, or considered the silk handkerchief in one pocket. Or perhaps he should get her on her knees, and let her taste just what her fear was doing to him.

“Might as well kill me now.” He heard a genuine plea for death behind the bold words, and he shook his head.

“You will not be so lucky.” He moved around behind her, tugging the leather strap free of his belt. One hand caught the end of the strap between two fingers, before tangling the rest of the fingers into her hair, pulling back forcefully so that she cried out in surprise and pain, giving him the opportunity to wrap the rest of the strap around her jaw, into her mouth, pulling it tight. She made an indignant sound against it as he fastened it behind her head, struggling against the bonds that had her held. But it was no use, he had her trapped good and tight. In her weakened state brought on by two weeks down here on bread and water, she was not very effective against him at all.

From his place behind her, he pressed up close, still clothed, but the hard bulge of his manhood pressed between her ass cheeks, hot and throbbing even through the fabric. He grinned at the whimper that she made around the gag, as she realized just what was coming. One of his hands slid along her hip, down that crease between her leg and her torso, slipping into soft folds and seeking out the nub that he knew to be there with a surprisingly gentle touch. She jerked against her bonds again, trying to squirm and struggle her way away from him, but his other hand slid up and pressed her to him, fingers wrapping around the soft mound of one breast and squeezing hard, causing her to make another sound of indignation and fear.

He continued working his fingers against that nub. She was so cold, icy almost, but he could feel the heat beginning in her loins, feel that wetness as her body responded to his gentle, coaxing touch. He was so sure of her body, so familiar with it even after all these years. Soon the rest of her would be flushing, warming, surrendering to his mercy, he was sure of it. He leaned in, releasing his grip on her breast to gather red curls and lift them out of his way, his nose, his lips pressed to the nape of her neck. “Terria… sweet Terria…” Breathed out hotly against her skin as he let his lips, his teeth graze along the back of her neck and exulting in the shivers that he could feel shooting along her spine, as closely pressed as he was. “Did you really think that you could escape me?”

She let out a long, whimpered moan of fear against the gag as he bit down on the side of her neck, sinking in teeth and suckling hard enough to mark her with a mouth-shaped bruise, the first of many that would come tonight, he was sure. He intended to get everything that had been building up for weeks out of his system with this treasured prize of his dungeons. He felt her knees buckling under the shuddering and trembling that she was doing, and he felt her hips writhe toward his hand, the heat of the nub and folds growing into true warmth, the slickness on his fingers hard to miss. He heard her gasp, felt her tensing against him as he worked relentlessly, bringing her to the brink of pleasure.

As soon as he was sure that she was right at the edge, he abruptly withdrew his hand from her nether parts, withdrawing his whole presence from her entirely. She whimpered, panting, head falling forward, trying to catch her breath and maybe regain some of her dignity. He did not let her have that chance, taking the handkerchief from his pocket, and wrapping it around her eyes. Now things would truly get interesting. He remained silent throughout all of this, knowing that she knew him well enough still to know that he would assert his control over her how and when he felt. All the fight was gone out of her, and he was surprised to see her surrendering so easily. Perhaps she was not as strong as he once remembered. Too bad. He was hoping for more of a fight, more of a struggle to further arouse him.

Once she was blindfolded, he stepped back and away from her, reaching down to undo his boots and set them aside. He tugged his dark silk shirt up and off, exposing hard muscles to the cool, damp air of the cell. The laces on his trousers were loosened at last, and his hardened, throbbing penis sprang free, twitching in time with his rapidly pounding heart, engorged to its full, painfully wide girth and length. He let his pants fall to the floor, kicking them loose and toward his boots and shirt, and then stalked quietly toward her. Letting her wonder from where the next touch would come from, taking pleasure in the sound of the chains rattling as she shook with fear and the need that he had ignited in her body. She whimpered again, the anticipation almost too much to bear, and he felt clear droplets leaking from the end of his length as his own anticipation alone brought him close to that edge of ultimate pleasure.

He pressed up against her back, skin to skin, and he felt her go stiff against him in shock and fear and shudder. His hand teased the inside of her thigh, daring to go close to those folds and that swollen pearl again, but never actually touching, causing her knees to give out completely, her weight supported by the shackles on her wrists, her arms flexed to keep from strangling herself. He moved his hips, causing his length to slide between the two firm cheeks of her ass. That part of her, at least, had aged quite well. He groaned, biting down on her shoulder fiercely as it ignited a blaze in his length, a need to find release. She cried out at the pain, and he found his fingers slipping to that nub between her legs once more, tormenting her close to the edge with him, backing off every time that he felt her nearing that point of orgasm.

After several minutes of this agony, he stooped down and seized the base of his own length, driving upward into her as deeply as he could in a single, violent thrust. She was not made to take him like that, not with as huge as he was, and she screamed, choking on the gag, thrashing her head as she tried to squirm her way off his spear. He held her tightly gripped by the hips, forcing her to stay there upon him as he began to move, the sound of her screams lost, mixing in the haze of pleasure that was this moment of violence.

His free hand slid up under one arm, clawing across her breasts, squeezing with the fury of the passion and rage that he was unleashing with every pounding, violent thrust into her. His fingers found her throat, gripping, squeezing, controlling, letting go often enough that she could still continue to scream her sweet pain to his ears. And then… that rush, that point of no return, and he bit down on the side of her neck hard enough to draw blood, tasting that sweet metallic flow in his mouth even as he gave a jerk of a hips up into her. He felt his seed surging hotly into that hole of hers, his body pressed and held tight against her as he let it all empty from him in long, glorious spasms of his cock. After a while of just holding her hard against him, he released his supporting grasp on her as he pulled free of her, wiping his length mostly clean on her ass. She was left trembling, as he knew that he had never let her cross that brink, and he could see the bruises from his hands darkening on her breasts, on her throat, the blood trickling down her right breast from the wound in her throat. It was not a serious wound, but it had spilled blood. He moved around in front of her, although she could not see him with that blindfold on.

“You are at my mercy here. Understand?” He watched as she moaned and nodded weakly, panting, trembling, so close to her own release but denied it cruelly. It almost made him hard again to think of her suffering like this, and like he had planned for her. “My guards need a good whore. You are going to serve my elite, as one of my slaves. Understood?” She was very still for a few minutes, and he could see tears leaking from under the blindfold before she nodded only once. “Good girl.”

He left her like that, and then went to where his clothes were, pulling them back on. “I will make sure that you get fed. The more you behave and do what you’re told, the more privileges you will have. Keep that in mind.” And then he opened the door again, stepping out into the corridor, letting it slam shut behind him, leaving her just as she was, bound and battered, with his seed leaking down her legs.

His personal guards were waiting for him as he exited, and he looked to them both. “We will remain here at this station, until we have all had our chance at fun with her. She needs to be taught her place, and you are going to help me.” He watched as the two of them exchanged confused glances that slowly turned into realization, and then into anticipation. They hesitated, though, sizing each other up, and Lord Blackwell sighed. “You can both go at the same time. In fact, why don’t all three of us make a party of having her.” The thought of watching her suffer more, and at the hands of others as much as himself, was causing that pressure at the front of his trousers to grow once more.

He gestured to his guards to lead the way, knowing that this part of the prison was perfectly safe, and closed the door behind him, unlocked, as the three filed into the cell. She was just hanging there, limply supported by the chains that held her bound. He quickly undressed, gesturing to his guards to do the same, once more standing there in his full glory, all hard muscles and tight sinew. Impressive, for a man of his age, and he could see his men raising their brows.

Lord Blackwell crossed the room to the control box, and loosened the chains. She dropped to hands and knees on the floor, her ankles still bound, her wrists and lovely throat bound still as well even if the chains were slackened. He could see the beautiful bruises that colored her skin, his handiwork, and felt a surge of pride. Not a lesson in dominance that she would soon forget, of that he was certain.

He watched as she shuddered there, making no move to get to her feet again. The sound of sniffles caught his attention. “Terria… are you crying?” She didn’t answer, not by muffled sound against the gag, or a nod or a shake of the head, and he stooped down in front of her, a hand reaching out to lift her chin. She trembled as her throat was bared to him, and he removed the blindfold, meeting her eyes. Her eyes were full of hatred and visibly full of tears, his were only cold and impassive. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, whore.” He even went as far as to undo the gag with his free hand, his other still gripping her chin tightly. “Were you crying?”

“Die.” The word was hissed out as she worked her jaw, recovering from the gag.

He dropped her chin and seemed like he was going to turn away, and then he raised his hand, letting a hard backhanded slap fly, catching her in the jaw with his knuckles. She fell over, sprawled on the ground, unmoving and staring at the ceiling. Her breasts rose and fell with the breaths that she was taking, but she remained oddly silent. This lack of fight in her was both disturbing and satisfying to the dark lord. “I’m disappointed, slave. I expected more out of you, given our history, and your reputation.” He moved to stand over her, one foot to either side of her, dropping down to one knee so that his hard, throbbing length and swollen, aching sac were inches from her face.

“You, of all people, should know that people change.” Her voice was hoarse from all the screaming she had done at his hands only minutes earlier, and she looked worn and weary. But that hatred was still in her eyes, and he could see that anger was lending to fearlessness and a strange sort of acceptance.

“I do know it. Maybe at one point, your tears might have moved me. Not anymore.” He dropped to his other knee, putting his balls against her chin, still sweaty from his rape of her earlier. “Lick them.”

“Make me.” She turned her head away, off to one side, and he let his hands fall. One went to her throat above the iron collar, to squeeze in a bruising manner, cutting off her air, the other to her chin to force her face back to where he wanted it. Her hands lifted, showing some fight after all, clawing at the wrist of the arm that pinned her by the neck to the cold stone floor, clawing at his naked thighs and leaving red gouges from her fingernails, only causing him to growl with the pleasure that the pain brought him, his length throbbing there above her face, clear droplets leaking from the end onto her forehead. “Do what I say, bitch, and I might let you breathe again.” His hand tightened on her throat. He had strangled women for far less slight than she was giving him now.

Her tongue darted out, and he felt that warm, wet touch against his sac, causing his balls to tighten, and another throb to shoot down his length. His grip loosened on her throat, letting her get air, although he kept his hand there for a moment longer, asserting his control completely, before releasing his hold and pushing up to his feet. He gestured to his guards to come forward, and then looked down at her, sneering as she just laid there. “On your knees, slave.” She did not respond for a moment, and he lifted a brow. “Do you need another lesson?”

She groaned, her body bruised and battered, and rolled onto her side, slowly pushing up to sitting before gathering her knees under her. Her head was bowed, and he felt some bit of satisfaction at seeing her so broken. He had dreamed of this day for a long, long time. Fingers lifted to the long scar across his chest, the scar left by her blade years and years ago. Revenge was so sweet at last, and it was only proof that his hard work and patience was beginning to pay off.

“I want you to please me, and then my men. Put your mouth to good use, instead of letting it get you in trouble.” He moved to stand in front of her, his hand falling to her head and gripping in those red curls, forcing her head back to look up at him and meet his eyes, forcing her to rise up on her knees instead of sitting back on her heels as she had been. His other hand went to the base of his thick, long length as he hauled her up to where her face was on a level with his crotch. “Take it, or I force you.”

She glared at him with hatred, unmoving, until her grip in her hair tightened into a point of pain, causing her to cry out. As her mouth opened, he shoved his cock into the warm, wet cavity, forcing it back into the back of her mouth with a hard thrust of his hips, his grip in her hair adjusting her head so that his length was able to get into her throat. He could feel her gagging around him, felt her hands against his thighs, pounding, clawing again. He didn’t care, though. It felt good, and he needed the relief of the ache. “Breathe through your nose, slave. Relax, and this might be pleasurable for you, too.”

He let go of the base of his length, gesturing to one of his guards to come kneel behind her, naked body pressed up against her back. He knew the man was aroused, could see it in the way that the woman’s eyes widened and the sound of protest that she made that hummed against his penis. The guard’s hands moved to cup her breasts, fingers pinching and rolling and tugging the nipples gently, one hand slowly sliding down to the wetness between thighs that must still be there after the last time.

She moaned, the sound vibrating around the dark lord’s length in her throat and mouth, and he gave another push of his hand to cause her head to move on him. Her claws on his thighs balled into fists, but she did not fight any longer, letting him do as he would, closing her eyes with tears streaming down her face as he raped her mouth.

Lord Blackwell watched what she did, watched what the guard behind her did. He could see that the man had moved from fondling her breasts to fondling her ass, letting his fingers play over the taut curves, tracing around the puckered hole almost obsessively and causing the girl to shudder between moaning at what his other hand was doing to her. The dark lord groaned as he felt one of her moans, his hips jerking, eyes closing as he fought to control his breath, to not explode into that delicious mouth yet. “Take her, in the ass.” Spoken in a low growl to the man behind her, knowing that his guard would get pleasure out of it.

He felt her sound of terrified protest against his cock, which stiffened and trembled within her, and his grip on her hair tensed with his efforts to not release that hot surge yet. The clawing against his thighs started again, but he was too far gone to care. He watched his guard angle his long, skinny dick into the edge of the girl’s hole, and then the man thrust forward, violently, and she screamed around the dark lord’s length, trying to draw her head back, unable to do so with his hand in her hair forcing the full length of himself into her throat, his balls banging against her chin with every thrust.

He went still at her scream, burying himself deep, grunting as the fire overwhelmed and his cock spurted, sending a rope of liquid down her throat. “Swallow.” The command was issued as he felt her trying to push back and get away, gagging, crying, screaming at the pain from behind, at the pleasure as the guard still teased her bud. “Swallow, or so help me…”

The threat went unfinished as he felt her surrender to the command. “Good girl.” The words were a low growl, pleased, his body spent for the moment. “Every last drop.” She did so between her screams, and when he was emptied, he pulled his cock out of her mouth, letting her screams ring out through the chamber as the first guard continued to rape her in the ass from behind.

Relaxed, feeling yet another ache grow as he watched, he gestured to the other guard, who was hard and red and throbbing, just waiting for his turn with the girl. She tried to turn her head away from the thick cock that was placed level with her face, but the man’s grip in her hair was just as demanding as his master’s. She found that red-helmeted shaft forced into her mouth, the man’s thrusts even more violent than his lord’s as he sought relief from the lust and the tension that just watching had brought him.

The man thrusting into her ass snaked an arm around, snaring and pinning her arms behind her as he panted, nearing a finish. His lips and teeth worked over her shoulders and the back of her neck, leaving marks that could be seen from a few paces away. That one hand had ceased to work between her thighs, instead claiming her breasts, leaving her trembling and unsatisfied. Lord Blackwell stroked himself idly, carefully, wondering if he would be hard again by the time the first guard finished. It was possible, and he thought that she deserved a little bit of reward for how well she was performing.

The man behind her cried out, arching, jerking hard into her and holding for a moment. Once he was spent, he withdrew, letting his seed mixed with her blood leak from her. The second guard finished at nearly the same time, and she swallowed obediently, not even fighting this time. They withdrew from her, leaving her to fall to the floor on hands and knees, panting, weeping, sobbing.

Lord Blackwell withdrew his hand from himself, hard enough for what he intended, and knowing he would grow harder. He moved to stand in front of her, and made a gesture that she should roll over. “On your back.”

“Enough… please…” Her hoarse, desperate pleading caused his half-hardened length to twitch, growing firmer.

“Do as I tell you, or I will find enough guards to make this last all day and all night. I am not sure that you could survive that.” The dark lord’s voice was unsympathetic, implying that he did not care at all, and he watched almost impassively as she collapsed to the ground and rolled onto her back, still sobbing.

He settled himself between her legs, guiding his length to her hole, pushing himself in, feeling himself grow harder as he entered, that fire shooting up his spine once again. His arms slid under her back, supporting her, cradling her to him, almost tender as he spent what remained of his lust on her with gentle thrusting, one hand sliding to massage that pearl between her thighs with an expert touch, feeling her tense and tremble against him. He held off his own release, his thrusts turning slow and tense as her moaning grew louder, into small screams. And then he felt her around him, that release that she had been denied for these two hours or more, and it triggered his own spasm, emptying whatever might possibly be left of his seed into her. He held her while her aftershocks subsided and her body grew limp, then pulled from her, leaving her passed out there on the cold stone floor, spent and abused. He brushed almost gentle fingers across the bruises on her skin, and then stood.

His guards had already dressed again, and he moved to do the same, knowing that he would need to bathe soon. He reeked of sex and sweat and blood. He took the key from the contraption on the wall, tucking it back into his pocket, and then gestured to the guards to precede him out of the cell. Once outside, the door was closed, the locks redone, and the key removed and returned to his pocket with the other one.

The regular guards were returning with their reports, and he watched as they flushed a bit at the smell of sex that came off of him and the two elite guards. Lord Blackwell fixed all three of the younger men with a steely gaze, giving his instructions. “Make sure that she is fed well tonight, with a real meal from the kitchens, and wine if she wants. Make sure that she is given clean straw to sleep on, and a bath if she would like. Also, make sure that a physician attends to her, and soon.”

They all three bowed, thumping fists to heart and not asking any questions, and Lord Blackwell nodded, satisfied. Then, with his elite guard in step behind him, he made his way out of the dungeon and toward his private chambers to prepare himself with food and rest and a bath for the things that were to begin tomorrow.