Knight in Amour

Resistance is futile

19/02/2008 06:45 Willowcombe Manor

The exhausted men make their way back to the slaves stable in dribs and drabs. War watches them go but feels no need to follow. The revelations from Second of Randal make it even more vital he meets up with Kirsty in private to find out what she is up to. By the time the sunrises he is the only one left in the kitchen. He carried the pots the men used and washes up them up in the scullery. He persuades himself that he is doing it to fit with the cover, that at least this way if one of the women spots him he can justify his presence in the house as still obeying Kirsty's command. But that does not stop Emrys voice from taunting him that still being under the woman's thumb.

By the time the pile is clean, War is sure that the women are back in their rooms and asleep. He heads up the back staircase and on to the top landing. Their is a stillness about the building, more than the quietness of a sleeping house. He pauses looking down the two corridors. He is sure their is some magical effect I place, but deprived of his ward he has no way of detecting it. He looks down at the carpet runner. There is something about the pattern as he stares at it that niggles at him. It is more than just the pattern; the intertwining vines with leaves is a common feature in the house, and given what happened too him a few nights before all too appropriate. As he stares at it, the colours seem to shift, some tendrils glowing brighter than others. The shape it forms is familiar but he can not directly place it. There is a strange sense of déjà vu. But not his normal displaced memory déjà vu, the type the experts in Broadmere dismissed as an over lap between his long and short term memory. This has no associated memory. This is something different. He watches the colours shift and patterns flow. Then it strikes him he is missing the obvious. This is not just a carpet. There is some magical element woven into the material. When he was shown up here in the first evening he was instructed to walk only on the carpet in order to make sure not to disturb the mistresses. Clearly there is more here than just their peace and quiet. He pads down the wooden floor, taking care not to touch the runner. As he reaches Kirsty's door he pauses looking over the wooden structure. Once again the interleaving vines follow the same pattern. What ever magical effect is active on the runners is also active on the door. It stops him and he stands staring at the door almost frozen. He knows he has to see Kirsty he has no other option but to take a risk and open the door.

The room is dark. The curtain pulled across blocks out almost all of the light. He has to let his eyes adjust before he risks moving. He scans the room. There is a pile in the corner, his jacket on the top. For some reason the sight of his clothes brings a rush of relief. He pads over to them, reaching for the jacket pocket in hope that the car keys are still there but as his fingers touch the fabric the voice stops him.

Her voice.

"At last. I have been calling you for hours."

He freezes. His finger tips are touching the fabric, he can almost see the imprint of the car key but he can not move. Her voice seems to have removed all impetus from his muscles. He feels her move next to thin, sliding round on the bed to sit on the edge next to him. He feels her hand run down his back, her finger nails following the line of the muscle.

"Pretty pet." She whispers.

Still he can not move. He wants to turn and demand and explanation for her behaviour so far, to find out what Second meant by him being offered as a sacrifice. But this mouth will not form the words. He can feel the same mindless desire that caught him in the banqueting room rising again. An impulsion to turn and kneel at her feet and looks up and stare at her beauty. He fights against it, but the only way he can do that is to not move at all. He feels her stand. The warmth of her body next to hers. She moves round in front of him, standing over his clothes.

"Look at me Warren." she commands.

Warren, not first, or boy or pet. He sighs and turns his eyes up towards her. His eyes running up her body. She is clothed in a fresh white robe, but it is low enough cut to reveal her cleavage, and more importantly the bare piece of skin where her Asylum issued ward should be. He raises his eyes the rest of the way to her face.

The sneer is still there. She may have called his Warren but it is clear she means 'Boy'. He swallows feeling the desire to worship her building again. She reaches down and runs her hand over his cheek. Moving up the side of his face until she takes hold of his ear.

"What took you so long to answer my summons?" Her finger nails dig into the delicate skin of the lobe.

He gasps. "Your orders. I was busy in the scullery."

"And we're you a good boy?" she asks, she pulls harder on his ear.

"Yes." he responds.

She lets go of his ear kicks his clothes away. "You wont be needed any of those again." she says.

"Mistress."

"I like the sound of that." she says. "You say it so well. I am sure I will miss it." she walks past him. "May be I should record it."

War swallows. He feels her move up behind him. Something loops round his neck, a braid of red leather. He can feel her groin press against the back of his head.

"Stop resisting me Warren." She says. "You have felt how good it is to serve, you know how we will punish if you disobey. Why are you still holding out?"

"We are here for a reason." War says firmly. He tries of say her name but his tongue rebels and he hears himself add. "Mistress."

She laughs. He feels her kneel down behind him. "You reason is me." she whispers."You remember that?"

He swallow, his throat working hard against the tightness of the braid, and nods.

"Then obey me." She commands. She pulls on the braid, the leather cuts into his neck resisting the flow of blood. He feels the world grey at the edges as asphyxia threatens. His mouth works noisesly as he tries the beg. Then she releases the braid. He falls forwards on to hands an knees. His lungs gasp for the air and his head spins with the sudden oxygenation. A wave of gratitude hits him as he realises his mistress has gifted him with life for a few more moments at least. It is the chink in the armour the charm has been waiting for. He closes his eyes and feels the desire to serve her erupt whipping out all othe thoughts from his brain. He turns towards her, almost falling over himself in his eagerness.

Kirsty laughs at him and stands. "Here beast!" she commands, pulling on the braid, using it to lead him over to the bed. He crawls after her, gasping as the braid threatens to to choke him once more.

"Yes, that's better." She says. Sitting down on the bed and bring him to kneel before her. "I need you good and obedient and a well behaved little slave if this is going to go off with out a hitch." she spreads her legs wide, the robe rinsing up to reveal her nakedness beneath. "So little pet, get licking." She pushes his head toward her body, threatening for a moment to sufforcate him with her flesh instead. The smell of her arousal fills his nose, his tongue reaches out eager to once more fill his belly with her juices. She laughs in pleasure, not just from the physical sensations his tongue is creating, but also from the waves of energy she can feel pouring into her from his submission. "Oh yes." she writhes beneath his attention until she can stand no more. She falls back onto the bed, her arms wide and her head spinning. "Enough slave." she commands. "You have my permission to stay and be a good little guard War."

But by then War has no idea what she is saying. He is long gone. Instead First of Morgan stares up at his mistress in total submission as her snores fill the room.