Profane Rituals Satanic Slave s Surrender
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Serad Surrender free porn video
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]
Lauryn
- 21.08.2021
- 27
- 0
