Chapter 7
"I have an idea," said Megan brightly. "Have you ever worked in a kitchen, my dear?"
Megan gave a snort of disbelief. "That's as maybe," she said carefully. "Well, I think a spell in the kitchen might knock such stupid ideas from your head."
"I agree," said Gareth. "Are we going to dress her?" The question was asked softly as if the lad hoped that the answer would be negative.
A finger tapped Megan's lips as she thought. Finally, she shook her head. "Let's take her down just as she is. She'll enjoy doing kitchen tasks with her body free of the encumbrance of clothes."
"Must I wear clothes?" Gareth stroked the silky erection peeping hugely and coyly from his loincloth.
"Certainly, you must," Megan said crossly. "We cannot demean ourselves in front of the servants."
Zacora felt Megan's hands stroking the broad welts which stood proud from the rest of the flesh. The girl knew that the woman was admiring her handiwork and watching the fine silk flutter at her touch. "Hm," she murmured. "Delicious, and you enjoyed it, didn't you, my precious?" Zacora shuddered at the false endearment. "Don't shake your head for I know that you did."
Brother and sister dressed hurriedly. Zacora was looped pliantly over the whipping saddle, awaiting the next command.
"Get up!" The command was snapped as Megan smoothed her short silky dress. It lay tightly on her plump frame, pulling across her breast pillows and skimming the hillocks of her bottom. She looked scathingly at Gareth.
He was wearing a loose white shirt. Over this was a hunting green jerkin, belted at the waist and reaching the top of his slim thighs. His largest attribute lay long and thick, nestling under his hose. His thin face was eager as he prepared to follow Megan.
"Go!" said Megan, pushing Zacora in front of her.
The girl knew that her scarlet beaten buttocks were being examined as they walked. She was conscious of the silver trails of Gareth's spume coating her legs as it ran down the peachy skin.
"What shall we do in the kitchen?" asked Gareth.
"Nothing." Megan smacked Gareth's lank hair and grimaced at the grease. "We just give orders and make other people work."
"Oh." Zacora heard disappointment in Gareth's voice. His chill hands were testing the perfect peach halves of her buttocks, flushed to delicate ripeness by the beating.
There was a smacking sound, solid and somehow pleasantly comforting. Megan was slapping her own thigh with a long lash chosen earlier. In her other hand she held a drumstick with a beautifully smooth globe, large like a good sized orange.
Zacora swept an anxious glance over her satin-smooth shoulder. Both Megan and Gareth grinned cruelly at her, waving the implements tantalisingly. The girl bowed her head, shuffling a little in the awkward chains. Her long pale hands were clasped together, the thumbs brushing the silver, fluffy nest. Megan, skipping along in front, watched the movement.
"Oh, do it more, dear," she urged, "Slip both thumbs into the sweetness of the cleft. Stroke your own slipperiness up and down and graze the tip."
Zacora looked up at the woman. All the girls in her class in Lokara were taught about self-pleasure, but it was for the entertainment of their husbands or future husbands; to be done in the privacy of the bedchamber not in some public place for all to see.
"I was taught that it is wrong."
"Never mind all that nonsense. Do as you are told. Entertain us as we walk to the kitchens."
Gareth joined Megan, having feasted his eyes to the full of the swollen redness of the well-disciplined bottom. "Yes, do it," he urged, his sex sword massively thick under his stretched hose. His hands rubbed urgently at the monstrous swelling and Zacora saw his eyes glint excitedly as her thumbs trembled at the silver mound. Tears glazed her deep blue eyes and her whole body trembled with the depth of her embarrassment.
Her face flushed to a delicate rose, Zacora tentatively slipped both thumbs between already swollen outer petals. She looked at the two watchers through thick fluttering lashes, as if to ask if she was going about the task correctly. They nodded avidly.
"Open those little sweeties up," Megan urged. The tip of her lash touched the silver fronded pouting outer lips.
The blush grew deeper, but she did as she was bid. The two watchers walked backwards, not wanting to miss a moment, their eyes focused downwards. With thumbs only, Zacora peeled the lips right back, revealing a sex bud which was scarlet and jutting from the tiny hood. A new feeling swept over her. The humiliation was replaced by pride and she walked with her pubis thrust forward, neat but plump.
Gareth groaned, leaning forward to look more closely. He could still see a pearly ring of his foamy seed gathered at her open, obviously willing, entrance.
"Use your middle finger to rub that lovely nubbin," ordered Megan. She prodded the shining scarlet bud of flesh with her lash, loving it when the girl shuddered at the stroking touch.
Their progress to the kitchen was slower now, for all three were engrossed in what was going on in the girl's sex pouch. A slender dexterous finger was flickering up and down each side of the slippery shaft. The silver fluff of the pubis seemed to puff outwards like a peacock's chest. The swollen lips were firmly held back by obedient thumbs. The loose chains from wrists to ankles grazed the long legs as the girl walked, tantalising herself. The movement of the chain made the action more sensual, more slave-like.
Suddenly, the arch of the slender back became more pronounced and a husky whimper was drawn from the girl. The silver fronded pubis jerked and she pulled fiercely on the plump lips with her thumbs.
"Beautiful!" whispered Megan. "Take the middle finger away to show us how it jerks." There was the splendid nubbin, swollen to twice the normal size and glowing with heat. It danced on the moist flush of the silky sex bud, pulsing with energy. The tip jerked out from the hood, looking almost angry as well as joyful. Megan could not resist giving it a playful flick with the very tip of the lash.
Gareth was panting and his sex sword throbbed in his hose. He reached out to the still open sex pouch, feeling the heat and generous streaming of moisture produced by the girl. "We've never had one as willing, Megan," he said hoarsely. "She's the one that Harold has been looking for all these years, isn't she?"
"She's what we've all been looking for," said Megan wistfully.
The heat from the kitchen seeped from the partially open door and there was the spitting sound of a large piece of meat being cooked on a spit. There were voices, one man's voice raised in anger and several girls laughing and chattering.
Megan flung open the heavy door and her large presence was sufficient to stop the noise. The chief cook, like all the male servants, wore only the small loincloth. He was busy smacking a maid servant, thrown across his knee, her many frilled coarse petticoats drawn to her waist. Her chubby naked bottom glowed with the friction created by his hands and the tremendous heat from the huge kitchen range.
"Problems?" asked Megan, pushing Zacora before her. Her blonde head hung low, allowing the silvery curtain to sway about her oval face.
"The usual," said the cook. He pushed the little maid from his lap and stood, tall and proud. He was looking eagerly in Zacora's direction. "This young madam," he said, prodding the toe of his soft leather boot on the reddened bottom of the maid, "fancied giving herself a little pleasure with one of the master's carrots."
Gareth gaped; his eyes wide with lust. "Is it still there?" He turned the maid over, revealing her lush dark brown thatch. Disappointment was patently obvious on his thin face to find that no root vegetable protruded.
"Is this a new girl?" The chef reached out, feeling the firm flesh of Zacora's breasts, testing their weight and meatiness. He turned her round, cupping the cheeks of her buttocks. He made Zacora feel that she was so much meat being tested for roasting. "She must have clothing or she may be damaged." He gave her another sharp perusal. "I'm surprised you wish her to work in the kitchen. She is such a beauty I should have thought that she would be more suitable for the bedchamber - for Harold."
"We're giving her lots of tests," piped up Gareth, "and one of them is to be in the kitchen. There are so many varieties of toys in kitchens, are there not?"
The chef smiled. "Indeed there are, young master."
Megan tutted in annoyance. "We're wasting time. I still have my lash to use and my drumstick." She looked around. "May I use your milking stool, chef?"
"Of course, mistress."
Megan moved the milking stool close to the range with the blazing fire and the turning spit. "Kneel over this," she ordered Zacora, "and make sure that your breasts are nicely separated over the stool."
Zacora knelt by the fire. Heat blasted from the cooking fire and she could feel her pale skin flush and sweat break out in tiny pearly beads on her naked skin. Submissively, she swept her long arms behind her and wriggled slightly to position her breasts as Megan required.
"Bottom raised, if you please," Megan said crisply.
The heat was unbearable and Zacora looked up at her tormentors, pleading for a cooler place to receive further beatings, for she was sure that was to be her fate.
"Now, now," chided Megan. "This will not do." She placed firm hands on the arches of Zacora's hips and lifted the full buttocks high. She cossetted each breast very precisely on each side of the stool, patting them lightly as if they were soft scoops of butter, fresh from the churn. Firm hand on the tumbled softness of the golden hair, she forced the girl's head down to the stone floor.
She watched Zacora flinch, waiting for further blows. "Shuffle your knees apart, thighs wide," Megan ordered.
The girl's body was gleaming with sweat; slick with it. Silvery streams joined and flickered in the dancing light of the huge fire.
Tendrils of hair, soaked now with sweat, sprang into tight curls around her oval face. Her body glowed as though every inch had taken severe punishment, but, obedient and pliant as ever, she remained as she had been placed.
Megan rolled her smooth wooden drumstick along the hollow of the captive's back, wetting it in the pools of perspiration gathered in the hollow between shoulders and buttocks. She placed the polished globe at the entrance of the girl's body. This was slick with a slippery mixture of sweat and love sap. Megan played the globe between the wet silvery lips, feeling how these clutched tenderly at the intrusion.
The kitchen staff gathered to watch the diversion and seemed not to mind the severe heat blasting from the fire. "Lift further, my dear," Megan urged. "Let your admirers see how prettily your pouch opens for an audience."
Zacora, humiliated though she was, arched her buttocks as high as they would go, knowing that she would love the swirling sensation of a watched orgasm. She could feel her nubbin pressing hard against the drumstick, delighting in the polished smoothness. Suddenly, the wooden globe was pressed forward by Megan and Zacora gasped at the sudden thick intrusion. It was what was needed to bring her to her climax
The assembled audience gasped as they watched the large globe enter the gaping, milky gateway and the glowing, erect nubbin jerk ecstatically on the polished stick.
"Shall I remove it?" asked Gareth, reaching forward.
"No!" said Megan sharply. "I wish it to be left in for the next stage."
Gareth stroked the girl's glowing body. "She's burning," he said.
Megan shrugged. "So am I." She ran her sweating hands down her black dress, clinging tightly to her ample curves. She took the long thin lash from the top of her stocking, where she had placed it to leave her hands free. It made a sharp crack as she tested it upon the stone floor. The kitchen staff stepped back, not wishing to be in the path of the lash when it was cracked again.
The finely cut leather whipped across the splayed buttocks and the girl murmured softly. It wasn't a moan of pain, for the bulbous drumstick was still inserted. It was a moan of strange pleasure, hissed out between clenched teeth.
"Again," hissed the chef. "Let us see you measure her buttocks with the lash again."
The spread bottom tensed, ready for another lash of pain. Zacora could feel her breasts, one each side of the stool, become tender and swollen with the surfeit of desire. Hot liquid took slow streams along the deeply inserted drumstick and she knew that she presented a most lewd sight. Somehow this thought made the molten heaviness in her belly all the greater.
The lash snaked around her tender body; first from one side and then the other. The thin strip of leather was becoming wet as it soaked up the salty fluid of Zacora's sweat.
Light-headed and satiated, she softly murmured that her orgasms were many. The stone floor around the stool was dark with a mixture of fluids. Her golden hair was saturated, falling in many tiny ringlets around her.
"Enough," said Megan.
The kitchen workers fell back, returning to their tasks. The chef stared down at the girl, gleaming and shining in the firelight; stared down at the buttocks striated with fine red lines; stared dawn at the polished intrusion in the liquid heat of the sex pouch. His climaxes had come fast and furious as he watched the lashing and he too was now satiated.
Gareth could not restrain himself. In watching the lovely Zacora take her discipline, he found it necessary to seek out the kitchen maid. Petticoats swished high over her head, he flung her face down upon the scrubbed deal table and took her from the rear. To mimic Zacora he made the pretty little buttocks hotly inflamed with the flat of his palm before spreading them to their limit.
The female entrance of the maid was creamily lubricated, open and ready and Gareth plunged in with gusto. She wriggled her bottom, which encouraged him to go in to the hilt. He could feel her cushiony flesh stretch with his wide girth and he could feel his male sword pulsing, almost before he was fully inserted. His spume gushed before he was ready. He tried to prevent it, by pulling back from the warm pouch. Nevertheless, it fountained over the burning skin stretched so tightly across the proud hillocks.
At this juncture, Zacora was still receiving the light flicking of the thin whip and within moments Gareth was erect again. Using his own hot seed, he massaged the struggling maid's rear entrance, opening it up first with one finger, then two and then three. She was bearing down her lovely bottom, which urged him to intrude into the tight little hole. She moaned loudly, especially when he reached around her to spread her nether lips and tickled her nubbin.
At last, Zacora, still chained, was taken from the kitchen and given a place to sleep. It was a narrow cot, to which she was tightly tethered, her wrists stretched high above her head and ankles pulled wide to each side of the iron frame. A rough blanket was thrown over her to keep out the cold, but it also served to irritate her punished, tender skin.
She lay awake for many hours in her discomfort, but in those sleepless hours she thought about the strength of the man she saw in the carriage; his smile, confident and powerful, He was the man she wished to pleasure for the rest of her life.
But she did not know him. He might be cruel, like this evil Aunt of his and her repugnant son, wishing to inflict pain without the pleasure of love.
Her mind flashed back to the jailer and she shuddered at his crudeness, but she must admit that he gave her pleasure.
The sedan bearers used her, but were they any worse than Ogham who took away her innocence and ruined her life? No-one believed in her nobility and everyone she met treated her as a slave. Would it always be so, for the rest of her life?
As the dawn broke she fell into a fitful sleep full of strange dreams.