The Damsel’s Duel

Literotic asexstories – The Damsel’s Duel by CitizenHotel,CitizenHotel
This story, a collaboration with the ultra-talented Planets-Of-Orion, is intended to be light-hearted but contains depictions of sexism, humiliation, groping and bondage. Please don’t read if those things are likely to upset you.

1. Isabella

My name is Isabella Valett, and I dare say you can imagine me if you try. Picture a raven-haired, hazel-eyed beauty with long, lithe legs, a buxom and yielding figure and a tight heart-shaped rear often clad in leather. Can you see me in your mind’s eye? No, no! Much prettier than that. Very well: that’s better.

I came to court three years ago after spending some years abroad with the Countess Delacourt, my sponsor and patron and one of the most debonair noble ladies one could possibly imagine. A skilled duellist of the Red Sash school, I was at first known instead for my great beauty, my foreign dress mixed with homegrown good looks creating a sensation at court. That all changed when a respected knight attempted to impress upon me his importance and I challenged him to a duel. At first he tried to take it easy on me, but within a minute he was fighting for his life. He yielded quickly after being run through in the leg and I made a small fortune from his ransom.

You are not familiar with ransoms? Then let me explain. Court duels are traditionally fought for a purse held by the seconds and handed over in the event of a yield. In practical terms this is the reward for the victor. In theory they could choose to keep the loser as a captive and hold out for a larger sum, but while this is legally permissible, it is very much not the done thing in modern circles. For my part, I always won, always left my opponent alive, and always took the ransom. After a string of successes against noted duellists I became known as the “Lady’s Blade”, taking up arms in defence of any insulted woman who had no recourse to vengeance or justice. The women of the court knew me as their protector, and I made a goodly amount of money picking these fights.

I was considered unbeatable… or at least difficult enough to beat that the court’s finest duellists would not want to risk the humiliation of losing to a pretty woman in a tight blouse and high-heeled boots. Countless clumsier and less experienced swordsmen, by contrast, thought to make a name for themselves by defeating the Lady’s Blade, so my rapier remained busy, and I grew in confidence and reputation. I was so active, indeed, that it would have been a simple matter for a perceptive observer to watch me fight three times a week and learn everything he needed to know about my style and its weaknesses. But who would do such a thing?

2. Charles

Any fool could see the girl was no fencer.

I presume she realised that her reach and strength were no match for those of a man – and they plainly were not – so she developed a crude and lazy counterfighting style. She would sit back and wait to be attacked, hoping for an opportunity to either wound her overstretched opponent or, if that failed, sit back again and let him tire himself out. Many men, either trying to impress her or embarrassed to be fighting a mere wench, would walk into her trap by overattacking, so she was able to snatch a few victories. But her actual skills were mediocre.

As, for that matter, was her stamina, which was shockingly limited for a professional fighter. I perceived at once that she was moving far less than her opponent, and began to struggle with her breathing whenever she was properly exercised – something that I imagine was exacerbated by the absurd corsets she wore to the duelling grounds. By this time, however, it was obvious to me why she dressed in this fashion. On the rare occasions when the girl was forced to go on the offensive, she would preface this with a cheap distraction: a twirl which set her silly red sash fluttering, a low duck giving her opponent an eyeful of cleavage, a bladebind where her legs would rub sensually against her opponent. The momentary advantage would give her the opportunity needed to score a critical cut, and this accounted for the remainder of her wins.

Nobody else seemed to have realised, but it was obvious to me how the Lady’s Blade could be beaten. When she was low on stamina, biting down and walking forward would be straightforward, and the wench was entirely too weak to do even decently in the grapple. She was dangerous, perhaps, but eminently beatable by the right man.

3. Isabella

It was the usual caddish behaviour that led us to the duelling grounds. He had compromised the honour of one of my closest friends, and when challenged, went so far as to speak slightingly of the Countess Delacourt. Naturally, I sought satisfaction, and looked forward to receiving it. Although it seemed more likely that the coward would leave town.

Yet here he was.

“You dare to face me! How very feisty of you,” he said, with quite remarkable insolence. “And how very foolish.

“I know you think you are unbeatable, pretty wench, but I advise you to run on home while you still can. Duelling is a profession for men, not little girls who can barely lift their daddy’s sword.”

I smiled, sinking back to stand with all of my weight on a single hip. I looked to all intents and purposes like a cat, the slight jumping of my long leg like a tail’s swish before pouncing. The fool had no idea of the danger he was in.

“Good sir, I’ve heard this twaddle more times than I can count from arrogant perverts like yourself who think I’m fit to do nothing but pour your drink and bat my eyes prettily. Duelling already is my profession, and I have nothing to prove to you. Yet you’ll find this feistiness shall be more than enough to overcome a rat such as you.”

The man was vermin. Yet stood here, before half of the court – including several women I held in high esteem – I admit to feeling a smidge of stage nerves at the prospect of losing to such a reprehensible lowlife cad. There wasn’t the faintest chance of it happening, but even the idea was intolerable.

4. Charles

My barbs seemed to be stinging the girl, I noticed, as if they struck a chord from something long ago. Nothing was betrayed on her face, precisely, but there was something about her posture that told me she was unsettled. Presumably her father did not approve of her profession. What an insecure little creature she was. How best could I turn that to my advantage?

“You may think you have nothing to prove, my dear, but I suspect you have been having to prove yourself ever since you entered the world,” I drawled. “Even now you are concerned about how you appear. This is a duel, not a parade. You are playing at being a duellist, and the game ends tonight.

“I suppose you will wish to know, incidentally, how to address me as you beg for mercy. You may continue to call me sir, the correct mode by which a serving wench speaks to her master, and you have no need to use my name. Nevertheless, it may interest you to know to whom you are about to lose a duel, and your dignity.”

5. Isabella

I shook my head frustratedly. I addressed all of my opponents as sir, and could think of nothing else to call him.

“I have little enough interest in dead men, sir,” I said. “But feel free to speak your piece. When you’ve had your turn my blade will speak for me.”

I heard two of the gentlemen laugh to one another. My hand came to rest on my blade, the familiar rapier comfortable in my hand, as I tried to tell myself that they, and what they thought of me calling any man sir, meant nothing to me in this moment. The fool was smiling too, enjoying the fact that his little joke had paid off.

“My name is Sir Charles Rakesteel, girl,” he said, “and I imagine you have heard of me, and very likely thought of me in your more intimate moments. I look forward to teaching you the rudiments of fencing tonight. We should begin with that amateurish stance of yours.”

I knew of him, of course. Sir Charles was a notoriously dissolute young scoundrel whose behaviour had scandalised half the continent. He was known for heavy drinking, high-stakes gaming, reprehensible slipperiness when it came to love affairs and ladies’ honour, and a total unwillingness to ever work hard. I could barely believe he had read a book from cover to cover, let alone learned how to fence. But he was, I had to admit, a strikingly tall and handsome figure, with dark stubble and bright blue eyes. Perhaps there was some strength in those well-muscled arms – but surely no skill to be worried about.

I drew my eyes away, shaking my head as I tried to ignore his undeniable good looks. I could see my good friend Miss Davenport looking from the sidelines and blushing. How could this man have treated such a fine lady so callously, only for the two of them to be found together in an alcove, his hands around her wrists and his lips against hers? The question made my blood boil, and I knew that he would answer for it!

“My style is clearly unknown to you, sir,” I said. “You have not known a Red Sash Blade Dancer before. But rest assured, you shall know one now. As for anything I have to prove, it sounds like you have naught but postulations and theories! You seek to undermine me, but it shan’t work.”

In spite of my confidence, I felt myself tense and correct my stance slightly as if instructed, drawing my blade and holding it level with his own, my weight resting on my back foot, both of my arms up as I sat down slightly into the stance. I moved more fluidly than this normally, yet I felt compelled to now show this man how a fencer of true skill conducted herself.

“Oh, we are here to dance, are we?” he said. “Now there at least is an occupation where wenches are almost as good as men. Perhaps you could dance for me while I sit and drink some ale. Go and fetch me a mug, and quickly.”

Sir Charles clicked his fingers and smiled at the ripple of laughter from the many onlookers. I had never been considered obedient, but flinched at his command and felt a frustrated blush cross my creamy cheeks.

6. Charles

I was thoroughly enjoying the wench’s obvious embarrassment and rising temper. She was delightfully easy to provoke.

“Sir,” said she, “were you on fire I would not give you a mug of ale with which to douse yourself! You have crossed lines that should not be crossed, and this court shall not welcome you or accept you into its bosom any longer. You will be gone, and you will stay gone, once I have collected your ransom. If you come back I shall merely keep collecting your ransom until you haven’t the money for the carriage out. Then again, perhaps I should say it is your father’s ransom? I doubt very much you have earned a penny of it.”

“I assure you, my dear Bella, I have been accepted into plenty of bosoms in this court, some almost as pert and inviting as the one you seem to be trying to distract me with,” I replied. “A most enjoyable tactic. Do carry on.

“As for earning… well, only fools spend their lives working for a living, don’t you think? I take what I want. Perhaps if you beat me you’ll end up collecting money I took easily from that fat old uncle of yours at vingt-et-un. Remember him? The one you hoped would never come to court again? He’s just over there.”

I waved cheerily.

“Oh dear. Don’t tell him I said so, but I believe he’s drunk. Before you get back the takings from Uncle Septimus’s hardware shop, however, you’ll need to beat me first. And I have seen something else that I want.

“En garde!”

7. Isabella

My blade dropped briefly and my stance weakened as my hand darted hastily before my blouse, and I heard another chorus of laughter. I always found performing before a crowd to be so distracting… Then… How did he meet Uncle Septimus?! I cursed under my breath. The old man knew too much about my family history and was an appalling braggart. I had no clue how much this ruffian knew of my past and that unsettled me… then the dance was called and my blade came up again, clattering against Sir Charles’ own as I took a step back, expecting him to lunge for me and open himself up to counters as so many had before.

“I think you will find many have wanted me, sir, yet few have been capable of taking me. I trust you at least shan’t hide behind your blade and make me dig you out before I slay you. Do you have the nerve to face me?”

“Oh, Bellissima,” he laughed, “how you wound me! You think me a coward. Perhaps I am. But fortunately I was able to borrow Uncle Septimus’s jug and bolster my courage that way.”

There were hoots of laughter as Uncle Septimus broke into a snore.

8. Charles

“I hope everyone took note,” I said to the crowd, “of Belle’s little feint and back-step there. She learnt that at the Little Girls’ School of Swordfighting and now uses it in every duel. Luckily I have been watching her little tricks and can reveal to you all how to beat the so-called Lady’s Blade with the greatest of ease.”

Rather than lunging forward as the wench expected, I feinted lightly to the left, jumped to the right, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder as she swiped clumsily at empty air.

“Our arrogant lady duellist is going to receive instruction this day, and you will all get to enjoy the show.”

9. Isabella

They say a good duellist can detect the difference between a feint and the real thing by observing the eyes of her opponent, the display of killer intent. I am a good duellist. But it takes a truly great duellist to feint with killer intent and make an opponent think it is real.

I could see his lunge coming left and up and was moving across the blow before I could think, prepared to spear Sir Charles’ shoulder with perfect technique, only to be shocked as he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, but half a yard to the right with the flat of his blade smacking painfully across my shoulder in a blow that could’ve easily been a slice to my neck. I stumbled out of stance clumsily as the weight I was relying on having my sword pierce suddenly wasn’t there, provoking another laugh from the cad’s male supporters… including my Uncle Septimus. I blushed again, shaking my head as my rapier came between us once more and I righted my stance.

“Very well sir, you’ve done your homework on me, haven’t you? You think you know all of the steps to this dance. But the Lady’s Blade did not get that name with the waltz, she learned it from the tango!”

I knew I had to go off book.

10. Charles

The wench ducked low and I saw a sliver of her creamy, ample cleavage, before her red sash was thrown in my face. There was a blinding speed to the flurry of thrusts and cuts that followed, but something seemed to have made the wench’s work less convincing, and more predictable. And I knew this speed would tire her out quickly.

The blades rang loudly as they crashed together again and again and again – one could almost see sparks flying as I parried most of the thrusts and dodged the rest. Eventually her stamina ran out and she stepped back to catch a breath, her tightly corseted chest rising and falling as I was treated to another eyeful of cleavage… but this time on my terms. The upper surface of her breasts was damp with sweat and her face flushed with the effort.

Then her pretty eyes opened wide with shock as she realised that I was yawning. And her precious red sash… it had been casually tucked into the front of my leather britches.

“Are you quite finished with your little dance, wench? I was about to tell everyone a most amusing anecdote I picked up from your uncle. It’s to do with your family name. Would you like me to proceed?”

11. Isabella

I fought well, felt my blade pass through air where he had been just a moment before more than a few times, but youth, agility and (I hated to admit it) incredible skill gave him the ability to stay just a step ahead the whole time without seemingly breaking a sweat. I leaned forward, trying to hide my amazement, wondering if he was the greatest fencer to ever walk the earth without, somehow, word being passed around of his skill and deeds. I lacked the stamina to press the pace of the fight any further yet he had not come close to losing his composure. I needed to wait for him to press the attack; hopefully I could take him as he came in, but against a blade of this calibre… I almost wanted to yield on the spot. He had taken my defensive stance, my red sash, and my best swordplay, and made a mockery of all of them. The men were openly laughing at me now. I blushed as I saw two or three of my female supporters looking shocked.

Then he mentioned my family name and my head snapped up, wisps of black hair falling down over my face. I tried to keep my voice steady as I said: “I would rather you not speak of my family or its name, sir.”

12. Charles

There was something in the quality of that “Sir”… Previously it had sounded dismissive, or embarrassed, or angry, but now it carried the faintest hint of… pleading? It might have been imperceptible to the crowd but I knew the wench was desperate to avoid discussion of her family. I smiled broadly to see my words produce exactly the effect I wanted.

“Well, Izzy-Belly, I suppose that depends which name we’re talking about. The one you gave to Countess Delacourt when she took you under her wing, or the one your father went by back in that shit-heap village he grew up in… What was it called again? Crapville? Turdhampton?”

The crowd were openly jeering her now. They had decided that they wanted the wicked gambler to win his prize.

“If you want me to stay quiet, you had better finish the dance quickly. But I suspect you are beginning to regret dressing like a tuppenny whore. Not too practical, are they, those high heels? And that corset… dear me.”

I stood with what I knew was an infuriating grin on my face, daring her to make the first move.

13. Isabella

The man’s leering grin, the crowd of people who I’d thought were on my side now booing me, the women of high breeding trying to think of ways to distance themselves from me. I felt so silly, so stupid, stood in my tight, sensual clothing, which I thought at first had cost me this contest. But deep down I knew, I had lost this contest quite simply because my opponent was so much better than me.

“I will take that red sash back from you sir… I will take it back!”

I lunged like a hellcat, fast enough to catch most, but to Sir Charles it was a weak, desperate thrust, all confidence vanished from my style as I simply sought a swift end to the humiliation I was suffering.

14. Charles

I could see easily that the wench had overcommitted, her stance critically loose where it needed to be tight. A stout blow would be enough to knock the blade from her hand, or for that matter pull off whatever manoeuvre took my fancy. It seemed she was finally beginning to understand her place in the pecking order. I considered various amusing possibilities then, moving faster than her dim little brain could comprehend, dodged her attack and danced past, striking her a firm and thoroughly degrading THWACK on her tight rump with the flat of my blade. I paused again, smiling, as she tried to recover her dignity. And then she realised: as I had slipped past I had also sliced through the front of her crimson blouse, which now hung open. The girl’s pert, pale tits were on show for all to see.

“I jest, of course. The correct name of the village where Bellarina’s father grew up was Sodding-on-the-Green.”

There were roars of laughter.

“No, I’m serious! Why don’t people take duellists seriously, wench? Oh… well, other than the obvious reason… or reasons.”

15. Isabella

“Ahn!”

I gasped loudly – almost erotically, to the ears of the men in the front row – as I felt the flat of his blade rebound off my firm, springy rear as he moved past me. I righted myself, my stance breaking once more as I rubbed my tush soothingly before realising my nipples had perked up in the breeze… My hazel eyes widened, I let out a girlish gasp and my arms went up protectively in a vain attempt to shield my bosom as it fell down to the top of my corset, my cleavage spilling out utterly. For the life of me I couldn’t pinpoint the moment where he’d made the cut. I cursed his speed, and began to suspect that I… I should be very afraid of what this man would do to me… I knew I had to end this quickly as the words came between my teeth.

“You are a pig and a blaggard! My. Name. Is. Isabella!”

With this came another lunge, fierce and fast, but we both knew that if he survived this one I would be truly defeated, and was on the razor’s edge of yielding.

16. Charles

The end was wholly inevitable by this point, and almost came as a relief to the exhausted, humiliated and objectified young maiden. I stamped my foot as she charged forward, and as she glanced down I stepped to the right and dodged easily. I reached out suddenly as she passed and flicked her sword into the air, then tripped her ankle so that she landed on her bottom, laughter and applause ringing in her ears. Her beloved sword landed in my off hand as I smiled again.

“The key to beating our little Bellet Dancer is… well, there are lots of tells, but the most important is that she bites her lip when she is about to lunge. And I truly think she can’t help it. It’s adorable, really, but yet another demonstration that little girls simply can’t compete with men at, well, anything that matters.

“Are you ready to submit, wench?”

17. Isabella

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, my mind catching up with his hands a second too late as I felt my sword wrenched out of my hand and a foot block my path through, a sign of how sloppy my footwork had become. I almost pirouetted as I hit the ground butt first, my breasts exposed and my tush stinging as I looked around at the laughing crowd trying to blink tears out of my eyes. I listened to his words, blushing furiously but unable to say a word in my own defence as the women of the court left, tutting and clutching their pearls ruthlessly. I saw Miss Davenport run off crying, and felt my tears coming on now, knowing that I had failed her utterly as I angrily wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and looked up at Sir Charles. He seemed so large and powerful from where I sat on the ground. I tried to keep some semblance of dignity in defeat.

“I’m… I’m done with this… Y-yes, I yield, t-take my ransom… Just leave me alone…”

“Excellent! Although I think I prefer the word ‘submit’. And I’d like to hear you say it. Don’t forget to call me sir.”

My chest was heaving with exertion, out for all to see, my bosom shivering as I held back the light weeping. The words seemed to sting my throat on the way out, yet at that point I simply wanted to never see this man again.

“I submit, sir. Please take my ransom.”

18. Charles

This was music to my ears. The wench now sounded as pleasingly humble as she looked, grovelling on the floor. But I resolved to humiliate her further.

“Thank you,” I said, “but I have no need of your money, Isabella Valett… or perhaps I should say, Isabella Jenkinson! They probably would have called you Izzy in Sodding-on-the-Green, I suppose. To be quite honest, I have no idea how the lower orders behave, and no interest in knowing. Your ill-bred ancestors are unutterably tedious to me, and I wish you would stop mentioning them.

“No, I do not desire your ransom. But am I correct in thinking that the winner of a duel is permitted by law to take instead the defeated loser as his prize? I am? Excellent! But first, I should like to receive a public and wholly sincere apology for all the wicked things you have said about me. At once, please. Don’t forget to call me sir, and furthermore I think from now on you must keep your wrists crossed behind your back at all times. I enjoy the sight of your luscious tits, and will not have my pleasures interrupted.”

19. Isabella

My hazel eyes widened and widened, the situation becoming more and more impossible and seeming to spiral into the realm of nightmare. There were mutterings from the crowd, but they seemed more envious than disapproving of Rakesteel as he invoked his right to hold me until a satisfactory ransom was provided. My face screwed up.

“You-You can’t be serious! This is an outrage! N-nobody ever invokes that rule! I… I cannot be your prize… Did you arrange all of this just to claim me?”

He laughed. “Oh, get over yourself. Just because you are pretty, you think the world revolves around you. You are barely worth all this effort. I am quite bored of the sight of you. Now stand up, and remain absolutely still, for I do not wish to mark your skin.”

Rising to my feet I stood rigid with fear, wondering what he had in mind. I closed my eyes and kept my wrists crossed obediently behind my back. There was a swish and a rush of air, and I looked down to see that he had sliced through the laces of my corset, which promptly fell to the ground. I instinctively moved to cover my increasingly exposed body.

“Hands behind your back, wench!” he barked. “Or perhaps you need some stricter guidance in that direction. Take off that cheap blouse at once: it will serve for binding materials.

“And I am still waiting for that apology. You lost, therefore I am in the right. If you had any class you would admit it. And once again, I will thank you to call me sir.”

I snapped to attention as his words landed like lashes on my back, yet to my horror found I could not disagree. I blushed with shame rather than fury now, as I began shrugging the blouse off my shoulders, undoing the few final buttons and leaving my top half thoroughly exposed as I handed it over to him.

“I’m… I’m sorry, sir…”

“I should think you are. Silly little wench. You should know better than to meddle in men’s affairs. You can remove the britches while you’re at it.”

I lowered my eyes with shame as I peeled the leather britches down my peach-soft thighs and set them at Sir Charles’ feet, just as I was ordered. I was now nude but for a pair of frilly white panties.

With a few casual motions of his hands he tore the (actually extremely expensive) silk blouse to ribbons, and walked behind me holding one of the longer pieces.

“And will you kindly admit before witnesses that duelling is a profession for men, not pretty wenches, as I warned you not a quarter of an hour ago?”

“I am sorry for duelling, sir. Duelling is the domain of men. If I had listened to you before I would not be here now… Ahhg!”

I grunted as he shoved my wrists up between my shoulder blades and bound them tightly behind my neck with the cloth ribbon. I gasped girlishly as I felt yet another spank on my plump left buttock and tugged on the cloth, surprised when the slip knot only made the tie tighter…

20. Charles

Confident that she was completely unable to free her wrists from the cloth binding, I turned to the crowd and began to gloat.

“How easily the wench is rendered helpless! The merest little scrap of ribbon and I swear, she is entirely at my mercy. Did she but know it, gentlemen, she has been at my mercy since I first laid eyes on her.

“I do prefer this outfit on you, wench. A nice ribbon to keep you captive, tits on display, and the panties are a nice touch.”

There was hearty laughter, and no attempt was made to come to the girl’s rescue… which was what she now desperately needed.

“But let’s add some more decoration.”

I quickly encircled her shapely torso with loop after loop of cruelly tight ribbon, pinioning her arms and chest above and below her breasts, before adding another loop around the throat, attached to her wrists. I pulled the wrists up as high as possible, then secured them with a bow.

“Ha! What a pretty little package.”

21. Isabella

I blinked back more tears as I looked out over the crowd, some jeering, some laughing, some embarrassed just to be known to me. I looked down and whimpered, before gasping as I felt more ribbons of my red shirt being used to tie up my chest and arms. I groaned as the ribbons drew tight around my ample, perky tits, which were drawing a lot of comments as I struggled weakly.

“Ahn… B-but sir, I apologised didn’t I? I-isn’t this quite eno-hk!”

I was silenced as the ribbon looped around my throat, pressing in at the sides of my neck and windpipe before connecting with my upturned wrists. Suddenly I grew very still, as any movement or wiggle of my upper body threatened to choke me.

22. Charles

She really was a pretty little thing, and her beauty was especially enjoyable now that she was helpless and docile. Delighted by my easy victory, I felt satirical.

“You know, wench, I think you still have a great chance of winning this duel,” I said. “Admittedly, you’ve been disarmed, stripped to your cute little panties, and bound tightly with the tattered ribbons of your own cheap blouse, but if you really try your best I feel sure you can still pull off a victory. Remember, women are just as good at fighting as men!”

I laughed heartily.

“Not going to struggle any more? Not got anything more to say? That is a shame. Well, if you’re not going to make a game of it I suppose we might as well remove that frilly item down below.”

I slowly slid the panties down her beautiful legs, making sure to rub my hands across her silky skin.

23. Isabella

I tried to muster up a glare, but even that seemed to cause a shiver of strain in the bonds between my neck and my hands, turning it into more of a wince. Stray tears I was not able to restrain were beginning to make my makeup run slightly as I took in the scoundrel’s words, daring to shake my shoulders and attempt to resist but quickly finding the effort dug into my pale, swanlike throat and choked me to the point of quickly ceasing any resistance, blushing at the way my breasts were thrust out to the crowd as he dominated me further with his words. I would’ve looked down in shame if my bonds had allowed it, but I was forced instead to look out among these people who all seemed to have been waiting for someone to put me in my place.

“N-no, sir… Please let me keep my panties!”

I surprised myself with how weak and plaintive the words sounded coming out of my mouth, as well as how natural it felt to beg for mercy like a helpless and kidnapped hostage, though I realised that now described me perfectly. I felt Sir Charles’ hands gliding down my pale, thick thighs and down my sleek, muscled calves and realised he now expected me to voluntarily step out of them. I looked out among the crowd, throwing away any sense of self-determination and praying that someone would save me from becoming so compliant in my own captivity, but not a face among the audience shone with an ounce of chivalry.

24. Charles

“I can see you looking for rescue, wench, and what a humiliation that must be for a strong-willed young maiden. You are a helpless captive now, and you should accustom yourself to it. I assure you that no rescue is forthcoming. These people are tired of your airs, and glad to see you getting your comeuppance.”

As the girl stepped shamefacedly out of the frilly panties I stooped and picked them up, and popped them casually in my pocket.

“You have no further need for these. But we must find you something more stimulating to wear between your legs. Does anyone in the crowd have a trifle of coarse rope I could trouble to borrow?”

Several drunken men eagerly hurled out coils of stout cord.

“Ah, you are most kind, sirs. Let us get you all fastened up, wench.”

25. Isabella

I stood naked, bound and exposed before a crowd of people who I’d once thought respected me, but now all I could hear were the drunker members of the crowd speaking of what they would do with my body. I felt the wind against my warm loins, blushing as I tried to ignore the damp that had begun to course through my panties before they were removed, and which had now been seen by all. If I was free and had a blade in my hand I would’ve shown them!

Or perhaps not. The thought rose up from a deep, inadequate place in my brain: how easily I had been bested the moment a man with decent technique decided to stop thinking of me as a real threat. His words came back to me… Just some silly girl playing with her daddy’s sword. I wondered: if I fought any man in the audience at this moment, would the outcome be any different?

And then I saw the rope and my eyes widened. Unaware of what he was planning, but liking his words not one bit, I backed up timidly.

“No, sir… What… What are you planning on doing with that?!”

26. Charles

“There is no need for alarm, wench, I feel certain you will find this most agreeable. Going by the state of those panties, I suspect this is precisely what you have always wanted.”

I ran my strong hands once again down her legs, enjoying both their beauty and her confused reaction to the touch. Then I began to wind the rope around her waist, circling four times before knotting it tightly.

“Legs apart, wench,” I barked, pleased to see how quickly she obeyed.

I tied another fat knot in the rope, then fed it down between her legs. When I yanked it up from behind the rope slid deep inside her, with the knot pressed against her most intimate parts.

“You see, friends? Look at that blush. I told her she would like it!”

27. Isabella

“Ghk! N-no… I don’t want this!”

I gasped, tensing against the rope around my neck as I felt the scoundrel’s hands taking in the soft tightness of my legs, my thighs pressing together in an attempt to protect my more vulnerable region from his touch. He cinched in my already slim waist by a full inch, with several coils of rope encircling my helpless upper body, before heading downwards. I snapped to attention almost on instinct now, and stood with my legs apart on his command, drawing another mocking comment about my obedience from one of the men on the side. I saw the rope go down, uncertain as to its use until the very moment it slipped into me, then let out a high, aroused moan. It was as if the crotch rope had broken through some sort of barrier for me, and my guard fell completely.

“Ouhh…”

I quickly silenced myself, but blushed bright in the knowledge that no one in the grounds could have mistaken my amorous response to the rope. Every roll or shift of my hips seeming to pull it tighter into me, the knot massaging and rubbing against my softness whenever I moved. I looked at Sir Charles with a desperation that must have betrayed to him just how lustful I felt.

“Why… Why are you doing this to me, sir?”

“Because it amuses me to humiliate you, my dear Isabella. Any young woman with so high an opinion of herself is in urgent need of being put in her place. Now, since we have all this rope, I suppose we might as well make use of it. I shall now demonstrate, friends, the most effective way to rope up a filly. Some fillies are wild and disobedient at first, but they can all be broken by a strong male rider. And should be, at the first opportunity.”

I shuffled forwards to better face the crowd as he began presenting me like some prize mare ready to be mounted. He spoke about me callously, yet I lacked the strength now to say a word of protest as he stooped to quickly and efficiently bind my legs, cinching tight loops at ankle, thigh, and above and below my knees, the cord cutting painfully into my golden skin. I was tied so securely it was as if I had a mermaid’s tail where legs should be. I teetered slightly where I stood and instinctively tried to put out my hands to balance myself; yet again I was reminded of my corded choke collar just at the moment it tugged on my windpipe and almost brought me to my knees.

“Sir, must you do this before all these people? Ah! S-Sir? Ahn!”

Ignoring my pleas he smacked me, yet again, on my increasingly tender behind. It seemed to ripple through my entire body.

“We must exercise our filly so she doesn’t grow fat and lazy,” he said spitefully. “Get hopping, wench. Round and round, until I command you to stop.”

The words fat and lazy stung almost as much as my slowly reddening arse as I hopped away, breasts bouncing about with each frantic jump away from his cruel hand as he followed me. Nude as I was, there was a painful awareness of the bouncy softness of my body as I tried simply to escape. The thought came unbidden that such a body was simply not made for combat, that it was made for dancing and serving…

28. Charles

She hopped about frantically as the crowd laughed and jeered.

“You think I am tormenting you for the fun of it, wench,” I said mildly, “and I will admit that your total defeat and humiliation does amuse me. But you brought this on yourself with your airs and your arrogance. You needed to be humbled publicly, so that everyone should know how weak and pathetic you are, and no one ever again makes the mistake of thinking you are fit to hold a sword, or indeed to presume to approach a man unless you are bringing him a mug of beer. I must say, however, that your bosom is excessively enjoyable to look at jiggling about like that, so you have at least one worthwhile quality.”

After a time I found that I no longer needed to follow the girl threatening further corrective discipline; having learned her lesson, she obediently hopped in a circle until she was exhausted and damp with sweat.

“I think that will do, wench. Come here at once.”

I put my arm around her naked shoulders as she balanced precariously next to me on her bound feet, eyes cast down with shame and humiliation.

“What a pity this little flower was born in such sordid soil. Her father was a social climber, you see: got a little money through trade, went abroad, changed his name and thought the world would forget. But the stink of poverty never quite leaves you.

“Mind you, cheap whores can still be pretty, can’t they?”

I suddenly snatched a deep and passionate kiss, ignoring the girl’s squeaks of protest.

29. Isabella

I kept hopping meekly, knowing deep down that he was right. My career was finished after such a display. Much as I had disgraced so many men by besting them with my blade, my defeat was too complete and too humiliating for me to ever work as a sword at court again… The shame overwhelmed me. The identity I had created for myself seemed further away than ever, while the identity of a useless slut with pleasing breasts seemed that much closer, a twist causing the crotch rope to fill that much more of me. Trying to avoid further spanking I still kept hopping in a circle, people pointing and laughing, until eventually, mercifully, I was brought to a stop.

“Th-Thank you… sir…. Oh! V-Very well, sir!

Gasping as I looked wearily over at him, I timidly hopped to his side, shuddering as his arm rested domineeringly on my rising, falling shoulders. I had always tried so hard to cover up my father’s birth. He’d done well to send me to a foreign girls’ fencing school for my education; no other reputable school would’ve been willing to take me. My main concern as a court duellist had never been honour but merely money and survival, and I wondered what low station I would have to debase myself to for the sake of survival now. I had come from nothing and I was nothing.

And then I gasped again, my mouth open as he swept me up into a forceful kiss.

“Mh!”

I felt his tongue intermingling with my own as I strained away, trying to ignore the cords’ pull around my throat, until…

30. Charles

I felt myself taking on the girl’s weight as her eyes fluttered shut and she went limp, seemingly swooning at my touch. Then, as the cords around her neck loosened, she began to stir and looked around confusedly.

“I do believe the maid has never been kissed before!” I said, grinning.

The crowd roared with laughter, and a few of its more spiteful members offered suggestions of other activities the girl likely had not experienced and might care to try.

“You find it enjoyable, don’t you,” I told her, “to be taken against your will, treated like property? Typical of these so-called ‘feminists’ I hear so much about. They protest just a little too much to be convincing. What they really want – what they truly need – is to be trussed up and ravished.”

I propped the maiden back up on her bound feet, then reached down and slowly withdrew the red sash from the front of my britches.

“Oh dear,” I tutted, “this bit of rag has got all sweaty down there. I hope it isn’t something you were attached to. I suppose you won’t need it any more, now I’ve told everyone how to beat you. Remember, friends, to watch out for when she bites her lip, and you too can have her bound and at your mercy in no time.”

I narrowed my eyes, tied a fat knot in the middle of the sash, gripped it firmly by the ends and smiled, looking at her luscious lips.

31. Isabella

“Ooh…”

I slowly blinked myself awake, the weakness and exhaustion hitting me in waves as the sights and sounds of the duelling arena gradually returned. I could hear the laughter of the crowd, punctuated by howls and whistles, and then it was humiliation washing over me. I wobbled weakly on my feet, mutely taking in everything the scoundrel said, everything he did.

Whenever I bent or leaned forward the pressure against my throat seemed to double, so I stood rigidly straight, like a soldier standing to attention. But how long could I last? I felt fit to drop, the feeling of fading back into unconsciousness overwhelming me and rendering me half-sensate.

I saw Sir Charles flourish my red sash, my symbol as a trained duellist and a marker of my skill, now covered in sweat from a place that made me blush just to think about. And then he mockingly announced my tell once again, and I wondered how I had ever believed myself worthy to wear the sash at all. I’d always fought to work on twitches of the thighs or loading of the hips so that I could strike without telegraphing; how could it be something so girlish that gave me away? As he knotted the scarf thickly and held it up, I realised what his intent was and begged weakly.

“No, sir… Please don’t make me taste that…”

Yet my tormentor would find I had barely an atom of resistance left in me. A look of admonishment would be all it took for my plump lips to part, allowing him to do as he pleased with my mouth as my eyelashes fluttered shut.

And the scoundrel knew it. “I think, my dear, that we have heard quite enough from you for the present,” he said with the greatest self-satisfaction. “I am going to gag you now. Do you know what that means? I am going to stuff this sweat-sodden cloth in your pretty mouth, and secure it there thoroughly. You will be silent as well as obedient, and we can all have a rest from your ill-educated chatter.

“Now open wide, wench.”

It all seemed so humiliatingly simple even a silly little girl such as I could understand it. I remained obedient and silent as I opened my mouth wide to allow my captor, the man I was coming to increasingly think of as my owner until he decided otherwise, to gag me with as much thoroughness and efficiency as he chose. The cloth already smelled of someone else’s body, but resigning myself to yet another indignity seemed to be getting easier all the time.

32. Charles

“Good girl,” I said. “That’s it: do as you’re told.”

I stuffed the musky cloth between the girl’s plump lips and knotted the ends tightly at the nape of her pretty neck: she was now firmly and comprehensively gagged, humiliatingly silenced and purely decorative. I mussed up her hair and laughed as inky raven strands fell across her tightly gagged face.

“I have scarcely seen someone look so defeated. Bound, gagged, naked, and the property of the man you despise most. Enjoying the experience, I trust?”

The crowd laughed and jeered. The wench was unable to respond, and could only endure the mockery in humiliated silence… until I reached out casually and cupped her breast in my hand, and started to idly squeeze and caress it.

“You don’t mind, do you? Do say if you’d like me to stop.”

33. Isabella

The taste was stifling as I felt the sash brush against my tongue. I already felt as if I no longer held claim to the sash, as if it would forever have been made his by this experience. I grunted gently and winced once more as I felt the knots draw tight against the back of my neck and dig the cloth tightly into the corners of my mouth. I let out a whimpering “Mmph…”

A lock of my wavy black hair fell before my face; I tried to shake it out of the way and provoked another laugh at my pathetic attempt. I listened as his words landed on me, all of them feeling true and coming to settle in my chest as if placed there by his hand as I felt him squeeze the firm yet yielding orbs, the shame threatening to overwhelm me as I felt at once how constrained and thrust out my chest was. A perfectly irresistible target bound as I was, I shook my head and mumbled: “Nmm srr… Plmms lwmt mnn gmmph…”

The villain pretended not to understand my garbled mewling.

“No objection, then? Glad to hear it.”

Continuing his assault on my breasts with one hand, he started to tug at my crotch rope with the other, savouring my moans and stifled pleading. Then he tweaked my nipple, which was stiff and responded instantly to his touch.

“She really is enjoying this, you know,” he laughed. “What a damnable hussy.”

“Mmmffffnnn… Mmph!”

I let out a series of long, low moans and excited squeaks as I shifted in response to his clutch and pull at my body and the bonds which held it and exposed it so effectively, every movement seeming to make me shiver with a greater sense of lust. I could no longer disguise my desire: it must have been obvious to him, through the vibrations of my crotch rope and the stiffness of my buds, that he could’ve taken me there and then and I would not have wanted him to stop. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to get some clarity for myself, but everywhere there seemed to be a gentle, hungry, tearing hand…

“Mff!”

Mind racing and body convulsing with shameful pleasure, I was shocked as he suddenly cast me aside. I screamed into my gag as I felt my weight drag to the side, managing a short half-hop to break my fall before my knees clashed on the hard floor, tears stinging my eyes now as I felt the overwhelming shame of rejection. It seemed that even my moment of greatest submission wasn’t enough for this man.

“This common strumpet thinks she can bag a Rakesteel!” he drawled, actually managing to look outraged by my impertinence. “Not likely. I’m not interested, missy. I don’t want you as a captive, cluttering up my rooms while I entertain a better class of visitor, and I don’t want the money either. As if I need it! So I will make you a deal. I will agree to release you, unransomed, on three conditions. Would you like to know what they are?”

“Hmmph?”

A chance at release? My heart soared! Anything to make this nightmare end! I nodded frantically, my body undulating with the force of the movement.

34. Charles

“Very well,” I barked. “One: that any time you see me in the future, anywhere at all, in perpetuity, you will behave submissively, place your hands behind your back, lower your eyes, and address me as sir.

“Two: that once a week, for as long as I wish it, you will dress as a maid in the continental style and visit my rooms to clean them thoroughly and provide any other services that may be required.

“And three: that you remain precisely where you are now, bound, gagged, exposed and on your knees, for the remainder of the night, and allow passers-by to throw rotten fruit at you or take their pleasure in any other way without protest. If you attempt (futilely) to escape before dawn, the deal is null and void and you are my property for life; if anyone attempts to rescue you before dawn, the deal is null and void and you are my property for life. Do you agree?”

35. Isabella

I watched him, my eyes widening to saucer-size as each condition landed, knowing this was tantamount to slavery he was offering, but also knowing that no ransom I could pay would allow me to be free of him – he had made that much clear. Changing who I was whenever I spoke to him, prostituting myself weekly for whatever service he demanded of me while in court, remaining here, stripped, bound, gagged and in pain, allowing any man in the audience to do as he pleased with me… It seemed almost too big to process. At first it compelled me to struggle, I wanted to fight my way free, but that constant reminder that I was his tightened around my throat and cleft my lower lips and forced me to slow myself.

I found myself rationalising each one. I was… just being polite in the first condition, he was a noble and I (legally speaking) was not, after all; I supposed… I supposed it was only right that I treat him as a superior! And as to providing service to him… I had no way of knowing that would include him making use of my body, and by not asking any ransom he would leave me with at least enough money to live in comfort for the next few months… It was only right that I repay him in whatever way I was able!

As to staying here… I looked around at the crowd. I knew how pathetic their presence here today had made me feel, how small I had become because of them, and I knew I had humiliated some among this number and that they would be eager to take their vengeance in some manner or another that I would not wish to partake in. But technically in this moment I was his property, and could be lent to whomever he chose… It was only right that I submit myself to others on his command. I looked up at him, and slowly, with storm and conflict in my eyes, nodded…

“Mhm…”

“Very good, then,” he said briskly. “I will expect you next Monday. Try not to trip over and get bound and gagged on the way. Actually, on second thoughts, bring the sash; I would like you to be gagged throughout.

“But for now I am sick of the sight of you. Farewell, wench.”

With barely a backwards glance, he swaggered off laughing, as the first rotten tomatoes start to whistle through the air… and I thought I heard someone unbuckling their belt…

FIN