Ch. 1

The rain drumming steadily on cobbles outside was a pleasant distraction from the throbbing pain.  Elizabeth had lost track of exactly where she was sore.  The pain had long ago turned into a persistent ache that left her stomach churning with nausea, only broken by the periods when one of them would come back to use her.  But the rain was nice. It was different. It reminded her of home and of happier times.

Pushing the memories back down, Elizabeth tore her  pale green eyes away from the silvery streamers of rain, tears slowly sliding down her puffy, dirt smeared cheeks.  She had almost smiled for that brief moment as she watched the rain fall through glassy eyes, only now able to open after being swollen shut for the last ... what was it? Three days? The fat brothers had come back three times. Or was it four?  Elizabeth let out a heavy sigh, but it was cut short by a stabbing pain in her ribs.  One of them was surely broken, but they didnŐt seem to care.  She didnŐt care anymore either. She was going to die here, and she had resigned herself to that some time ago; not long after the smelly one had told her what he was going to do to her when he got bored.

He and his men had been coming every night since Elizabeth was captured, and some came during the morning or afternoons too.  Elizabeth had lost track of how many different ones there were.  In truth she didnŐt know.  They all seemed the same:  Violent. They hated her, and when they fucked her, they made her relive that hatred.  They would punch her while their members tore into her most tender flesh, and they would spit at her and call her "voark." Mostly Elizabeth thought they just enjoyed hurting her and hearing the sounds of pain she would make, as if her suffering was penance for some unknown betrayal they had endured at her hand.  She had learned quickly that if she didnŐt make noise, they only hurt her more.  At first she'd tried to play like it hurt more than it did, but they could tell the difference.  Somehow they knew. And they never enjoyed it until her screams were real and her sex was bruised and her asshole bloodied. Only then did they cum inside her, or on her face, or her tits.  Only then did they feel they'd gotten their turn.

At first, in the wagons on the way to her current prison, Elizabeth hadnŐt noticed that any of them were different. And as she thought about it, she couldn't even be certain he had come to her then, while they were on the road.  But come to her he did, eventually.  They never spoke to him or he to them, so she had no name or title for him other than 'the smelly one.' They all stunk, but he was different.  He didn't just have that foul stench of unwashed soldier like the others.  He smelled like something else... like decay.  Like dead things.  His breath carried the same scent of carrion and death when he was rutting into her, breathing hotly on her face, drooling on her.  Unlike the others, he never came with friends.  It was always just him, alone.  And it was always worst with him.

None of the others really spoke to her, and the ones that did only babbled in that incoherent common speech favored by sailors and whores.  The smelly one, however, spoke to Elizabeth in cruel sadistic whispers as his cock would drive into her.  He made her talk back to him, hurting her terribly when she refused... "cunt" she would have to call herself, and he made her do things.... disgusting things with her mouth on his ass while his fingers clutched her hair, threatening to pull it from the roots if she didnŐt get her tongue deep enough.  Unlike the others, he never spilled his seed inside her.  He would make her beg, every time, to take it out and cum on her face, or in her hair.  Never satisfied until she was crying and pleading, "please? *sniff* please donŐt cum in .. in *sob* cunt's kitty? Please cum on its *sniff* face? please sir? please donŐt let cunt taint your seed?"

He hated Elizabeth more than the rest, and she knew it.  He would pinch her nipples until she blacked out from the pain, only to awaken to his cock slapping her face, then gagging her as he shoved it down her throat.  He is the one who backhanded her enough to swell her eyes shut.  She had started her menses and as a result, he'd gotten some of her blood on him, which sent him into a rage.  He just beat her until she was sure she would die then left.  That was ... well a while ago.  Some of the other men had returned to use her, but she didnŐt care anymore.  The smelly one had not returned since the bad beating, and now that her eyes were open again, the rain blocking out the light of the moon just didn't seem that sad.

The rain was a pleasant distraction after all.  The man who had been fucking her up until now grunted a few times, and the stabbing pain in her gut let her know he was cumming inside her rectum.  He laughed at her, and a warm, smelly gob of spit landed on her face as he got up, pulling his breeches closed and kicking her leg on his way by.  She barely noticed, but grunted in pain anyway, knowing he would kick harder if she didnŐt. 

Rolling onto her belly, the cool stone on her bruised breasts and thighs was a relief compared to the sweaty warmth of the rapist.  Elizabeth's eyes closed again and she began to sob quietly, waiting for the next one to come in and fuck her, or beat her, or both.  The sound of the cell door creaking open, then clanging shut again was a relief at least, and with a great effort, Elizabeth got to her hands and knees and crawled to the tattered remains of the deep green silk dress she had worn at the time of her capture.  Little more than a bundle of rags now, Elizabeth had been using the dress it to clean some of her wounds. 

There was a time not long ago she had cried for days when the sleeve of that same dress had torn on a branch in her father's private garden.  The dress had been a gift from him on her 16th birthday, and it was the finest emerald silk in the entire kingdom.  She had only twice asked how much it cost, and twice had received a playful pat on the bottom before being told it was impolite to inquire how much a gift was worth; as if she might sell it.  The tear in her sleeve was fixed easily enough, but it had taken the tailor nearly a month to receive a bolt of the same silk to do the mending. Now the dress lay in ruin, balled up in a bloodied, moistened wad.

Choking back fresh tears, Elizabeth tore her eyes away from the shimmering green silk before the pain of it all was too much to bear.  Everything had changed that night her carriage was attacked.  She fought hard with the dagger her father had given her, but in the end had to watch as the men slaughtered her personal guard before carrying her off in shackles to the wagons they had waiting off the road...

Ch. 2.

Sleep was no release for Elizabeth.  The pain of her waking world was echoed in her dreams, and the fitful rest she had been getting was no rest at all.  Still, something had startled her awake.  It wasn't the pain; that hadnŐt changed.  A sound? Yes.  There it is again.  Yelling?  No. Screaming.  She wished she'd paid more attention in languages class.  The Taril language was so different, though.  A crash! The sound of steel sliding against the stone floor.  Now the dull, sickening sound of a sword slicing through flesh.  A grunt, followed by a thud.  Silence. Elizabeth's heart was pounding, only making her chest ache more.  Her hands clutched the green bundle on her sleeping slab.  It was dark out; no light coming through the window.  The sound of rain outside was lighter, but still persistent.  How long had she been asleep? No more than an hour or two.  The cum oozing down her thighs was still sticky.

Footsteps now.  Elizabeth curled up on the slab again, clutching her knees to her chest.  It was about to start again.  It was probably the Smelly One. She hated him as much as he hated her.  The creak of the outer door was too loud for some reason, as if her entire perception had changed.  Whoever was coming through this door was not a regular. 'Oh Goddess,' Elizabeth thought, 'what is HE going to do to me?'

As if reading her mind, the Smelly One stalked up beside her, a smirk on his face and in his voice as he whispered, "I wonder who that could be, cunt?" His voice startled her, and she would have fallen from the slab had his hand not slithered into her hair, gripping her head painfully.  How long had he been there?

"No matter, my little vorak cow, you have duties to perform."  His hand twisted her hair roughly, yanking her face to his robe, which he had brushed open.  His cock was throbbing and angry looking as he shoved it between her trembling lips. Gagging from the stench and the feeling of his shaft pressing against the back of her throat, Elizabeth felt tears falling down her face.

"Since your disgusting body has tainted me, I will return the favor, bitch."  His hand yanked her hair back after he was satisfied his cock was choking and gagging her enough, leaving her face exposed and downcast with a trail of saliva dribbling down her chin onto the cold stone between her legs.  His fist clenched in her hair and he yanked her head back further, forcing her to gaze up at him from the bench, cock bobbing in front of her face in time with the rapid beating of his heart.

"Vizor" A deep, confident voice interrupted the Smelly One's next move.  "If you urinate on my prisoner, it will be the last piss you ever take standing up."  The hand in Elizabeth's hair tightened in surprise, and the cock she was facing twisted to the side, turning to face the new voice.  Elizabeth's head, and eyes, had no choice but to follow.  She only had a second to glimpse the figure standing in the open cell door, and as she opened her mouth to speak, the Smelly One's knee caught her on the side of the head, sending her sprawling onto the floor.  The glint of steel and the electrically charged tingle of air being twisted by magic were all she saw and felt before her head crashed to the floor with a wet thud, sending her back into her nightmares.

"Daddy?" The only word on her lips before she passed out made the newcomer smile slightly before his sword severed the hand of the Vizor attempting to delay the inevitable.

Outside, the rain continued to fall softly, and the chill breeze that whipped through the streets outside the small detention centre kept most everyone indoors.  The few soldiers assigned to patrolling the streets were no where to be seen, likely taking shelter in archways and under awnings, cursing their luck.  The hissing white noise of rainfall was only broken twice by sounds of the struggle inside the  stone cellar before it was over.  If anyone had been out in the street to hear them and came to investigate, however, they wouldn't dare provoke the wrath of a Storm Lord.  No one except maybe a Vizor, that is.

His severed hand twitching on the floor and his conjuring interrupted, the Smelly One had sworn loudly: the first of the two sounds that interrupted the otherwise peaceful drumming of the rain.   His hate filled glare burned into the Storm Lord, his pain irrelevant.  His silent challenge was answered quickly with another slash of the sword.  This time, however, it struck as if hitting solid stone, and the loud shriek of metal on rock pierced the night louder than the Storm Lord would have liked.  The self satisfied smirk of victory lasted only a moment on the Vizor's face as he realized his protective magic was not stopping the sword, only slowing it.  His glare turned from hate to shock, from shock to fear, and from fear to pain all in the span of a heartbeat.  His death rattle never came as the sword passed with surreal slowness through his flesh as if through mud, separating his head from its former resting place atop his neck.

A frown on his face, the Storm Lord watched the Vizor's body crumple to the stone floor.  With a sigh and a brief shake of his head, Lord Ellengale bent to clean his sword on the Vizor's robe.  His eyes stern, his face set with grim purpose, he slid the warm blade back into its resting place at his hip.

"You chose the wrong man to defy, Vizor." He muttered quietly as he shoved the body aside and made his way to the battered naked girl laying crumpled beside the stone bench, the cell's only piece of furniture. After a brief assessment of her condition, identifying her broken ribs, lacerations and bruises, Lord Ellengale gently lifted Elizabeth in his arms.  He laid her head gently against his shoulder, wrapping his cloak around her chilled form, and cradling her like a hurt child, walked out of the cell and back through the detention facility with purpose and mild annoyance written in lines across his brow.

The Storm Lord never bothered to look back as he passed the bloodied bodies and splintered doors on his way.  Shards of the facility's once sturdy front entrance made him check his steps briefly, lest they cause further damage to his precious cargo, but his grim expression did not waver and the steely look in his grey-blue eyes was unchanged.  Death was the only punishment for any man who would defy his orders, and the gruesome scene left in his wake would serve as a warning to those who might consider doing so in the future.

There were enough real enemies to trouble his thoughts without having to add his subordinates to the list of them.

Ch. 3

Elizabeth woke to a feeling she had not had in what felt like weeks.  Warmth.  She was warm.  The cell had been so cold all the time, and damp.  Warmth was a change she had not expected.  She was still sore everywhere, but the warmth of the blanket she was sleeping under made the pain less troublesome.  She was in a bed?  That was unexpected also.  Her head hurt, and the blood pounding in her ears let her know that the knee to her head had not been imagined.  Despite the throbbing headache, she listened and kept her eyes closed.  Nothing had startled her awake like last time.  And though she was groggy, she felt rested. How long had she slept?  The room was quiet.  She heard no rain, and no babble of people on the street outside.  In fact she heard nothing.  Nothing but the quiet ticking of a nearby clock.

Opening her eyes, Elizabeth could see immediately that she was not in a prison or dungeon.  The ceiling was adorned with carved redwood tiles depicting beautiful patterns of leaves and branches, giving the illusion of laying beneath a forest canopy.  Turning her head didn't hurt so much as it had in days past, and as she turned, her silky red hair gathered around her neck and head from where it had been splayed out on a soft white satin pillow.  To either side, the pretty young girl saw the elaborately carved posts of the bed she now lay in, which felt to be covered with satin sheets if the sensations from her bare flesh were not deceiving her.  Beyond the bed, simple but elegant furniture made of rich wood and upholstered with plush, inviting red and maroon fabrics adorned the room.  There were rich maroon velvety curtains pulled shut over what could only be a tall window on the wall at the foot of the bed, and a tall mirror standing near it, framed with the same carved redwood as the ceiling tiles and some of the other pieces in the room.  The glow from behind the curtains told her it was daytime, though she could hear nothing from outside and no breeze touched the heavy fabric.

To her left near the foot of the bed, Elizabeth saw that a dressing screen was oriented so as to provide privacy from the window and right side of the room. Behind it lay the most beautiful sight she had seen in days: a bath tub and dressing table, which appeared well stocked with all the brushes, perfumes and oils a young lady might need.  The mirror atop the table was smaller, but equally ornate when compared to the one by the window. To her right Elizabeth noted a small side table on which rested the clock she heard before and an armoire in the corner not far from the room's only door. 

The door!  It was open!  The heavy looking wooden door was open just slightly, as if whoever had left simply pushed it behind them without ensuring it was fully closed.  Elizabeth's heart began to race and her hands reached up to clutch the hem of the satin sheet that was pulled up around her smallish breasts.  Her fingertips dug into her palms through the soft material she had pulled up tight under her chin without thinking.  Green eyes wide, the sore, abused girl licked her suddenly very dry lips and squirmed into a sitting position against the headboard.  Just as she thought her heart would thunder completely out of her chest, her moment of blind foolish hope was cut short.  The silence had been broken by footfalls.   Elizabeth chastised herself silently for being so foolish. Even if she got out of the room, and even if she got out of the house... she was naked, alone, lost and undoubtedly far from home.  'Foolish girl,' she thought to herself, and with a defeated sigh, slumped back into the sheets, too distracted by her dark thoughts and pained ribs to notice how soft and luxurious the satin felt against her smooth, young skin.

The footsteps grew louder, and as she listened, Elizabeth began to tremble.  Fear of who or what may be coming tightened her tummy, twisting it into a painful knot.  Gripping the sheet tight to her firm breasts, she stared at the door nervously, the luxurious decor of the room quickly forgotten as her mind raced to recall everything she could before waking up here.  The days spent in the cell came back to her like a living nightmare, along with the last moments spent with the Smelly One, watching his cock bobbing before her face, knowing what he was about to do and powerless to stop him.  Whoever it was that had come that night was likely who had rescued her.  She didn't remember anything after being hit on the head.  She wished she had seen the man more clearly, or heard some of what he might have said.  Was she rescued?  Is that why she was in this place?  She doubted it.  This was not like her father's house, or even like any home she had seen in her homeland.  Something in the pit of her stomach told her she was still very much a prisoner.

Elizabeth's thoughts were interrupted by movement.  Her eyes snapped back to the door and she swallowed a lump in her throat, causing a painful jolt to swell in her chest.  It opened into the room slowly, and the sight of Him standing in the doorway made her breath catch.  His presence was unmistakably massive.  Tall, imposing and purposeful, the man surveyed the room with his critical steely blue eyes, finally settling on her with an intensity she had not known existed.  He stood staring, and for a moment that seemed to last forever, barred the second shadow who waited behind him from entering the room.  Elizabeth's eyes met his for only a moment before she could stand it no longer and was forced to look away. Those grey-blue orbs were piercing her to the very centre of her being, and staring into them had caused her breathing to stop and her heart to skip several beats.  This was her captor.  She knew she was his prize. His property.  'My prisoner' he had called her.  And she was, and she knew now why the door was open.  He did not need locks or bars to keep her;  his authority was edictal.

Unable to look at his eyes, her gaze traveled over the rest of him.  He was not as massive as he had first seemed, and now that she looked, she could see that though he was tall, he was slender and defined.  His face was all angles and lines, with a subtly defined brow and high cheek bones.  His nose was not large, but she could tell his profile would be hawk-like.  His square jaw framed a mouth that seemed built for smirking, which he was doing now, and  his lips were thin and slightly chapped from the wind.  His shoulders were broad, and the black velvet cloak that hung from them was clasped over his breast with a simple wooden hook and eye.  His chest was straight and flat, unlike other fighting men she had seen, and the simple linen shirt he wore fitted tightly over it, showing a flat, defined abdomen.  This was a man built for grace and precision; his muscles were defined but not thick.  Belted across his hips lay an ornate sword, its pommel inset with a deep blue sapphire.  His legs were long and slender like the rest of him, and his boots were polished and clean.  Her eyes blinked slowly, and her breath finally began anew as she stared at the floor at his feet.  Despite not being physically overpowering, his presence and intensity more than made up for it.  There could be no mistake: this was a dangerous man. More dangerous than anyone she had ever met.

Elizabeth was trembling as he stared at her.  If her inspection of him had been a result of her nervousness and fear, his was calculated and considered.  His eyes swept slowly and methodically over her figure, taking in everything.  This was a man who missed nothing.  No detail was too small for his attention when it came to this girl.

Quivering, Elizabeth pulled the white satin sheet tighter to her firm young breasts, ignoring the throb it caused. Her long red hair framed her beautiful face perfectly, accentuating the slight flush that was on her pale cheeks.  Her downcast green eyes were less swollen now than they had been when he first found her, and the bruises on her jaw and cheeks had faded, leaving her beauty unmarred save for the few smudges of dirt that had clung to her tear moistened flesh before.  The small, slightly pointed nose gave her an aristocratic look that was typical of her people, and he could tell her full, pouty lips would make men swoon if and when they curled into a smile.  Her slender neck was long and white, and her bare shoulders quivered as he looked at her.

His gaze lingered on the beautiful young girl, but he was in no rush to devour her with his eyes and so turned his head to speak to the other figure waiting in the hall.  Elizabeth could not hear what he said; the pounding of her heart in her ears was nearly deafening, but whatever it was spurred the figure into motion.

Lord Ellengale stepped into the room now, and the smaller man followed him, carrying a yoke across his shoulders.  Two huge buckets filled with steaming water dangled from the yoke precariously, but the man seemed to glide with practiced ease across the bed chamber without spilling a drop.  Lord Ellengale watched Elizabeth silently as his orders were carried out and she, in turn, watched the servant fill the bath tub. She licked her dry lips and turned her gaze back to the imposing figure standing just inside the room.  His hands were clasped regally behind his back as he watched her, not bothering to acknowledge the servant who bowed as he backed out of the door, pulling it shut on his way.

As the door clicked quietly shut, Elizabeth's captor turned his head ever so slightly to acknowledge that the door was indeed closed.  The movement was as sure and confident as his overall aura, his angular jaw turning down and to the side only a half inch, as if to let his ear get a clearer sound of the door's latch sliding home, verifying that he was indeed alone with his captive.  Turning his full attention back to her, the tall man stepped quietly into the room until he was standing next to the bedpost nearest the door at the foot of the bed.  His movement was fluid and quiet and Elizabeth watched with trepidation as he unfolded his hands, placing one of them on the bedpost while the other came to rest with casual comfort on the hilt of his sword. The practiced ease with which his hand found its way there was a testament to how much a part of him the weapon was.  Elizabeth's eyes fixed on the hilt of the sword and as his gaze followed hers, he let out a soft mirthful sound that was not quite a grunt and not quite a chuckle.  Still, he moved his hand away and held it towards her with his palm facing up, silently offering her his hand to help her up.

A series of confusing emotions cycled quickly through Elizabeth's mind.  Fear as he touched the sword then relief as he moved his hand away from it.  Confusion followed as he offered her his hand, quickly replaced by shock and embarrassment as she realized he wanted her to get up and she was completely naked.  Calm resignation came next, remembering she had spent the last four or five days being repeatedly raped, beaten and humiliated by this man's countrymen.  Still, she would not go willingly into his arms and though she relaxed her grip on the sheets slightly when his hand dropped away from the sword, Elizabeth made no move to get up.

The tall, handsome swordsman smiled as he watched her face, a knowing smile that told her he likely understood more of what she was going through than she would like to admit.  She watched as lowered his offered hand and turned away from her, moving around the foot of the bed towards the dressing area.  His footsteps were soft despite the sturdy looking boots he wore, and as he came to stop beside the bath tub, he reached up to unclasp his cloak.  He took his time, folding it neatly over his arm, then placing it with respect over the top of the dressing screen.  Turning once again to face Elizabeth,  his hands went to his belt and she winced before turning her face away, feeling new tears welling up in her eyes as the realization that he was going to rape her began to hit home.  Still not looking, she heard the soft tinkle of his buckle followed by the rustling of fabric and the clicking of his sword laying on the foot of the bed.  Her hands began to shake.

"You need a bath, Elizabeth." Was all he said, and the way his voice resonated in his tall, broad chest made her spine tingle.  The tenor and depth of his voice was hypnotic, and even though he had only said five words, she found herself relaxing.  Her hands stopped shaking and she turned her face to look back at him, eyes wet with restrained tears.  He had not removed his pants, only his sword belt.  He stood quietly beside the bed now, doeskin breeches and plain linen shirt making him look less imposing than the sword and cloak had.  He bent forward, his arms coming towards her.  She shied away, crawling with her butt cheeks towards the other side of the bed, but his persistence won out and gently his large hands and long arms encircled her small frame, cradling her behind the neck and under her knees.  With a strong pull that reminded her of her inured ribcage, he had her out of the bed, cradling her to his chest with the long satin sheet sliding soundlessly off the bed as it came with her.

Elizabeth felt his warmth against her skin, and her hands had no choice but to wrap around his shoulders and back lest she slip out of his arms.  She whimpered softly with pain and shame, but did not speak.  He lowered her carefully towards the steaming water that mostly filled the tub, and as her feet touched the surface, he paused to ensure it was not too hot.  He took the sheet as she slipped into the warm, scented water and she looked quietly away, refusing to let him see the embarrassment in her eyes.  Clutching her knees tightly to her chest, Elizabeth sat stiffly in the hot water, the steam filling her lungs as she breathed in shallow little pants, afraid, embarrassed and hurt. 

He made no attempt to persuade her to move.  Instead he simply moved behind her, kneeling on the floor outside the tub, and picked a up a sponge from the wash basin.  He dipped it in the warm water, swishing it around so she could feel the movement of his hand in the tub near her back.  The sponge softly brushed her skin and she twitched at first, but as he lifted it out of the water and let the hot liquid pour down her back and over her shoulders, she relaxed slightly.  It went like that for some time.  He would dip the sponge and lift it over her shoulders, letting its slightly rough surface drag across her skin soothingly as its water spilled down her back and neck.  In time he gathered a block of scented soap and rubbed it on the sponge between dips, letting the lather build until the water was frothy and slippery.  Elizabeth's eyes drifted closed and she started to cry without wanting to.  She refused to let him hear her sob, and schooled herself not to sniffle.  She cried silently like that for a long time as he began to rub the sponge over more of her body, starting with her arms and hands, then her back, neck and underarms.

Without speaking his large hands, slippery and wet from the oily bath water, caressed her shoulders and slid gently up the sides of her neck until they over her ears. His thumbs rested gently but firmly behind her lobes, and his fingertips pressed softly into her temples, cheeks and jaw.  He tilted her head backwards in that fashion, with gentle but unyielding guidance, until her hair splayed out in the water and her eyes were looking once again at the decorated ceiling.  His fingers slipped away from her face then, and came to rest under her head, gently massaging her scalp and hair.  He combed his fingers through the tangled mass and with infinite patience, began to wash and smooth the knots and filth from her hair.  After what seemed like an eternity, he carefully raised her head out of the water and with one hand caressing the back of her neck intimately, used a ladle to rinse her hair.

With her eyes still closed, Elizabeth found the sponge tickling her palm in the water as Lord Ellengale handed it to her.  His hand was still gently caressing the back of her neck, fingers and thumb softly kneading the tense muscles and making her feel more relaxed than she was.  His voice, barley above a whisper, came to her from so close she thought she could feel his breath on her ear.  "Scrub your lower body gently.  You will feel better.  Your ribs are broken, and you have a lot of bruising.  Be gentle."  That hypnotic voice!  Elizabeth's spine tingled again, and before she could fully reflect on what he had said, the feeling of his nearness was gone.  Turning her head slightly, she could see that he had moved to the dressing table and was picking through some things.  He had a fluffy towel in one hand.  With her mind reeling with conflicting emotions and thoughts, she began to wash herself, wincing when she touched the tender flesh between her legs.  She thought for sure it would he torn and ruined, but it felt normal, if a little swollen.  The warm soapy water felt nice, and she allowed herself to enjoy it now that he was not hovering over her.  A soft sigh escaped her lips as she ran the sponge along her thighs and feet.

He was back. She could tell even before he spoke that he was nearby.  She let the sponge float to the surface and lifted her hands out of the water, resting them on the sides of the tub quietly, no longer curled into a defensive ball, but refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching her bath herself.  His voice was a little louder than before, less intimate but still tender.

"Stand up, Elizabeth."  She swallowed, and saw no point in disobeying.  She stood quietly, the silence only broken by the sound of water cascading off her body and back into the tub.  The scented oily soap had left a pleasant fragrance on her skin and in the room.  It made her nose twitch slightly, and she shivered as the cool air began to swirl around her.  From behind her, Elizabeth heard him make a noise.  It wasn't a gasp or a sigh, but something in between.  Some soft intake of breath that was cut short before it was let out with carefully disciplined control that made it seem somehow anything but disciplined or controlled.  She could feel his eyes on her naked flesh; on her slender thighs above the water; on the rounded curve of her ass; on the girlish fuzz that adorned her pussy lips and was visible from behind; and on the shapely contour of her waist as it curved into her back, forming a perfect hour glass.  She felt his stare and flushed hot pink with embarrassment and a muted sense of anger.  Before it spilled over, however, he was on her with the warm fuzzy towel, wrapping it around her shoulders and back, tucking it under her hands so she could hold it to herself.  A second towel followed shortly thereafter, rubbing and petting her hair to help dry it.  When he was done pulling the strands of her long red hair out slowly within the towel, Elizabeth's captor gently held her hand and gestured for her to step out of the tub and over to the dressing table, where he had pulled the chair out for her to sit.

Standing behind her as she sat with her head bowed, the Storm Lord picked up a brush and began to pass it through the luxurious red tresses.  He watched her avoid his gaze in the mirror, and brushed her hair until it was completely dry: well over 200 strokes.  The rhythmic cadence of the soft bristles running through her hair had Elizabeth in a light trance.  She felt so relaxed and without knowing, had let the towel slip from her fingers so that it fell partially away from her breasts, exposing a generous amount of cleavage.  Her long, deep breaths caused her bosom to heave rhythmically, and she slowly came back to her senses after realizing he had stopped brushing her.  Composing herself, Elizabeth pulled the towel back up and lifted her chin, finding his face in the mirror.  Her eyes were glassy and tired looking, still puffy from her injuries, but the luminosity in her green irises was unmistakable.  He held her gaze for several seconds this time before she was compelled to tear her eyes away, looking back towards the bed with an unreadable expression.  He set the brush down and stood back from the chair, giving her some space to move.

Moving of her own free will for the first time in days, Elizabeth stood slowly.  She paused before the mirror, looking at herself in it.  The towel wrapped around her torso and hips did little to hide the fact she was naked, but it did provide her with some modesty.  Modesty she had not had in days. Modesty she still did not have.  He was her captor.  She was his prisoner.  With a soft sigh, Elizabeth resigned herself to what lay ahead, and pulled the towel away from her breasts.  It fell to the floor with a soft rustle, and she turned to face him slowly, head bowed so that her chin nearly touched her chest.  Her hands clasped before her sex, shielding the red downy patch of fur that covered it from his eyes.  Her arms did little to conceal her breasts or the bruises on her ribcage.  Her toes curled and uncurled nervously as she stood before him, totally naked and exposed.  Her voice, withheld from him until now as her only real way to defy what was happening to her, finally broke the silence.

"How do you want me?" The simple question filled the room like thunder, echoing off the walls and furniture.  "On the bed I guess?" She turned towards it, her bare feet padding softly on the hard wooden floor until her knees hit the satin covered mattress.  She did not look back, afraid to see the expression on his face. Terrified to witness the look of hatred and lust that had so filled the others before him.  She did not even tremble this time.  Instead she stood quietly facing the bed, prepared to feel his hand on her shoulder, pushing her onto all fours to take her as many of the soldiers had, or perhaps to feel his fingers in her freshly washed hair so that he could put his cock inside her cleansed body and feel somehow less sullied by her.  None of it came, however.

"I want you rested and healthy.  I do not treat my prisoners the way you have been treated."  She stood still, unmoving.  Her knees began to tremble and she slumped slightly onto the bed, turning to sit on it at the lat minute before she fell.  Her shoulders slumped slightly and she lowered her head once again, tears falling freely.  The weight of her predicament finally resting fully on her shoulders, she felt sure to be crushed beneath it.  The sobs she had tried to conceal earlier came with full force now, and her body was wracked violently by them so that her ribs burned and her breath came in shallow gasps.   In an instant, he was kneeling before her, hands reaching up to gently hold her arms, his shoulder there to catch her head as it slumped and she bawled like a child.  His arms gently wrapped around her and he reached up to stroke her hair softly, soothing her while she cried harder than she had in her life.  The grief and shame of what had been done to her finally washing over her, she had no choice but to take comfort from the only person in the world who was near her: her captor.  He held her for a long time, until her sobs slowed and her breathing returned to normal.  He used the towel to dry her face, and quietly told her to blow her nose into it, which she did.  Gently guiding her with his strong hands, he helped her lay down and pulled the covers over her once again.  His hand brushed aside her bangs and he sighed softly as she turned away from him.

"The servants will bring you food and more water to bathe when you wish.  There are clothes in the armoire that should fit you.  I have business to attend to, but will return regularly to see that you are being treated well.  Make no mistake, Elizabeth.  You are a prisoner of war. You will be held for ransom, but you will be treated with respect and dignity.  What my men did to you was specifically forbidden and they have paid for their disobedience with their lives.  Get some rest, you are still injured."  The hypnotic tenor of his voice filled her ears, and without really meaning to, the scared young girl found herself obediently drifting off to sleep at his suggestion.  Her last thoughts before being taken by dreams were of her father, and how much this strange man's presence and demeanor reminded her of him.

Ch. 4

Elizabeth slept soundly for the first time since her ordeal had begun.  The undisturbed sleep of complete and utter exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had been good for her.  The naked girl stretched quietly in bed with her eyes still closed, the flowery fragrance of whatever soap her captor had used still lingering on her pillow and sheets.  Her limbs felt heavy and sore in places, but she forced them to stretch out long, curling her toes and twisting her hands as she writhed quietly in the comfort of satin sheets.  Letting out a quiet groan after her stretch, the catlike girl opened her eyes to gaze once again at the strangely ornate ceiling above the bed.

The room was brighter than it had been before; the curtains had been pulled back to reveal a glass paned window!  In all the kingdom back home she had only ever seen two buildings that had glass windows, and one of them was the royal palace!  Swinging her legs slowly off the side of the bed, Elizabeth sat up, pulling the top sheet with her.  Wrapping herself in the warmth of it, she placed her bare feet on the smooth wooden floor and stood slowly, testing her strength.  Curiosity outweighing her soreness, the naked young girl padded quietly to the window, reaching out to place a hand on the cool glass pane as she held the sheet around her bosom with the other.  Marveling at the smoothness of it under her hand, her green eyes finally focused beyond the glass and out into the world beyond her window.  She was on the second story of what appeared to be a very large estate house formed into the shape of a square U.  Her window faced the courtyard from one wing of the building, and across the cobblestone yard she could see the other wing of the house, lined with a dozen or more windows.  Below, a few people scurried this way and that, one leading a pair of horses towards the front door of the house, others tending the plants that lined the U shaped driveway that dominated the courtyard.  Soldiers, or perhaps personal guards were posted prominently around the courtyard, some mobile and others stationary, such as the two who stood framing the large double doors that marked the estate's main entrance.

Elizabeth had to tear her eyes away form the soldiers.  Their uniforms, even if more cleanly kept and with higher rank insignia, were all too familiar.  Turning from the window clutching the white sheet tighter against her lithe young frame, the girl let out a soft sigh and forced herself to relax.  She moved towards the dressing table and wash tub purposefully, sitting on the plushly cushioned chair primly before surveying the changes she observed there.  Someone, presumably one of the servants, had left a clean bowl of water with a neatly folded washcloth beside the neatly arranged wooden cups of various colored powders, tinctures and oils she could use to make up her features.  Ignoring those for now, Elizabeth dipped the wash cloth in the water and began to cleanse her face, wiping the tear stains and sleep away from her cheeks and eyes.

Feeling refreshed, Elizabeth let the sheet fall away from her body, exposing her pert young breasts to the mirror, her smallish pink nipples slightly stiff in the cool air.  She held the back of the chair for support as she stood, letting a soft sigh escape her lips as  she realized her soreness was fading.  Only her ribs still bothered her regularly, but as she looked at herself in the mirror while standing, Elizabeth noted the bruising there had faded somewhat, and turned to a less angry shade.  Turning away from the mirror finally, the girl walked around the foot of the bed to the armoire, determined to get some clothes on after having spent countless days naked during her repeated rape.

The quiet gasp that escaped her lips as she opened the doors to the armoire would have embarrassed her, but the excited redhead was too distracted by the display before her to notice she'd let it out.  Mouth gaping and eyes wide, Elizabeth stared for several long minutes at the array of sexy clothing spread out before her.  Hanging from the bar across the top of the armoire were three dresses: one of sky blue and silver satin that appeared it would hug her figure from neck to ankle with alluring tightness, one made of white silk that had a flared ballroom skirt and tight looking strapless bodice, and a black silk backless halter dress that appeared would expose more than it would hide with its long slit up the side and deeply plunged front.  Also hanging from the bar was a short red satin night gown with tiny shoulder straps and a series of laces up each side that would allow her curvy waist and bust to peek out from behind the fabric.  Elizabeth's cheeks flushed pink a she reached out to touch that particular garment curiously, never having worn anything so feminine and sexual.  With eager eyes, the girl looked down at the shelves, and saw several neatly folded skirts in red, black, dark green, and pale blue, a small folded bundle of very sheer silken stockings (a luxury she had enjoyed only once before), two silk blouses, both white, and a pair of elbow length black silk gloves.  It was a small but affluent collection of clothing, all of which her father would have frowned at her for wearing, which only added to her joy at the discovery.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Elizabeth next opened what she expected would be the underwear drawer at the bottom of the armoire and what she saw made her stare blankly for several moments.  There were only four items inside the drawer and none of them were panties, slips or bustiers.  Her attention was first drawn toward two pairs of shoes, one black and one white.   The tall looking high heels were closed toe pumps that Elizabeth knew she would have difficulty walking in, despite the ankle strap and thin but sturdy looking heel.  Both pairs were polished to a shine, and the ankle straps appeared to have metal clasps where there should have been a buckle.  Confused but undaunted, Elizabeth turned her attention to the pair of black corsets that were laid neatly in the drawer, their laces wrapped gently.  Both corsets appeared very heavily boned, with six garter straps to hold up the stockings she'd seen on the shelf above the drawer.  The corsets were made of the finest black embroidered silk Elizabeth had seen, inlaid with a floral pattern that seemed to shimmer as the light hit the fabric from different directions.  She had to pick one of them up to discern the difference between the two: one was an over the bust while the other was not.  Otherwise the two garments appeared identical. Running her fingers over the heavy stays of the corset in her hand, the girl found herself fascinated and wondered how anyone could wear them without suffering immensely.

With the lack of any other undergarments, and curiously drawn by the obviously very expensive and finely crafted corset, Elizabeth started to get dressed, deciding she would wear one of the floor length black skirts and the over bust corset, not caring if it hurt her already injured ribs.  This was likely to be the most expensive item she'd ever worn save the green dress her father gave her.  The only shoes available to her were the heels, so she sighed and pulled the black pair out of the drawer and set them on the floor.  Next she unfolded a long black satin skirt, watching it flutter as it unfurled before her gaze.  Lifting her feet carefully, Elizabeth stepped into the skirt, pulling it up her smooth, pale legs slowly.  The satin felt like air as it caressed her flesh and she smiled to herself, momentarily lost in the girlish joy of putting on new clothes and for the first time in a long time, able to forget her captivity.  Elizabeth tied the skirt closed carefully at her hip, then wrapped the over bust corset around her waist carefully.  Her excited breathing was making her ribs ache slightly, but she ignored the pain and fastened the busk of the corset carefully. 

Once the corset was closed, she wiggled a few times to set it in the right spot on her waist, then began to tug on the laces.  The long lengths of fabric pulled easily and Elizabeth was surprised at how easy and natural it felt for the corset to begin constricting her waist.  The more she pulled, the tighter it became, and as she began to feel resistance in the laces, her ribs began to ache.  Looking at herself in the stand up mirror near the window, Elizabeth marveled at how narrow the corset made her waist look. Addicted to the way it changed her body, she pulled tighter still, wincing only slightly as the upper part of the corset compressed her ribcage slightly.  After an initial jolt of pain, Elizabeth actually found that the tightness of the corset kept her more rigidly upright, and forced her lungs to breathe into new parts of her chest, which alleviated some of the pressure on her fractured ribs.  A pleasant surprise indeed!  It took her several tries , but eventually the curious girl was able to tie the laces off behind her back. 

With a triumphant little smile on her full red lips, Elizabeth stepped into the high heels, not bothering with the ankle straps since she didn't have a clue how to deal with the seemingly unjoinable clasps.  Teetering on the too tall shoes, Elizabeth balanced herself with a hand on nearby furniture and began to walk around the room slowly, getting her footing.   Each step was an ordeal, causing her calves to flex and twitch as she adjusted constantly to keep her balance.  The distinct tapping of the heels on the wooden floor made her smile, and she wondered what room was beneath hers briefly, before her thoughts came crashing back to her balance.  Her arms flailed a few times as she caught herself before falling and her bosom heaved up and down, threatening to spill her breasts out of the top of the corset while she regained her breath.  She paused finally in front of the mirror, staring at herself with slack jawed awe, admiring the way the black skirt and corset went together to give her a mysterious and elegant visage.   The pallor of her bare shoulders and arms in contrast to the corset was astonishing, and she found herself immensely proud of her beautiful and sexy appearance.

It was while staring at herself in the mirror that Elizabeth first felt as though she was being watched....The feeling made her spine tingle and she turned slowly to face the door, flushing bright pink as her fears were confirmed: He was watching her.  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and she raised a hand daintily to her mouth to conceal the embarrassment written across her face.  Lord Ellengale smiled to the startled girl and pushed the door open the rest of the way.  He had enjoyed watching her little discoveries, and as he shut the door behind him carefully, commented as such.

"I'm glad to see you were able to find something to your liking, Elizabeth.  You look beautiful.  Truly magnificent."  He brought his hands together appreciatively in front of his chest, making his cloak flutter slightly at his elbows. His deep, powerful voice made her embarrassment heighten; she wasnt used to being complimented with so much intensity and conviction.  The girl stammered to thank him, but was unable to find words or breath to speak.  Her breasts were heaving rapidly in the corset, and it felt suddenly too tight as she tried to find a breath of air. Instead all she could do was giggle quietly and look down at the wooden floor, shuffling her heeled feet with soft taps and clicks.

Her eyes were drawn to his clothing, different today than it had been when she first met him.  As she lifted her gaze slowly from the wooden planks at his feet, she noted his sturdy boots first. The same ones he'd worn last time, they were polished to a bright shine and their worn but cared for appearance spoke volumes about his appreciation for quality.  His black leather pants hugged his features tightly, and as her inspection travelled up his legs and over his midsection, her eyes widened.  The bulge of his manhood was impressive to say the least, and she quickly averted her eyes, noting the finely tailored white shirt he wore beneath a matching black leather vest.  The sword she'd shied from earlier hung easily at his hip, the blue sapphire glinting in the light from the window.  His cloak today was a midnight blue, its edges embroidered with black silk trim and drawn only loosely around his shoulders, the deep hood currently laying unused on his back.  His dark hair was neatly trimmed and he appeared freshly shaven.  His eyes, as intense and piercing as she remembered, looked fresh and rested.  He was obviously on his way to somewhere important.

His eyes drawn to her shuffling feet, Lord Ellegale smiled and stepped towards his captive.  He reached into the pocket of his tight black leather pants and withdrew two small shiny silver objects which he fiddled deftly with between his fingers.  Slipping to one knee at Elizabeth's feet, he grinned and looked up at her, his intense blue eyes meeting hers as she looked down curiously at him.  The sight of this powerful, regal figure kneeling in front of her made Elizabeth feel somehow very self conscious, and she now wished she'd spent time with those tinctures, pastes and powders making her face and eyes prettier.  She felt very much unworthy of his attention, especially after having been so brutally abused, used and inundated with reminders of how little she was worth to these people.  He evidently felt differently.

It was with a sly smile that the kneeling man slipped the first of two small padlocks through the clasps designed specifically to accept them on the ankle straps of Elizabeth's shoes.  The soft snick of the first lock clicking shut startled the girl and as Lord Ellengale slipped the second lock into place around her other ankle, he answered her questioning look.  "I could lock your doors, or perhaps keep you in chains to prevent your escape, but I find this solution far more enjoyable.  You might be able to get out of the house unnoticed if you are very resourceful, but locked into these shoes you would not be able to travel cross country or even along a road at any kind of speed.  You would not get far before you were recaptured." His quiet chuckle at her astonishment made her momentarily angry and she frowned at him.

His gentle pat on her thigh broke her concentration on being angry and she listened as he spoke once again, his almost sensual voice filling her ears with its confidence and unquestionable authority, "I would be upset if you required me to begin treating you with less dignity, Elizabeth, but if you force my hand I will not hesitate to keep you locked in a far less pleasant prison than this." His sweeping gesture indicated the extravagant room and his eyes slid over her silk skirt and corset, making it clear he could keep her naked if he so chose.  "I am not an evil man, but I do what must be done.  It would be best for you if you could forget that these shoes were locked in place, and simply enjoy their attractiveness.  They do look wonderful on your pretty little feet." He offered a smile and his warm, strong hand slid gently down her thigh over her skirt, petting her slender leg affectionately.  As his fingertips slid lower, he gently caressed the bare flesh of her ankle with surprising lightness, tickling her skin until she was forced to pull her foot away with a giggle.  Letting her do so, he too laughed, and stood slowly once again.

"You see, little one?  You are in good hands, and though you are here against your will, I hope that you find some comfort here.  If your father is a wise man, your captivity will be short.  If, on the other hand, he bows to other pressures...  Well let me assure you I will treat you well for as long as you stay here."

Elizabeth found herself nodding along with his seductive voice.  Every time he spoke, it was as though a distant thunder were rumbling in his chest, and the faint accent with which he spoke caused her mind to drift lazily.  She was only half hearing most of his sentences, distracted by the beautiful angles of his face, and the lines of his neck and collar.  She could still not look into his piercing blue eyes for long without their intensity driving her gaze elsewhere.  Without realizing she had done so, her hand clasped his gently and she shuffled her feet nervously, the clicking her high heels on the wooden floor breaking the momentary silence.  "I understand.  Th-thank you for the pretty clothes.  I know you could have given me far less expensive things to wear.  I wont try to run, I promise." And strangely she found herself meaning every word.  His generosity was as expansive as his power over her, and she wondered just how powerful this man was and what kind of army he must have at his command.  She feared for her people, and for her father's difficult choices when faced with an enemy as imposing as this man.

"Good girl." Was all he said as he patted the back of her hand gently, bringing her to the realization she was clasping his.  Her hand darted away in an instant and she turned away from him, too embarrassed to have him see her.  Her smooth, bare shoulders hunched and she began breathing quickly again, the relaxation his soothing voice induced quickly abolished.  He continued softly, his voice quieter, his lips near her ear as she faced away from him, his cloak brushing the bare skin of her shoulders and back above the corset, "I must leave for now, little one, but I will come back later this evening to show you around the house."

His nearness sent shivers down her spine, and as he straightened to standing, Elizabeth finally let out a soft breath she had been holding.  Her eyes were clamped shut and her jaw was set tightly.  A chaotic jumble of conflicting emotions were coursing through her and she did not know what to do or to say.  She found herself nodding quietly as he turned to go.  Her hands were fidgeting with the beautiful skirt and her head was bowed over her heaving bosom, staring down at no particular place on the floor.  She heard him open the door to leave and then silence as he paused to look at her.  Turning slightly, she glanced over her shoulder to find him gazing at her intently with those magical blue eyes, and as she met that gaze, she flushed and he smiled.  Bringing his hand to his chest, he bowed slightly and left the room with the same agility and grace he had so far shown.

Ch. 5

Alone once again, Elizabeth rushed to the bed to sit down.  The tightness of the corset on her injured ribcage was making it difficult to breathe and she was feeling light headed.  With one hand resting on a bedpost and the other placed over her rapidly beating heart, the young captive simply sat and experienced the swirling maelstrom of emotions that surrounded her situation.  She had been afraid for her life for the last several days, but that fear was finally abating into a new, even more frightening prospect: not that she would be killed by her captors, but that she would be stuck here for an unknown period of time.  Even as that fear began to set in, it carried with it the promise of more time spent with the strange man who was her new master.  She hated herself for admitting it, but Elizabeth knew she was attracted to him.  His physical beauty was near perfect, and his confidence and presence were enough to send her heart racing.  She knew, too, that his power and dominion over her was only adding to the heat she felt between her legs whenever she tried to look into his eyes.   Those intense steely blue eyes.  Her breath caught and the hand over her breast drifted down her chest slowly, tracing the lines of the steel boning of the corset.  She felt so pretty wearing it, and she saw the lust in his eyes when he looked at her, even if only for a moment.  She panted a little heavier, her breathing coming slower, but more sultry.  Her lightheadedness was passing slowly, replaced by a different feeling.

The redhead's thoughts and fears drifted back to the bath he had given her, and the feeling of his hands on her skin.  She recalled how surprisingly soft and supple his touch was and she closed her eyes, laying back onto the bed slowly.  Pulling her legs up with her, she squirmed fully onto the bed,  skirt rustling up around her milky white thighs.  She recalled how he had picked her up out of the bed, thinking not how afraid she was that he was going to hurt her, but how terrified she was of being fully exposed to his gaze.  She knew, somehow, that she was safe with him and instead of being scared of what he might do to her, she found now that she was terrified he would see her abused flesh and think her soiled and damaged.  She remembered the noise he made as he stared at her, and made a noise of her own as her fingertips brushed the downy fuzz that covered her sex.  Closing her thighs slowly around her wrist, Elizabeth began to lose herself in the memories of the warm water trickling down her skin as she stood naked before him, feeling his eyes on her, examining her, evaluating her, lusting after her.  Her palm began to rub softly, and somehow even the soreness of her abused flesh was making it feel better than it ever had before.  Her chest was heaving up and down faster in the corset, her breasts threatening to spill out of the cups as she lay on her back, splayed out on top of the satin sheets, her black skirt and corset standing out against the white bedding.

Writhing slowly on the satin sheets, Elizabeth began let herself become lost in the swirling emotions.  Her fingers danced over her soft, swollen petals, and her palm pressed gently but firmly against the stiff button of her clitoris.  Her eyes clamped shut, she found herself envisioning his face, watching her as she did this.  Watching her masturbate.  The thought of him watching her made her sex  moisten even more, and the arousal that was building became too much to bear.  Remembering his voice and the feeling his hand on her head as he called her "good girl" sent her over the edge, making her body spasm and shake with orgasm.  The release of it washed over her like a crashing wave, and she came harder and longer than she could ever remember.  Her sex was a sticky wet mess under her new skirt, and her face and chest were flushed bright pink.  Laying on the bed panting heavily, she let her eyes remain closed and relished the warmth of her body after cumming.  Her hands splayed out on the bed and she lay there a long while, thoughts drifting aimlessly, but always somehow focused on her new captor, and on the many strange ways she feared, respected, and admired him.  She knew so little about him, but she knew enough.  She found herself eagerly anticipating his return, and vowed to make him gasp again.

After laying on the bed panting to catch her breath for some time, Elizabeth drifted into a light slumber, napping contently like a cat in a sunbeam, bathing in the afterglow of her pleasure.  It was still light out when woke and sat up slowly.  The silky softness of the skirt falling back down her legs made her smile, and she held the bedpost as she stood carefully onto her heels.  A little light headed but otherwise fine, the young girl stepped to the dressing table and stood holding the back of the chair, surveying the array of cosmetics splayed out before her.  Finally, she sat, noting briefly how the corset forced her to sit up straight, something her father had always tried and failed to do.  She giggled quietly at the thought that her new captor was forcing her to sit up straight, then reached for the cloth sitting beside the bowl of clean water on the table top.  She wiped her face with cool water as full wakefulness finally returned, then began carefully experimenting with the various powders and brushes that were laid out on the dresser.  Leaning forward to peer closer into the mirror, the girl glanced down briefly and smiled again at the amount of cleavage the corset displayed.  She hoped He had noticed too.

It took some time, but Elizabeth was able to find just the right mixtures to compliment her skin tone and the color of her beautiful green eyes.  Next she picked up the brush he had used on her in the bath, and began to stroke her long red hair lovingly, enjoying the feeling of being beautiful once again.  The pretty girl gazed at herself in the mirror and was almost startled to see a pretty, smiling girl staring back at her.  She had not had cause to smile since the beginning of her ordeal, and now here she was in a luxurious room daintily painting her lips and face and brushing her hair as if she were preparing for a ball back home.  Perhaps it was the reminder of home and happy times that let her relax, but she found herself happy, and no matter how much she tried to remind herself she was a captive, it would not wipe the smile off her lips.  She was a captive, but she had a crush on her captor.  It was like all the naughtiest fantasies she had ever had come true.

Rising from the dressing table, Elizabeth moved back to the armoire, excited to try on one of the other dresses she'd seen earlier.  She looked down at the shoes, locked firmly in place, and frowned slightly.  Perhaps changing dresses would give her and excuse to ask him to unlock them, too.  Standing before the open doors of the armoire, she pondered the dress selection for several moments.  The long black gown with the slit skirt wouldn't do. He wouldn't take the shoes off if she wore that.  She reached instead for the white dress, choosing it because she knew it would show off her bare shoulders and slender neck, not to mention the swell of her breasts, which she thought he would enjoy.  The moisture still present between her thighs had Elizabeth distracted.  It wasn't going away.  In fact, she found that the more she considered the white dress and how he would stare at her in it, the wetter she got.  Her breathing was increasing again, and in order to get some relief, the young girl reached back to unlace the corset, letting out a soft sigh as the tightly boned garment loosened enough to let her slip out of it. 

The pain in her ribs had subsided while she wore the corset, and now that it was off, the throbbing returned. With a sigh, the girl slid the black skirt down her waist and stepped out of it, leaving it in a pile on the floor along with the discarded corset.  Standing naked in front of the armoire, Elizabeth eyed the array of neatly folded silk stockings, wishing she could wear one of the white pairs, but the shoes locked on her feet prevented that.  Perhaps she would be able to convince him to let her put a pair on  later.  The thought made her smiel, and she traced her smiling lips with a finger, a coy expression on her face.  The girl was enjoying playing dress up.

Pulling the white dress from the armoire, elizabeth stepped into it carefully, mindful not to snag the fabric with the heels.  She wiggled into the puffy skirted dress, and with a frown, realized she would need help to zip into it.  Holding the fabric around her torso, the skirt swishing around her as she moved, the coy young redhead walked to the door of her 'cell.'  Reaching for the handle nervously, she turned, finding it unlocked, and pulled the door open with a gentle tug.

The hallway was mostly empty, but richly appointed with side tables, paintings, and a few tapestries opposite the many doors.  Listening, Elizabeth could hear movement from both directions. The general level of activity she could hear in the house was substantial, and she marveled at how quiet it was inside the room.  The walls must be well insulated, she thought.  It didn't take long before a servant rounded a corner somewhere down the hall and began walking in the corridor she was peering into.  Clearing her throat quietly, the nervous girl got his attention, and his head turned.  He looked confused for a brief moment, then realization dawned on him, and he began walking toward her.

She opened the door partially  and poked her head a litle further into the hallway, "um. Excuse me? C-could you help me please?"  The servant was a young man, no older than she, and his uniform was simple but clean.  He was carrying an empty tray under his arm as he approached and he eyed the girl warily with a slight frown.

"What do you want?" She detected an unspoken word at the end of his question, as if in his mind the young man had added the word 'cunt' to his inquiry.  His nearly black eyes made her shiver with memories of her time in the cell, and her hand clutched the dress tighter to her chest.  She gulped and started to back into the room, suddenly unsure weather this was a good idea.  The safety she felt in the presence of the strange man who was her new Master was nowhere to be had with this young servant.  He was cold and unfeeling where he was fatherly and concerned.  He sighed impatiently and brought Elizabeth's attention back to the present.  She hadn't realized she'd been daydreaming about her captor.

"Um.  C-could you please zip up my dress? And um... " she realized now that she did not know her  captor's name, and was suddenly very embarrassed.  The flush on her cheeks did not go un noticed by this pimply faced boy.  He smirked at her and set the tray down on the table outside her door before making a motion with his hand for her to turn around.  The lusty look in his eyes was unmistakable.

Hesitantly, Elizabeth turned, feeling his gaze on her bare shoulders made her tremble, and not with the same excitement as it did when HE looked at her.  She wished she knew His name.  She felt the boy's hand on shoulder. His skin was rough and clammy.  The calloused hand slid down her back slowly and the boy curled his finger and thumb around the top of the dress as his other hand began to tug the zipper upwards.  She could hear his heavy breathing.  He was aroused.  She began to feel tears in her eyes. This boy was raping her with his eyes and she was letting him do it.  She had no choice. She was a prisoner after all, and she had invited him to come help her.  She trembled and as the zipper came the rest of the way up, she tugged away quickly, breaking the boy's reverie.  He stumbled away, suddenly realizing he had laid hands on her, something his Master had strictly forbidden.  He gulped and stammered out, "W-was there anything else? Lord Ellengale said to bring you food if you wanted it."  He hastily added, trying to change the subject and change the mood he had created with his lust.

Elizabeth nearly forgot what had just happened.  Nearly.  She had a name for his face now.  Lord Ellengale. It was somehow fitting. Stately and regal.  She shook her head, just wanting the boy to go away, which he thankfully did once she saw her assent.

As the boy's footsteps faded quickly down the hall, she shut the door and went to the bed, walking carefully and slowly on the tall heels so as not t lose her balance.  She sat heavily onto the mattress and held the bed post for a long moment, still shaking from the ordeal.  The memories of the last few days were crashing down on her, and the tenderness and arousal that Lord Ellengale invoked in her was all but forgotten as tears began to well up in Elizabeth's eyes.  Her free hand rested on the soft fabric of the white dress, fidgeting nervously with it as she sat shaking.  She felt the moisture in her eyes and whimpered softly, suddenly realizing if she began to cry it would ruin the make up she spent so long perfecting for Him.

Steeling herself, Elizabeth stood up firmly, pacing around the room on her heels, the dress fluttering around her thighs, her hair bobbing around her shoulders.  She watched herself in the mirror, and told herself that the boy was a worthless little twerp; that Lord Ellengale would thrash him for making her feel bad.  She would tell on him.  Lord Ellengale would make it all better. He was a kind man. He would treat her well. He would make it all okay.  She wouldn't ruin her makeup over a stupid little servant.  She wouldn't let a dumb boy ruin her pretty face for Lord Ellengale.

The more she thought about Him, the more his visage invaded her psyche.  She sighed and began to calm down as she focused her thoughts on his voice.  The voice that made her smile and feel safe.  She stopped in front of the mirror and fussed with the dress, making it perfect.  The tight bodice was stunning.  It accentuated her smallish breasts beautifully and made her waist look very narrow.  His taste in clothes was so good.  She couldn't wait to wear the red nightie to sleep tonight.  She wiped her eyes delicately, careful not to smudge her make up, and let herself relax and smile. 

Elizabeth moved to the dressing table again and sat gingerly on the dress, reaching for the small bottles of paint she could use for her fingernails.  Humming happily, she began to apply a soft pink shade to her nails, thoughts of Lord Ellengale swirling around her mind.  She was happy to think only about him as she sat primping herself.  Thinking about anything else just made her sad or frustrated, so she didn't bother.  Elizabeth had always had a remarkable capacity to just not think about things if they made her upset.  She momentarily wondered why she didn't think of her father more, but the thought passed easily enough into the back recesses of her mind while she smiled and blew on her fingernails.

Ch 6.

It was just getting dark and Elizabeth was fighting boredom and hunger as she stood looking out onto the courtyard of Lord Ellengale's estate.  She'd refused to call for another servant after the awful experience she had earlier.  She didn't mind going hungry for another little while if it meant she didn't have to see that terrible look in anyone's eyes.  It was a look that said she was a thing to be devoured and used. When He looked at her it was different.  His gaze was calculated and appreciative: as if he was appraising art. She enjoyed that look.  It made her feel valuable where the others made her feel worthless.

The young girl's thoughts were interrupted by movement outside.  A horse clattered into the courtyard, and the impressive cloaked figure of Lord Ellengale stepped down from its back unhurriedly.  Several other horses followed only a few seconds later, entering the courtyard through the main gate, from where, she could only guess.  As she watched from her window overlooking the yard, she saw him turn around slowly, surveying his home as he returned to it.  His head turned this way and that, and his cloak billowed lazily in the light breeze of the early evening.  After cursory glances around the courtyard and at some of his guards, His gaze settled on her window, directly on her.  She gasped softly for a moment, surprised he could see so far with such intensity.  His eyes were unmistakably on her as she stood in the window, bare shoulders accentuated by the strapless white dress that gleamed as that of an angel looking down on him.  His normally grim face softened slightly, and he smiled at her, nodding his head as if to acknowledge her waiting for him.  He let his eyes linger on her beautiful silhouette for a moment longer before turning to bark orders at the men following him.  They dismounted immediately and began leading horses toward the stable before vanishing from Elizabeth's line of sight.

Even if they had not, she would not ahv watched them anyway.  Her eyes were for one man, and one man only as He walked from near the fountain, up the shallow steps to the front door, which was held open for him by one of the guards standing at the main entrance.  She watched until he disappeared inside then turned from the window and sighed softly.  Moving away from the window, Elizabeth's heels tapped on the hardwood floor noisily announcing her every movement.  She made her way to the bed and sat on the corner facing the doorway, knees together and back straight, waiting for him.  She sat quietly for several long minutes, hands folded on her knee, eyes watching the doorway to her prison, waiting for him to come to her.  She knew he would come soon.  She could see in his eyes as he looked up at her window that he would come soon.  It was only a matter of time, and she would wait patiently for him.

Having been hopelessly bored for the last hour, Elizabeth found the next few minutes even harder.  She fidgeted with the dress, picking at imaginary lint that clung to it only in her eyes, or shuffled her feet, turning them this way and that to stretch her ankles after having worn the high heels all day.  She avoided touching her face or hair, having spent so much time making it perfect for him, but still she nibbled on her bottom lip nervously, eyes looking down at the floorboards impatiently.  He was surely a busy man, but she knew he would come for her.  She did not know why she knew, but she knew he would look after her and take care of her while she was in his house.

Nervous impatience turned to worry after the first few minutes, and Elizabeth started to wonder why he was not coming. Surely he had seen her looking.  He had looked right at her and smiled.  He would come, wouldn't he?  He wouldn't leave her alone, would he? Her thoughts swirled and she alternately chided herself for being so nervous and pouted that he had not yet come.  After what seemed like an eternity sitting on the bed, Elizabeth stood and began to pace quietly back and forth, not caring that her feet were a little sore or that walking was awkward.  Distracted by her thoughts as she was, she didn't think about the shoes or walking in them, and instead just paced quietly, shuffling in the tall heels effortlessly, her pert young ass swaying inside the poofy dress.  Her pacing took her back to the window. The courtyard was silent now, the horses and men having dispersed.  Lights were on in several of the windows across the yard, but Elizabeth couldn't make out any activity in any of them.

Busying herself with moving about the room, Elizabeth wasted the next hour, nervousness gnawing at her tummy, mixed with excitement and self doubt as to why he would not have come yet.  She kept telling herself he was going to walk in the door any minute, and by the time the handle of the door creaked she had worked herself into a tight ball of nerves.  She barely noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye before the sound of the hinges  startled her and her attention snapped fully to the door.  She hurriedly sat at the foot of the bed again and shuffled her feet under her, wiggling her butt cutely so that she sat up nice and straight.

Sitting proudly on display for Him, Elizabeth watched as her captor entered the room cautiously.  He poked his head in first, a concerned expression on his beautiful face that brought the hard lines of his brows into a slight vee.  As he saw Elizabeth sitting on the he straightened and the look vanished, replaced by the quiet calm she had first seen there.  His eyes met hers, and she was forced to look down, unable to keep her gaze on his for any length of time. Her tummy fluttered as she realized once again how strong a presence this man held.  Her hands pulled timidly at the dress and she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.  His footsteps coming nearer caused her to look up enough to see his boots approaching to within a few feet of her.  He had shut the door behind himself on the way in.

"I was worried, Elizabeth.  I knocked and you did not answer.  Is everything alright?"

He was worried about her!  She flushed pink, matching her fingernails which continued to pull at the dress nervously. She forced herself to sit still and lifted her head slowly, her eyes sweeping up his frame, over the tightness of his leather breeches, to the simple black belt he wore, held closed by a simple clasp and buckle.  Her eyes fixed on it, afraid to look up at his face, and she found herself noticing the impressive looking bulge just below the belt.  It was pronounced within the tightness of his pants, and she licked her dry lips unconsciously as she stared at it before answering in a timid voice, "I... I must not have heard. I'm sorry... m'Lord."  She added the feeble title at the last second, but it seemed somehow inadequate in her mind, so she thought she would avoid using it again.

"I see." He looked around the room , noting the discarded black skirt and corset still on the floor where she had discarded them earlier.  His lips curled into a slight frown, but she didn't notice, still staring at his belt.  Turning his gaze back to her, he smiled and lifted a hand gently under her chin, his thin fingers curling under her delicate jaw to lift her face so he might gaze at it more directly.

"You look stunning, little one.  You make that dress shine." He smiled down at her and she giggled nervously, eyes gazing up at him as he lifted her face.  She looked as long as she could, her gaze taking in the intensity of his, watching the way his face moved as he spoke, awed by the perfection of his features as much as he was stricken by hers. His finger was still gently under her chin, softly caressing the flesh of her neck with little movements.  He stared down at her and she up at him for a long moment, no words exchanged between them.  Elizabeth found herself unable to stare any longer and looked down and away, turning her head to the side, feeling his hand gently cup the side of her face as she did.  She found herself leaning into the caress, letting his fingers curl around her face and taking comfort in the warmth of his hand.  Her head turned slightly and she found herself nuzzling his palm with her cheek, tears welling up in her eyes as she did.

"Thank you for coming." Was all she said, heedless of the hours she'd spent waiting, heedless of the nervousness and impatience, so happy he had come at all.  This place was so alien to her, and its people so hostile.  All but him.  He was her solace in this bizarre twist of fate that had taken her life.  She felt so much emotion washing over her that she began to shake, and she swallowed the lump in her throat that was threatening to bring torrents of tears to the surface.

"Shhh, little one. It's okay." his hand was on her shoulder now, her bare, smooth shoulder.  He could feel the softness of her skin, so smooth and so warm.  He moved beside her and sat on the bed with the trembling young girl.  His hand slid from her face, softly down her neck, cupping it gently before withdrawing and moving to her lap where he took her hand in his.  "I am sorry it took so long for me to come.  Wars are tricky business.  Please forgive me for having left you alone here all day.  I had meant to see you after breakfast and show you where you might find something to spend your time.  Sitting alone in a room all day must have been exhausting.  You must be angry with me."

The girl silently shook her head, and found that she was not angry at him in the least.  She was grateful he had come.  The feeling of safety she felt with him sitting beside her was unlike anything she had felt in a long time, if ever.  His hand was warm, and she curled her fingers softly around it, staring at the union of their skin, watching his thumb softly pet the back of her small hand.  Her pink nails curled around his hand and  gently rested on his palm.  He smiled slightly and reached up with his free hand to slide her bangs away from her face that he might get a better look at her face.  She continued to stare at his hand resting in his lap, near that bulge.

Elizabeth swallowed again, and found the tears that almost came fading. She felt so tired all of a sudden, and now that he was here, she felt safe and sheltered. She didn't want him to leave. Ever.  She found his approval intoxicating; his compliments made her feel so happy.  She squeezed his hand gently as her thoughts swirled, happy to be here with him and not have to talk or think about what had happened to her.  His thumb continued to stroke her hand gently as his fingers brushed the hair from her face, and his fingertips began to softly caress her cheek and jawline.  He traced the lines of her face, watching her reactions, watching her eyes evade his.  He spoke softly, barely above a whisper, and slid his fingers down the side of her face slowly, tracing the lines of her ear.

"You're not angry with me, little one?  Thank you.  Tonight i will show you the library. There are many wonders to behold within its pages and you may spend as much time as you like there.  I have a steam room you might enjoy also, and i will take you to my study if you wish.  When I am home I can usually be found there.  Your company when I am there would make the work seem less tiresome." He chuckled quietly, causing his chest to rumble, and his hand slid softly down her neck, caressing her bare shoulder. She felt the lightness of his touch and it made her tremble with delight.  Her thighs pressed together more firmly and she was sure he could smell the wetness forming down there.  Somehow she managed to find her voice and spoke softly.

"Please.  Dont go.  Just stay with me tonight? Please?"  She was almost begging, and her head turned to stare at him, her big green eyes pleading desperately for his company.  Pleading desperately for him to stay and comfort her and let her feel safe for a little while.  He nodded his head slowly and the relief that washed over her face was a sight to behold.  Her smile came hesitantly and her arms slid around his broad shoulders.  Her head fell onto his shoulder and she squeezed him firmly, afraid to let go.  His strong arms came around her, holding her gently against his chest, hands softly caressing her bare back.  She cooed quietly at his caress and found her face buried in his neck, her breath warm against his skin, his scent filling her nostrils.  Without thinking, Elizabeth pressed her lips against his skin, her teeth nibbling softly at the flesh of his neck, her gentle kiss bringing a soft moan from his throat.  The timid girl's whisper was sultry now, and as he held her in his arms, she spoke quietly into his ear, the moisture of her breath tickling his skin and sending electric jolts down his spine.  There was magic in her kiss, and he could feel it to the core of his being, "Please, dont go.  I need you."  And there was no mistaking exactly what Elizabeth needed.