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Episode
I The Corsair
Roland, Duke of Dakmora, slammed his fist
onto the oak table, making the wine goblet he had been using
dance. “Red Dragon! Red
Dragon! It’s always the
Red Dragon. Can no one rid me
of this meddlesome bitch?” He
turned on Varos Khrag, his Grand Vizier, with his fist raised as if to strike
him. Khrag to his credit, did
not flinch. The Duke was a big
man, and when in a temper, which he often was of late, inclined to strike
out at those nearest him. Many
of his servants bore bruises, and just last week he had broken the arm of
a page. This time, however, he
slowly lowered his arm as if thinking better of
it. It was one thing to strike
a page, but it was poor form to harm his chief
minister.
Khrag had to admit the Duke had reason to
be angry. His ships no longer
dared to venture to sea, and the loss of an entire year’s yield from
his silver mines had driven him deeply into
debt. The inability of his soldiers
to prevent the corsair known as the Red Dragon from raiding when and where
she chose along his coasts had made him the laughingstock of his people,
and of neighboring princes.
“What am I to do, Khrag?” asked
Roland. He sounded almost
apologetic. “She must be
brought to heel. My inability
to deal with her emboldens my enemies.
I may face invasion, and my forces are stretched to the limit watching
for the next raid.”
“I do not think she can be caught, my
lord,” answered Khrag calmly.
“Our efforts over the last year have proven
fruitless.”
The Duke’s face twisted an expression
of part rage, part sneer. “Do
you mean to tell me that a common pirate, and a woman at that, can defy the
resources of the House of Dakmora?”
He raised his body half out of his chair.
“I did not say she could not be defeated,
my lord,” said Khrag quickly.
Merely that she cannot be caught.”
The Duke
frowned. “Do not play word
games with me, Khrag. If you
have a plan let me hear of it.”
“The trick, my lord is not to chase the
Red Dragon, but let instead let her come to you.”
“I do not follow you,
Khrag. Why would she want to
come to me?”
“Have you not noticed a pattern to the
Red Dragon’s activities, my
lord?” The Duke did not
answer, and so Khrag continued.
“She targets only your
lordship. Your lordship’s
warehouses, your lordship’s merchant ships, your lordship’s
mines.”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Roland,
“what is all this leading to?”
“I believe that she is motivated by revenge,
my lord. She goes out of her
way to attack only you, my lord, even to the extent of sparing the lives
of those she considers innocent.
That is not like any pirate I have ever
encountered. She wants vengeance
for some past wrong.”
“Wrong?” growled the
Duke.
“An imagined wrong, of course, my lord,
but nonetheless real to her. A
man in your position has many enemies.
However, it does not really matter what motivated her desire for
vengeance. Trust merely that
it is real.”
“Suppose you are right,” asked the
Duke. “Where does all of
this leave us? She still menaces
my well-being.”
“That is her weakness, my
lord. Her desire for vengeance
leaves her vulnerable. She can
be lured into a trap.”
“And what will we use as bait for this
trap? She has evaded every snare
we have set for her.”
“Bait?
Why, my lord, you will be the bait.”
“What?”
The duke’s veins stood out on his
neck. “You dare mock your
duke? I will have you flayed
alive!”
“No mockery is intended, my
lord. What else would motivate
her to come to you? Her desire
for vengeance will lead her right into your
hands.” Khrag was
sweating. It was dangerous to
play games with a man as stupid as the
Duke. He hurried to finish his
explanation. “All we need
do is to get her to believe that you are in a vulnerable
situation. Then she will be drawn
to you like a moth to light.”
The Duke seemed to relax somewhat, but his
face was still creased in a frown.
“I tire of this conversation,” he
said. “Explain your plan,
and I will decide its merits.”
“It is just this, my
lord. You must place yourself
in a position where the Red Dragon thinks you will be vulnerable, but will
actually be, in reality, well
protected.”
“And how is that to be done?” asked
the Duke.
“I suggest a tour of the duchy with only
a small escort. A sign to the
people that you are not afraid to travel anywhere in your own
lands.”
“As I am not,” said the Duke, his
voice rising once more.
“Forgive me my lord, I did not wish to
imply that you were. And the
smaller than usual escort would be proof of that.”
“A smaller escort, you
say? Would not that expose me
to danger? And do not the people
of Dakmora expect their duke to be suitably
accompanied?”
“Perhaps that is so my lord, but there
have been whisperings that you remain in your castle, not out of a sense
of duty, but because you fear attack.
The small escort would put an end to such false
rumors.”
“Whisperings you
say? Who speaks such
treason? I will have them gutted
and placed on public display.”
“My agents gave me no specific names,
my lord. The news of such disloyalty
was given to them second hand. But
be assured that any who do speak falsely will be identified and
punished.”
Duke Roland seemed mollified by the last
statement. “And the smaller
escort;” he asked again, “what will be done to ensure that I am
not needlessly exposed to attack?”
Inwardly Khrag,
smiled. He had long known that
his duke was a coward, brave only when surrounded by dozens of armed
guards. He played his trump
card. “You will only seem
to be lightly guarded my lord. I
will arrange for soldiers to be posted in advance at all the towns along
your route. They will blend in
with the local population, but will be there when
needed.”
Duke Roland nodded his head at
last. “An admirable plan,
Khrag. I hope for your sake that
it is not a waste of my time. Put
it into motion at once. The sooner
we deal with the Red Dragon the better.”
Khrag rose and
bowed. “As you wish my
lord. Be assured that it will
work. Within the month the Red
Dragon will be ours.”
Melissa readied herself for
departure. A ducal
tour. She could hardly have hoped
for a better opportunity. The
Duke would be out from behind the formidable walls of his
castle. It was rumored that he
intended to travel quickly and was taking only a small escort, not the five
hundred or so men who usually accompanied him whenever he dared to leave
his fortress home.
She had said nothing to any of her
men. Not even Che Sha and the
two Silvani rangers were told of her
plans. She must do this on her
own. It was her mission of vengeance,
and her forays of the last year had endangered her friends
enough. Now she must seek out
the Duke herself and settle the matter between
them.
The
Peregrine
was anchored offshore of a small coastal village frequented by
smugglers. More importantly,
however, it had a small inn and stables.
She had been able to purchase a horse, using one of her men as a go
between. Now everything was
ready. She wore a long cloak
over her costume and her abundant red hair was tucked up under a wide brimmed
hat that helped to disguise her features when it was pulled down
low.
She mounted the horse she had
purchased. It was a good animal,
but not possessed of any special
qualities. Dropping a coin into
the stableboy’s hand she flicked the reins and rode
off. The Duke was only a day’s
ride away. Her hour of vengeance
was almost at hand.
Her journey to the town of
It appeared that the rumors were
true. She saw almost no sign
of the huge escort that the Duke usually took with him when he dared to leave
his castle. The Duke was ensconced
in a small fortification in the centre of
Dalrymple. The castle had once
been of considerable importance, but the town had long outgrown
it. Now it served as a modest
residence for the touring duke.
Still, it was the largest single building town, consisting of a large
tower some ten spans high and twenty spans
across. Posted about the outside
were the tents of the escort, the tower not being large enough to house Duke
Roland’s servants and his guards.
Apparently he had chosen comfort over
security. Still, it was not wise
to be too hasty, and Melissa spent most of the day in the market, which was
conveniently right next to the tower.
Not once did the Duke put in an appearance, but it gave her ample
opportunity to study the way the castle was guarded and to plan her way into
it. Finally, satisfied, she rode
back to the inn and waited until
nightfall.
It seemed a very long
wait. It was midsummer and the
sun did not go to bed early.
Eventually, however, the light of day faded and Melissa was able to
make her move. She dressed for
the part. She no longer wore
her assassin’s outfit. That
was a thing of the past, but she wore loose fitting dark brown trousers that
she tucked into her black low-soled
boots. She wore a black corset,
as was now her custom, laced over a tan velvet
blouse. A dark blue sash encircled
her waist. Her sword belt was
buckled over her shoulder so that her sword hung from her
back. She could gain access to
the blade by drawing it from over her
shoulder. Throwing her dark cloak
about her she stole through the window of her
room. She had deliberately chosen
a room at the back of the inn so that her exit through the window would be
unobserved. Outside it was but
a short walk to the streets of the now deserted town.
Unobserved, she made her way to the tower
where the Duke was staying. Her
reconnaissance earlier in the day now paid
off. Without difficulty she slipped
past the guards, timing her move perfectly to take advantage of the pattern
of patrols she had observed. The
castle was old and the cracked stone provided numerous hand and foot
holds. Using the skills she had
acquired as a Dragon Warrior she quickly and silently scaled the
tower.
She found herself outside an unbarred
window. Squeezing through the
narrow opening she found that she was on an interior staircase that spiraled
around the outer wall of the tower.
Guessing from what she had learned by gossiping with the merchants
in the market, she moved toward the top of the
tower. She soon came to a door
on the inner wall. Through the
cracks in the boards streamed slivers of
light. From the other side she
could hear low voices. From their
tone they seemed to be engaged in casual
conversation.
She put her eye to one of the
cracks. She was hard put to stifle
a gasp. On the other side of
the door, barely twenty feet away was the man who had haunted her dreams
and who had filled her worst nightmares.
Duke Roland was engaged in quiet conversation with an older man, perhaps
the captain of the tower. Quietly
drawing her sword, Melissa placed her hand on the latch.
She opened the door quickly and strode into
the room. She could have killed
Duke Roland right then and there, but that would have been too
merciful. She wanted him to know
who she was and why he was to die.
As she slammed the door behind her both men turned toward
her. Slowly, almost languidly
the Duke got to his feet.
Melissa studied the man who had murdered her
father. He was tall, much taller
than she by at least a head. His
shoulders were broad and his chest deep, suggesting great
strength. His body tapered to
a narrow waist that was further emphasized by a black leather sword belt
and tight-fitting breeches. The
rest of his outfit consisted of black leather knee-length riding boots and
a blue silk doublet. The only
sign of his rank was a large medallion featuring the ducal crest that he
wore on a heavy gold chain about his
neck. His features might have
been considered handsome were it not for the cruel twist of his
lips. It was the face of man
that enjoyed inflicting pain.
There was a heavy wooden bar to one side of
the door and she pulled it into place.
She was alone with the Duke and his
companion. She wanted no one
to disturb this moment. He would
not leave the room alive.
Even as the Duke rose her eyes swept the
room. It was quite large, as
befitting a room that was the temporary abode of the Duke of
Dakmora. On one side was a large
fireplace. A fire had been lit
in it, but due to the time of year, it had been allowed to burn down to glowing
coals. Several candles lit the
room. Across the room from the
fireplace was a large four poster bed.
In the centre of the room was a heavy wooden table and three
chairs. The Duke and his guest
were seated in two of these. A
bottle of brandy and two partly full glasses were on top of the
table. The only other furniture
in the room consisted of a large wooden wardrobe and two wooden
chests. The walls were adorned
with heavy tapestries to help keep out the chill and provide some
decoration.
To Melissa’s surprise, neither the Duke
nor the man with him seemed the least concerned about her
presence. Perhaps they did not
know who she was. Her words alerted
them to that and to her purpose.
“Duke Roland of Dakmora, I am Melissa Noble, also known as the
Red Dragon. I am the daughter
of Lusan Noble, whom you so foully
murdered. I suggest you draw
your sword so that when you die, it will be with as much dignity as you can
muster.”
Melissa knew by rights she should simply have
skewered the Duke right then, but her sense of honour would not allow her
to kill a man in cold blood, even a man as craven as the one who had murdered
her father.
The Duke seemed not the least concerned about
who she was or why she was there.
“So,” he sneered, “it was the armorer’s little
bitch who has caused me all off this
trouble. It is something I would
not have guessed in a hundred years.
It is going to give me the greatest pleasure to see you dragged back
to Slandor for public humiliation and execution.”
Melissa wondered at the Duke’s
words. He was reputed to be an
excellent swordsman, but he seemed almost too
confident. She glanced at the
older man who had been drinking with him.
He was short, and dressed in a loose fitting orange tunic and mauve
tights. He did not wear boots
or carry a sword, and she guessed that this must be Varos Khrag, the Duke’s
chief minister. He was reputed
to be as clever and evil a schemer as had ever
lived. He was unarmed, but Melissa
resolved that after the Duke was dead she would kill him as
well.
She raised the blade of her
sword. “Defend yourself,
Roland or die the way my father died, without a blade in your
hand.”
Instead of defending himself, however, the
Duke backed away from her and at the same time raised his arm and swept it
down. From behind the tapestries
that lined the chamber came more than a dozen soldiers, each armed with a
seven foot halberd. Melissa realized
to her chagrin, that she had fallen into the simplest
of traps.
She stepped back toward the door, conscious
as she did so that she had bared it to prevent anyone from interrupting her
session with the Duke. Now it
prevented her escape. Turning
to raise the bar would expose her back to the soldiers who were now advancing
on her with the deadly points of their halberds
lowered. From behind this seemingly
impenetrable wall of steel the Duke leered at
her.
“Now I have a proposal, Red
Dragon. Throw down your sword
and surrender. If you do so I
may make your execution less painful.
Resist and my guard will gut you like a butchered
hog.”
Melissa realized that there were simply too
many men facing her in too confined a
space. She might have had some
slight chance against so many if she had room to maneuver, but in the confines
of the room she was at their mercy.
She realized with a sense of inevitability that she was going to
die. Suddenly she was very
calm. It was almost as if the
acceptance of her own death allowed her to think more
clearly. She saw that there was
only one thing that she could do, and that was to take the Duke with
her.
Melissa’s attack was so sudden and so
well executed that it caught the advancing soldiers completely off
guard. They had been advancing
with confidence on the trapped woman, certain that no one could stand up
to their numbers or the superior reach of their
weapons. Then their prey’s
sword flicked out faster than any of them could
follow. Melissa struck first
to her left, ducking beneath the fearsome points of the halberds and pricking
the forearms of the two soldiers farthest to that
side. They recoiled from her
attack, creating the smallest of gaps.
It was enough; Melissa darted into the opening,
slashing at the soldiers to her right and forcing them to give way
involuntarily. For the briefest
of moments the way was open to the Duke.
Melissa flung herself into the breach and thrust her sword into the
Duke of Dakmora’s heart.
Or so she
thought. In one of those strange
quirks of fate, the Duke was saved by the symbol of his
rank. The point of Melissa’s
sword struck the heavy gold medallion he wore about his
neck. The force of the blow actually
bent the metal, but the sword did not penetrate, and then Melissa was
overwhelmed. Her desperate attack
had exposed her back to her assailants.
It was a move no one would have taken unless they were determined
to die achieving their goal. The
soldiers she had darted past wheeled, and reversing their weapons brought
the shafts of their halberds down upon her back and
shoulders.
The bruising pain of the blows stabbed through
her back and shoulders. She was
knocked to the floor almost unconscious, her sword dropping from her
hand. “Seize her!”
shouted the Duke. “Hold
her for me!”
Willing hands seized her arms, twisting them
behind her. She was raised to
her knees, but not allowed to stand.
Recovering her sense, she struggled to break free, but was too strongly
held, and then the Duke was kneeling in front of her, his face only inches
from her own.
“So. Red
Dragon. You are caught at
last. You will suffer pain and
humiliation such as you have never experienced
before. And it begins
tonight.” As he spoke, the
Duke’s fingers fumbled at the bow tying the laces of her
corset. He pulled and the bow
collapsed. Then one by one he
drew the laces from the eyelets holding her corset, until the tight-fitting
outer garment fell away from her body, leaving only her thin cotton blouse
between her and his questing fingers.
Melissa grunted as the men holding her twisted
her arms even harder, forcing her head to the
floor. Then she felt her wrists
being bound with the laces of her own
corset. Her boots were pulled
off and her ankles pulled up to her wrists so that she could be tightly
hogtied. Only then was she lifted
into an upright position. The
Duke was still kneeling in front of her and Melissa realized that it was
he who had tied her wrists and ankles.
His face was twisted in a cruel and triumphant
smile.
“So,” he sneered, “the mighty
Red Dragon, trussed up like a calf ready for
branding. And I may have you
branded, just for the pleasure of seeing you scream as your perfect skin
is irreparably damaged. Does
the idea excite you?”
Melissa returned his comments with a silent
stare. She knew that a man such
as the Duke enjoyed taunting his victims.
She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing a
response.
“The silent type are you?” continued
the Duke. Well let’s see
if I can’t find some way to make you
scream. He turned to his
men. “Leave us,” he
ordered. “Khrag, you
stay. I may let you enjoy a little
of our guest.”
Duke Roland turned his attention to the rest
of Melissa’s clothing. First
he unbuckled and removed her sword belt, and then the belt holding up her
trousers. Next he began to undo
the ties holding the front of her blouse
closed. Melissa felt a deep sense
of shame. She had failed miserably
in her mission. She had not only
failed to kill the man who had murdered her father but she had placed herself
in his hands for his further amusement.
She could hardly have done worse.
She could only hope that her companions would not try to rescue
her. Their capture would be a
blow that she could not survive.
“What is this?” gasped the
Duke. He had undone Melissa’s
blouse far enough that the flaming red of the dragon tattoo was now
exposed. With a look of amazement
he ran his fingers over her soft flesh, following the outline of the
dragon’s body. “Look
at this, Khrag. I have never
seen anything like it. With a
powerful wrench he ripped her blouse from her
torso. “Let’s see if
she is decorated the same way on the other side.”
Turning Melissa over, Roland followed the
tattoo down her back to where it ended just above the curve of her
backside. “Incredible,”
he said. “Lock at how it
moves when she flexes her muscles.
It is almost as if it were
alive.” He turned Melissa
back over. “Now I know the
origins of your name. There is
more to you than meets the eye my little dragon
bitch. Before you die I am going
to learn all of your
story. I suspect that it will
be most interesting. But before
I turn you over to my inquisitor, there is something that I must do
first.”
The Duke pulled on the laces binding
Melissa’s trousers. As the
tight fitting garment loosened he pulled on the waistband, sliding her trousers
over her hips and exposing her transparent
undergarments. “I see you
are as red-haired below as you are above.” He
leered. “Now let’s
have a better look.” Taking
her underpants in both hands, he ripped the flimsy material from her
loins.
Melissa tried to control her breathing, but
she was having a hard time of it.
She had been raped in the past.
Raped beyond remembering the number of times, but somehow this was
horribly different. She was
experiencing the same mixture of fear and revulsion that she had when her
virginity had been forcibly taken by the Duke’s
men. As the Duke’s hands
probed her most private places she broke out into a cold
sweat. It took every scintilla
of self-control to keep from screaming out at the sheer horror of the
situation. How could she have
been brought to this? Her desire
for vengeance had delivered her into the hands of the only man who was capable
of humiliating and degrading her.
“A tight one, aren’t you my little
dragon bitch?” Melissa shivered
as the Duke’s fingers probed her
vulva. It was more than a year
since she had last been raped. With
the help of the Vayasha’s healing powers her tender nether region had
been returned to almost virgin condition.
Whatever happened to her was going to be very
painful.
Her heart beating uncontrollably, Melissa
was very near to screaming. The
Duke was also breathing heavily in eager anticipation, as he unbuckled his
belt and then yanked down his trousers to release his throbbing
member. The Duke’s phallus
matched his height. It was about
as big an organ as Melissa had ever seen.
Melissa bit back a
scream. Her mouth opened in silent
protest as the Duke’s large hands settled on her breasts and then
tightened. Fear like she had
never felt before gripped her. But
it was not fear of the rape. It
was fear of being dishonored and shamed by her worst enemy, and the fear
that she would not endure the ordeal he planned for
her. To disgrace herself by crying
out or showing fear would be a betrayal more crushing than anything the Duke
could do to her.
The Duke looked down on the trembling female
her was about to rape. She was
so beautiful and exotic that it almost hurt to look at
her. He could sense her fear
and knew what it was. This woman
was not afraid of him. Only a
half hour ago she had just faced down a room full of soldiers without the
slightest sign of fear. What
the Red Dragon feared was betraying
herself. He licked his lips and
bent his head to her ripe breasts.
Well. He would give her plenty to think about.
Melissa swallowed as the Duke took her left
nipple between his lips. He toyed
with the tender bud, sucking on it and swirling his tongue over its stiffening
surface. Under his teasing the
nipple slowly became erect. Then
he took it between his teeth and bit down until the blood
came. Beneath him he felt the
body of his victim arch. He bit
harder, worrying the bleeding teat as if he was trying to tear it from her
breast. The Red Dragon tightened
her muscles, but other than that gave no other sign of the pain that she
was experiencing.
“Well,” thought the Duke, “There
is always the right tit.”
Lifting his head slightly he transferred his mouth to her right
nipple. She tensed again as his
teeth clamped on her pink blossom.
He took more of her breast into his mouth this time, engulfing her
areola and biting hard into her breast.
He was rewarded by a quick intake of
breath. Try as she might, the
Red Dragon could not control all of her
reactions. Roland worried the
soft flesh, shaking his head from side to
side. Beneath him he could feel
the redheaded beauty twist as she tried to free herself from this
torment.
He raised his head from her breast, his mouth
coloured with the crimson of her blood.
“Don’t worry dragon bitch, I’ll leave plenty of you
for my inquisitor to play with.
Rising he took her heaving globes in his hands and squeezed until
the blood spurted from the wounds he had made with his
teeth. Melissa writhed under
his brutal mauling, her head thrown back in agony, but made no
sound.
“Bitch, I’ll soon have you bleeding
from a lot more places than this.
I’d like to rip you open from one end to the other, but that
would deny my inquisitor the pleasure he is going to
have.” He wrenched her legs
farther apart, and holding her buttocks to prevent her from moving, forced
her labia apart with the might of his engorged
phallus.
A slight whimper came from the lips of his
victim. A flicker of shame mixed
with fear passed across her perfect features. It was instantly suppressed,
but it was enough. The Duke
grinned. He thrust into her,
sinking his shaft into the warmth of her soft love
tunnel.
“Ah!” Melissa gasped.
She fought back tears as her father’s murderer had his way with
her. This had not been the way
that her search for vengeance was supposed to
finish. She fought back a
sob. He was supposed to die on
the point of her sword, not capture her and subject her to the pain and
degradation of another brutal rape.
She twisted, gritting her teeth against the pain, but trying not to
show how much he was hurting and humiliating
her.
Duke Roland pounded into his
victim. He was far from subtle
in his lovemaking even when he was merely satisfying his
lust. The sadistic streak within
him rose to the fore when having sex.
He loved to hurt women, to make them cry out and beg him not to hurt
them. Over the years, he had
become an expert at using his huge sex organ as a
weapon. This woman was a
challenge. He was hurting her
more than he had ever hurt any of his victims, and yet she did not cry out,
but he felt that she was close to
breaking. If only he could find
a way to intensify the pain.
Withdrawing almost to the full extent of his shaft, he plunged deep
into her, penetrating to her cervix and then
beyond. The Red Dragon arched
her back, her bountiful firm breasts jiggling erotically in a beautiful dance
of their own. Then he slammed
into her again and again. But
still she made no sound other than that of her labored
breathing. Her eyes were wet
with tears, but she did not weep or
scream. Infuriated he plunged
into her again and again, finally blasting his semen within
her.
Breathing heavily, the Duke rolled off the
Red Dragon. “Now Khrag,”
he ordered, “you take her.”
“But my lord…,” sputtered the
Duke’s minister.
“No buts,” shouted the Duke
savagely. “Take her
now!”
“As is your wish, my
lord.” Khrag began to hastily
untie the laces at the front of his tight fitting
trousers. He had no aversion
to taking women against their will, but did not usually perform in front
of an audience. As he stripped,
however, he speedily changed his mind.
The incredible redhead was one of the most beautiful women he had
ever seen and even the blood oozing from her breasts and vagina could not
detract from her smoothly muscled body.
If anything, the sweat that beaded on her velvet skin, and the bruises
and scratches that the Duke had left on her contributed to his
arousal. She was so beautiful,
and so deadly, and so helpless. By
the time he had loosened his trousers he was fully erect.
Being raped by Khrag was not nearly as painful
as the ordeal Duke Roland had put her through, but it was every bit as
debasing. Melissa endured the
rape in silence, but was mortified at being helpless to stop a man twice
her age from having his way with her.
And although Kharg was not as well endowed as the Duke, he paced himself
much better. He raped her for
the better part of two hours, taking so long in fact that the Duke actually
left the room. He returned as
his first minister finished with her.
“About time, you old dog,” admonished
the Duke. Then he
laughed. “How does it feel
to be so helpless Red Dragon? Even
an old man can take you, and there is nothing you can do about
it.”
“She was a delight, my lord,”
simpered Khrag, “I am honoured that you allowed
me the pleasure of enjoying her.”
“It is an honour that you will share
with my guard,” answered the Duke.
He opened the door and shouted a
command. Within seconds his soldiers
began to file back into the room.
“You may have her until morning,” said the
Duke. “Just remember that
her ass is mine, and I want her fit to
travel. Now enjoy
yourselves. Come
Kharg.” With that the Duke
left the room,
“Been looking forward to this for a long
time you redheaded witch,” said the first soldier to unlace his
codpiece. While out of the room
the Duke’s men had drawn lots to see who would be first to take the
redheaded pirate. She had made
their lives a living hell for the last year, striking again and again into
the Duke’s territory and making them look like a pack of
fools. Like all soldiers, the
Duke’s men had a certain sense of
pride. Their inability to anticipate
the Red Dragon’s attacks or react fast enough to them had made them
the laughingstock of Dakmora. The
people of the duchy had taken to mocking them in the streets whenever they
passed. In addition, they had
been run ragged, being marched from one part of the duchy to the other in
futile pursuit of a foe they could not pin
down. But now they had her and
their vengeance was going to be most sweet.
The Duke’s guard kept in mind his
restrictions. When morning came,
Melissa was still conscious. She
had not been severely injured nor had she been taken
anally. But her vagina was brutally
sore. When the last man took
her it felt as if the walls of her love canal were being abraded with
sandpaper. Her breasts and especially
her nipples were tender and raw from being sucked, bitten, pinched, and
squeezed. Her jaw ached from
being forced open by the thrusting phalluses of a more than a dozen men,
and her body was so covered with sweat, sperm, and filth that it seemed as
if she had been deliberately dragged through
muck.
When the morning guard came to order her taken
before the Duke she could not walk.
Instead she had to be dragged.
All the same, her escort kept her hands tied and a dozen men went
with her. The Duke was waiting
outside the tower, his horse already
saddled. Melissa was dumped
unceremoniously at his feet. On
the eastern horizon the sky was red as the sun prepared to rise, but Melissa
was in no mood to appreciate the beauty of a new dawn.
“I see you are still alive and conscious,
dragon bitch,” said the Duke.
“That is good. It
shows that you are strong. And
you will need to be strong to survive what I have planned for
you.” He looked at his
guard. Clean her
up. I want her presentable for
public viewing. And be
quick. We leave before the sun
clears the horizon.”
Melissa’s guards seized her under the
arms and carried her a few feet to a
well. There bucket after bucket
of cold water was drawn and dumped over
her. Shivering with cold, Melissa
felt her bonds being cut, but her respite from bondage was
short-lived. Heavy chains were
placed on her wrists and ankles and then she was dragged over to a large
wagon. On top of the wagon was
a large iron cage. With a shriek
of rusting hinges the door was wrenched open and Melissa heaved bodily
inside. She collapsed on a heap
in one corner of the cage, but she was not going to be allowed even that
comfort. One of the guards followed
her into the cage, and attaching an iron collar to her neck, chained her
to the top of the cage. Then
he pulled on the chain, forcing her to her feet, before securing the chain
so that she was unable to even kneel.
Naked, ravished, exhausted, and humiliated,
Melissa stood before her captors.
With an almost superhuman effort she forced herself to raise her head
and look each of them in the eye.
At that moment the Duke rode up, astride a large white
stallion. “Ah yes,”
he said. “Conscious and
still full of fight. She will
be a prize exhibit as we journey to
Slandor. All of Dakmora will
be witness to her defeat and
shame.” He signaled to the
driver of the wagon to proceed.
“We will take the old road.
It passes through the most
villages. One of you ride ahead
and alert the people as to our
coming.”
Melissa let her eyes
drop. So she was to be publicly
exhibited. Her dishonor would
be complete. All of Dakmora would
know of her capture and complete
subjugation. A tear dropped from
one jade eye, and she made no effort to stop the
second. As the wagon pulled away
from the tower her body shook with sobs.
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