The Surrender Of Lady Charlotte

Chapter One-2

“I shall quit you, sirs, until your inspection is over,” Sir Malcolm announced. “I fear I am too soft on this one. Please, do your duty.”

“Father!” Charlotte shouted as she watched him leave. “Father, come back here now.”

“Hush!” The decaying nobleman, Harrow, pressed his face toward hers so closely that she could feel his breath on her cheek and smell something retched in that stench. “Your first duty, daughter of Castile, property of Mountbane, is to obey,” he wagged a finger toward her eyes. “You do anything else, you will be severely punished. You follow my order, this examination will be brief.”

Charlotte settled just so the foul man would pull away. And so he did; though she was hardly happy about the next ten minutes of humiliation. She’d heard about such dastardly rituals, conducted by the ancients—no doubt to satisfy their prurient lusts. But never, never would she have believed that her fate would one day find her lying prone on her father’s table, her skirt being raised by cold hands, and a second pair of hands yanking down the only slip of cloth protecting her personal treasure from the eyes of these gawking men. She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, pretending she was elsewhere—in a meadow, wading in a mountain steam, anywhere but in the midst of this horror. Yet, she couldn’t ignore the sensuous feel of the wind on her exposed vulva where her Venus mound was being thoroughly examined.

With Charlotte’s skirts tossed above her navel and stripped of her underclothes, she was prepared for Tibor. The soft bush of hair at the helm of her female portal glowed warmly, even as the trace of her perfume lifted into the musky air.

“Part her thighs,” Harrow ordered, motioning to another pair of men to his left and right. These two had not the bulk of the brutes that held the woman in her place—nor were they as crudely dressed—still, their task was as malevolent. Striding forward they each grabbed one of Charlotte’s thighs, then bent the knee and pulled her crotch wide open. The effect alarmed the girl to tears as she contemplated the embarrassing exposure. Rent apart, her feminine privates were no longer private at all, but on display before this gazing company of witnesses.

The Doctor remained between her legs as the four fellows commandeering the young woman heaved her to the very end of the table, so her ass was almost falling off the edge. Parted wider still, her hips were lifted so the proper inspection could begin. Tibor thrust with fingers that poked here and there, and spent some time stroking the delicate hymen guarding this virgin’s vital path.

“She appears intact,” he finally lifted his head and announced. “And a most suitable specimen to present to our grace. He will be glad to note that her genitals were made with the idea of breeding lust. Fully flowered, her lips swell even as she struggles against us. The bud between these plump lips,” he said as he squeezed her fat labia, “is engorged with blood. A very good sign.” He stared at her pained face, himself grinning. “Humph, how she gives herself away.”

The company nodded on hearing the Doctor’s decree, while the smile on Harrow’s thin lips transformed his mouth into a lecherous sneer. “I should be so lucky to have one as ripened as this one.”

“You should be so lucky as to have one at all,” the doctor declared. “The belt and harness please.”

This comment caused the now withering beauty to take note. Turning her head square, her eyes shot open as another indignity was thrust on her. A belt of smooth metal was affixed around her waist and locked with a clasp. Henceforth, a chastity girdle was then attached to the waist belt; the entire device cinched tight and secured with a tiny padlock. This thicker metal split her cleft apart in a way designed to ensure that no man—nor Charlotte’s own hand—could have access to the delicate flesh of her proven virginity. While the chastity belt allowed for her natural bodily functions, that was all the freedom she would have in her nether regions. Save being transported by eunuchs, she was safe from rape, lust and her own probing while on her journey to her new home. The disconsolate young woman gazed on her audience, her expression replete with fear and the painful degradation this clumsy apparatus afforded her.

“You’ll come to hunger for the feel of this garment, slave,” Harrow declared in a voice rife with mockery. “I’m told this fits like the clouds of heaven compared to the crude devices that will follow.”

Unable to contain her rage, Charlotte spit in the old man’s wrinkled face as he lowered his visage to glower more.

He retorted, slapping her cheek brusquely. “Bring her father back here now!” The old man stomped away, grumbling under his breath.

On her feet again, Charlotte’s dress covered her embarrassing attire—though the physical effect of this bondage made it seem as though she were nakedly exposing the vile chastity belt. The result was alarming when she moved even the slightest bit. How would she walk? Or sleep? Or sit inside this miserable thing?

“Oh, my father, what have you done to me!” she exclaimed, as Sir Malcolm moved back inside the room while his keen eyes cast a reproving glance her way.

“Your examination has been successful?” he inquired of the entourage.

“Indeed,” Doctor Tibor acknowledged.

“But too much spunk!” Harrow immediately chimed in. “She should be punished now for her insolence.”

“Father, please!” Charlotte moved awkwardly toward her father, though he kept her at arm’s length.

“Accept your fate, fair one. I have given you all I can for these eighteen years—you’ve enjoyed the fruits of my labor, lived in this luxury, sucked life from this bounteous land. But now, it is time… your service to me begins from this day.” His arm swept wide acknowledging the waiting assemblage. “These men are not here to squash your spirit, or tread on your freedom. Their Lord Mountbane is not a monster to fear, but a husband to love and cherish as I once did your sweet mother. Your life will change, my darling daughter, but think it not some horror, instead an adventure.” His eyebrows raised and his complexion flushed as his lofty words inspired him, while his fellows appraised his speech with amusement in their hearts. Certainly Castile was not so daft as to believe this babble… perhaps it was just the wishful thinking of a foolish father, or the machinations of a cunning one who’d try to sway the listeners. They would hear this twaddle and joke on it by nightfall when they made camp. “Charlotte, Charlotte,” Sir Malcolm’s emotions rose in the face of his daughter’s grimacing countenance, “you will accept. And trust me, as you do accept this change, your life will find some peace, I swear.”

“And do you swear as well that you’ll come claim me if I should hate this place, Ilusia?”

He shook his head condescendingly, taking her into his arms for a last fatherly gesture of affection. Once kissing her fair cheeks, he pushed her off. “Gentlemen, please be gone. Though I rejoice in the outcome, this is a sad day for me.” He held his fist to his heart, a single tear about to fall from his one damp eye—the other eye was sharply focused on old Harrow.

“Yes. Best not belabor this day,” the fellow glowered miserably. With a rude jerk, his bony hand grabbed for Charlotte.

She instantly shook him off, saying, “If this is my fate, I will attend it on my own accord. You certainly don’t need to abduct me.”

“Mind yourself, daughter of Castile,” Harrow started in, but one of his fellow nobles moved forward to interrupt.

“We have a long journey ahead. I’m sure we’ll all be glad to quit this place as soon as we can garner a decent meal.”

***

The first afternoon of Charlotte’s new life might have been spent pleasantly. The day proved sumptuously temperate—with blue sky, the hint of a southerly breeze, and traces of honeysuckle blossoms in the air. It might have been a welcome journey considering the young maid’s fearless sense of adventure, but every second of the trek was destined to be met with discomfort. The mean cart that bore her from her father’s home jostled against the ruts and valleys of the rough and rarely used road. With each jarring bump the metal girdle fused to Charlotte’s body cut into her flesh. There was not one comfortable position on the hard wood bench. Her rough predicament was made worse seeing the expressions on the faces of her captors. They seemed to hold her in contempt mixed with a leering lust. Perhaps Mountbane was wise to insist on this chastity belt considering their obvious fascination with her.

Listening to the quiet conversation among them, she learned that there was a single key to the device protecting her groin; that key in Mountbane’s keep, many miles from them now. Though that key seemed a symbol of her freedom, she feared what that freedom might mean—or even if there would be any freedom at all. Harrow’s comments about the “other” devices would haunt her every moment of the trip.

When she wasn’t thinking of her future in Ilusia—as if she could actually piece together a decent picture of that reality—she thought of escape. All wishfully, of course. They hardly needed to bind her more; running seemed nearly impossible in this miserable belt, though she hadn’t been given the opportunity to try. Walking was difficult enough. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like to traverse this uncivil landscape. But escape was never far from her thoughts. Perhaps in the dead of night, when they were sleeping—perhaps then, she mused.

The company stopped for the night at a small forest encampment in the heart of Ilusia’s wilds. Sometime during the day they’d crossed the border, though Charlotte’s companions gave her no clue when this occurred. The air seemed pleasant, the sky as blue, the sun as bold, and her heart as empty from the beginning of the journey until the incessant bump, jolt and grind of the wagon ceased for the day.

Taken into the woods, she was given the opportunity to relieve herself. A messy task it was, and an embarrassing one as well, with one of Mountbane’s beastly henchmen attending her. By that time, however, she was so in need of release that she forgot herself as a gentlewoman and completed the job quickly.

Back inside the camp, she was given food and drink, and shown where she would sleep for the night.

“Would it be all right if I took a short walk,” she asked Harrow, politely.

“And why?”

“To stretch my legs.”

“I’d think you’d find the prospect difficult?” he eyed her with the same obscene amusement he’d shown her all day.

“I need to move about.”

“I’ll take her,” one of Mountbane’s noblemen announced. Coming to her side, the man gently took her arm.

This one was named Tristan, so her careful observations told her. He was the one who held her during the awful inspection; and though she’d not noted any faces during that sad hour, she noted now that he seemed more amiable than his companions were. And certainly, he was the most comely of the group. His stance was fierce, though it generated a power that lured her s*x in an amazing fashion. A strong face, well-cut jaw, keen dark eyes and artful brows could hold her fascinated if she were inclined to gaze on him—,which she wasn’t for fear she’d give her feelings away. Perhaps, however, it was the kindness in his eyes that tempted her most—something that he only briefly offered her. And yet, when he did, he wore the kindness well as though it were a natural trait. A rare man, indeed, to be immovable and vibrantly carnal, as well as temperate with a frightened woman.

“Your father has either misread the truth, or lied to you about his knowledge of Ilusia.” These were his first words directed to her. The two strolled as pleasantly as they could along the side of a small brook of clear water. No, it was not easy to walk, but it was pure bliss to be away from Harrow and the surly animals in this repugnant band of cohorts.

“He has, sir?”

“I am afraid so.”

“In what way?”

“Your place in Ilusia as a woman is likely to be far different than you anticipate.”

“Why would you tell me this now?”

“A warning, miss. Be on your guard. Your father is right to say your life will change. Truly, its pleasures and its pains will be of a different sort than what you know in your homeland. Though we live quite close in distance, our customs are exceedingly contrary.”