THE PRETTY PRISON | rope captive girl | bdsm stories

It was the thunder of hooves that woke her in the morning. The cavalcade of Coudraye's men pounded across the drawbridge to route their enemy. With a back-stretched leg tugging at its chain, Aveline, contrived to clutch the bars and behold the clash of armour as the power of Malenfant met them in midfield. No element of surprise was there on either side. None was possible. They would smite each other to the bloody conclusion Coudraye had sought to avoid.

To the captive girl behind the bars it was both horrible and fascinating. Her mind was alive with the vivid awareness that the outcome of the carnage held as great a portent for her as for any other. She might watch the approach of freedom, a glorious liberty to return to Plinlymon, or she might find herself delivered into a repugnant slavery. Malenfant was like to be merciless with her.

Most battles are frustratingly indecisive. This was no exception. Men fell and horses fled without their rider. There was much sound and confusion. The pikemen fol owed the cavalry, axes flashed and swords thrust. In helpless consternation the chained maiden in her tower room realised the tussle could go on and on. She could behold advantage to neither side, save for one thing: Malenfant possessed the larger force.

From time to time Aveline returned to her cot. It was tiring to stand on one foot while the other tugged at a chain. But her stake in the battle was compulsive. It returned her inevitably to the window and to anxiety. As the morning lengthened she saw with sinking heart the melee creep closer and closer to the gateway of Coudraye.

She recognized the two men as servitors of the man whose shackle she wore. They entered the small chamber without warning, paused momentarily at sight of her nakedness, then made their apology.

“It is our orders, M'Lady, this thing that we must do.” Aveline trembled. “The fight goes il for us?”

“Aye. Hold forth thy hands.”

In futile defence, she put her hands behind her back and out of sight, eyeing the cord with loathing.

“Why would you tie me? I am wel chained.”

“ ‘Tis not as ye think, lady. We'l loose thy shackle. Come, hold out thy hands, we've little time.”

They exuded an urgency she could not ignore. The men of Coudraye were as close to friends as she now possessed. Hesitantly she held out her chafed wrists and watched them tied with a care and precision out of keeping with the tension in the air.

“What must ye do with me?”

“ ‘Tis best ye do not know, M'Lady.”

“Why so many strands upon my wrists, and why in front instead of at my back?”

She saw them smile, but got no answer. They unlocked the gyve from her ankle and led her from the room.

The battlements were deserted, the castle was not besieged. Save for the three of them the defenders were in the field. Aveline looked about her in wonder at the implements of war as she was taken to the embrasures above the drawbridge and the moat. It was while long lengths of rope were being tied to her ankles and another looped 'round the cords upon her wrists that she noticed the timber protruding out beyond the last stone rim.

She divined its use and Coudraye's desperate gamble at the same time. Ironically the cause she championed would now treat her il , and she would not complain. She viewed what was about to happen with fear and misgiving, but if it served its cause she would bear it with what fortitude she could muster.

“ ‘Tis wel thee are without clothes, madam. Such is our order.”

She shrugged and baffled them with a smile. “Get it over with,” she demanded without rancour.

At the end of the stout timber there was a pul ey; threaded through it was the rope to her hands. With a muttered “Forgive me, M'lady”, one of her guards picked her up bodily and lowered her over the battlements while his companion control ed the rope by which she would hang. At the last moment primitive fear caused her to struggle, but it was too late: She swung out into nothing.

It was a tribute to Coudraye's strategy that as the naked girl swung from her rope the sounds of strife were muted by astonishment. Whilst by no means close, her helpless predicament was clear to behold by all who fought. Despite the pain of her wrists and her fear of the space beneath her feet Aveline did for a few brief moments feel hope that this clearly defined threat to her life would be heeded and that Malenfant, determined to possess her alive, would yield to Coudraye's terms. If the rope by which she was suspended was cut she would be dead in seconds.

But her exposure was not yet complete. She felt herself being lowered to where anyone below would get a shaming view as she hovered somewhere between earth and sky. From narrow slits on either hand a hook slid out to snare the ropes upon her ankles and draw them in out of sight. Tension slowly drew apart her roped feet as the ropes were careful y and cruelly pul ed until she was spread obscenely wide to flaunt her pubic bush like a badge of defiance. She hung motionless. With her feet so tractioned she could not move.

They left her thus. Or at least she had no knowledge of their presence. The Lady Aveline D'Almaine hung naked from the battlements of Coudraye for all to see, to live or to die according to the temper of the Lord Malenfant of Broule. A sad, cruel plight for a maiden whose only enemy was her own loveliness.

To hang by their wrists is a thing done to men and to women for a punishment. By some it is called torture. Aveline knew that had it not been for the care taken in the binding of her hands it would be torture indeed. As it was it was a misery hard to endure. Her need of fortitude multiplied as the battle was joined once more in the ful fury of men who would hang helplessly in pain and the shame of her spread legs while more blood was shed towards an issue stil far from determined.

In her miserable condition Aveline weighed her chances and found small comfort. A total victory for Coudraye was her one real hope, but as far as her unskil ed eye could detect it was a hope slowly diminishing. Victory for Malenfant spelt the dungeon chains of Broule. Unless!

She examined the frightening alternative that, faced with defeat, Coudraye would cut the rope and let her die as a final cheating of his enemy. It was terrifying to know a man might stand above her with a knife at the ready.

Yet hanging naked in a void, she found some reassurance in her knowledge of Emma and her lord. She was positive they were not cruel. His words about her use as hostage had been dour enough, but she strove toward a conviction that he would use her as a threat - an outrageous bluff as one last hope of reason with the foe. He would never have his man use his knife upon the rope - surely he would not! Surely... .

She accepted, with a wry amusement, that with the drawbridge down it was possible for the staff of Coudraye to step out upon it and look up to behold a most unusual sight. With her feet drawn back by the ropes on her ankles she was able to look down without straining and observe the wide mouthed, furtive faces taking stock of her sex. They came and went; sometimes they were children. She had little doubt that for many it was their first good look at a secret most girls kept hidden: A ful frontal view of her was obligingly vouchsafed. She hoped they enjoyed it. The other possibilities of her fate made their prurience seem trivial.

It matters not at what exact time Aveline became aware of change. Her preoccupation with pain and exposure blunted perception after an hour or two of vulnerability. But her pulse quickened and her eyes once more focused on the fight as the sounds of it diminished with an unmistakable significance. Even at a distance it was easy to see it had become a desultory affair of individual contests absorbed in their urgency of kil or be kil ed. Men were walking among the soldiers, giving orders and pounding on the back the ones who would not heed.

Gradually the turmoil stil ed. Here and there men sat upon the riled sward and tended wounds.

Others dismounted and shed some armour. It was obvious to the anxious hostage that someone had called a halt to the carnage. Her eyes roved in search of Malenfant but found him not. It was hard to distinguish faces at such a distance, but she knew that had he been there she would have detected him.

They separated from the stragglers, two figures welded close as one, and made a slow and weary progress toward the entry over which she hung suspended. At first she could not be sure, but as they narrowed the gap her heart began to thump and her pulse to quicken. What she saw was incredible and beyond her wildest hope. When it became certain, she closed her eyes and said a smal , brief prayer of thankfulness. One of the men was Coudraye; he was wounded and limping, supported by the stalwart figure of the man who fil ed her dreams. It was Miles Hardwin.

If asked what she had expected of this meeting she could have given no coherent answer. Her knowledge of him and the time in which he had held her captive was so bizarre and beyond the norm it had left her only with an il ogical desire to be his forever. She knew others would cal her hunger for this laughing man an aberration, a girlish infatuation. She could think of names for it herself. But soon she would face him, hung naked in an obscenity of captivity she longed to hide. As usual she was helpless, and took what comfort she could from his previous familiarity with every inch of her. When the slowly moving pair reached the drawbridge and gazed up, Aveline blushingly reflected that from this man she had nothing to hide.

“Learning how to fly, poppet?” Miles inquired amiably. “Oh; Miles ... please!” She was sure she sounded sil y. “Naughty, naughty! You ought to cover that thing up.” “I can’t. You know I can’t. Oh, Miles!”

“You said that before. Something on your mind?”

“Miles! Stop teasing. Get me down - or up! Or something!”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I've got an invalid to tend. Another hour or two up there and you'l grow the nicest wings.” She adored him! She was absurd! He was outrageous! She laughed and wept in a pure hysteria of relief. She understood nothing except that she was saved. Miles was there and all was well. If it pleased his pixie humour to leave her where she was for al to see she would have to put up with it. So long as at the end of it she was safe within the haven of 3

his arms. She knew herself intoxicated with her infatuation for him. Girls in love were sil y creatures, she knew this and did not care. Rainbows lit her sky in al directions.

She could not be lonely, not even in her remote detachment of altitude. Men were drifting back to the castle from the field of battle. Some walked, some rode, others limped or were carried.

Few of them failed to raise their eyes as they passed beneath, but it was testimony to their fatigue that few paused to ogle her wanton charms. Such remarks as she could hear were guarded. After all, she was not their captive but the captive of their Lord. She wished ardently someone would draw her back to safety and release, or at least loosen the ropes so she might close her legs. After awhile she had to recognise she was being teased or tormented or perhaps punished for a fault she knew not of. She allowed herself the luxury of tears, and laughed hysterical y at the distance they must fal .

“I speak no il of the dead,” Coudraye said heavily. “Thy half brother was a strange man. Our dispute is done. It is ended.” He looked up from his seat beside the great hearth, his wounded leg stretched out straight before him. “Miles Hardwin, I know little of thee either.” He allowed himself a smile. “Save by repute and the gossip of maids. But I owe ye much. Had ye not come at the moment of Malenfant's death we might be fighting stil .”

“I loved him. He was always kind to me.” Miles shrugged. “How can we judge these things!

Loyalties seem predestined.” He sighed. “I was upon a quest or I would have been here sooner. But I could not have swayed him. It seems wrong now, but I would have fought beside him.”

“And ye are Lord of Broule?”

“Aye. He had no other heirs. He wanted sons, but his way of getting them was passing strange.” He grinned sardonically. “I've hunted with Rufus enough my claim wil hold.”

Coudraye nodded. “This England has no King; only a huntsman and his Saxon thanes. We Normans destroy each other.”

“My mother was Saxon, messire.”

“Aye, it shows. Thou art more than handsome. If half the stories of thee are true ye've had more conquests than our Wil iam. I envy thee.”

Miles Hardwin chuckled. “Ye think on the wenches, M'Lord. Yet I envy thee thy Lady. Maidens offer us but two gifts, a hairy slit to pierce, and a rump to heat with the rod. Vapid creatures mostly, forever demanding love and cock as though the two were twain.”

“May I intrude, M'Lords?” Dame Emma swept imperiously into the chamber. She eyed her spouse with love, and their blond and powerful guest in speculation. “It seems I must remind ye both of a sad maid bound below our battlements.”

“Great Heaven, that ye may - “ Coudraye exclaimed in chagrin. “I've been more concerned - “

Miles Hardwin's inclination of the head was only slightly mocking. “The fault is mine, madam. I ordered her left as ye placed her.”

“And why, pray! ‘Tis no pretty plight.”

“I want no fanfare so that the Lady Aveline thinks the battle waged for her. She's of high mettle that needs humility.”

“The poor child has had enough of that these past hours!” The Lady Emma's breasts heaved in indignation.

“No doubt ye're right, madam. Restore her to us. Give the order.” He grinned companionably.

“But leave her without raiment for the nonce.”

“M'Lord, you jest! The maid should be covered.”

“In good time, M'Lady. But I have spoken of humility. She wil know it the sooner for being bare.”

Lady Emma knew enough of men to win her battles piece by piece. She contented herself with a disapproving sniff and left on her errand of mercy.

“Hast' a feeling for this damsel, M'Lord?” Coudraye was curious.

Miles Hardwin made a wry grimace. “I wish I knew. She is bothersome within the mind and in the loins. ‘Twas she I sought fruitlessly whilst my brother embarked on this sad venture. She was stolen from my care” He chuckled. “I doubt there is a maiden in the Realm more prone to kidnaping than she.”

Suddenly there was a flash of youthful curves, of flying female hair and thrusting breasts. Miles Hardwin's observations were smothered by a leaping embrace that felt him cupping a bare bottom and a bare back while their owner's feet were off the floor and her arms tight around his neck. He was bereft of speech by a pair of warm, moist lips more ardent than his own. He dealt with the occasion unperturbed.

“Oh, Miles! Oh, Miles!” Aveline cradled her head against the comforting shoulder and clung tight. She was ecstatically happy.

“I take it ye have a passing acquaintance,” said Dame Emma sarcastical y after a span of minutes.

“Yes ... oh, yes!” Aveline could deal only in exclamations.

“We have met briefly, madam,” Miles acknowledged with equal mordancy.

“The maid should be clothed,” Emma said firmly.

“No doubt ye're right, M'ady.” Miles patted a naked bottom. “D'you want to be dressed, poppet?”

Aveline surfaced only momentarily. “Eh? Oh, no, it doesn’t matter.”

“Our hostess feels ye may catch cold.”

“No, I won’t! I'm wonderful. Oh, Miles, I'm so happy!”

“Would ye not like to go to bed and rest?”

“What on earth for!” To Aveline the suggestion seemed absurd. To relinquish the god-like male now she had him! “I'm not tired. Kiss me again.”

“There are others present, young lady,” Coudraye reminded dryly. He was intrigued but knew his wife was not.

“Oh!”

The enormity of her abandonment to joy suddenly encompassed the nude maiden in an awareness of shame. Her cheeks flamed. Her eyes were contrite as she scanned her audience.

5

Sinking to her knees, she took the strong male hand and kissed it gently. “Forgive me, Lord.

And my thanks for rescue.”

Without reply, Aveline now knelt before the bewildered gaze of the Lady Emma. Again she sought a hand and held it to her cheek. “M'Lady, I have been wanton in thy house. Please think no il of me. I have been so ... so ... lost.”

Before Coudraye, she cradled his hand upon his knee, then touched it with her lips. “M'Lord Coudraye, ye have been kind to me.”

“Nay, lass, I've treated thee most il.”

She shook her head and smiled in retrospect. “I did not mind - that which ye had done with me. ‘Twas in a most good cause.” She looked up at the strong, kind features, her eyes warm.

“Let us say that I was glad to serve.”

“Glad to hang there for a couple of hours while men chattered?” The Lady Emma remembered the heat of youth and was regarding the nude girl with amused tolerance.

“I did not mind that either,” Aveline conceded with only partial truth. She stole a glance at Miles. “No doubt I was thought to benefit.”

“Let us now get thee clad as befits our guest,” Emma said gaily. “Despite our loss this is a most happy day.” She held out her hands to the kneeling girl.

“M'Lady, if I may presume?” Miles turned his ful charm upon the chatelaine. “Ye have a place of confinement for this girl?”

Emma looked at him askance. “But the Lady Aveline is no longer captive, she is our honoured guest. There is much for which we must make amends!”

“She is captive to me, M'Lady. Broule's title predates thine.”

Coudraye laughed. “He's right, y'know?”

Lady Emma was no fool. She knew maiden infatuation when she saw it. But she wanted only kindness for this glowing child for whom she felt affection. “Aveline, my dear, we promised ye freedom. It is yours. What wish ye to do with it?”

For a maid to know herself outrageous and without shame is a thing for which to blush.

Aveline knew herself mantled in scarlet. Her eyes were downcast, too embarrassed to meet any in the room. Her voice was tremulous only with joy: “I am the prisoner of Broule, Lady Emma. Please yield my person to my Lord Miles. I wish it so.”

The Lord and the Lady of Coudraye exchanged glances and laughed. Emma handed Miles two keys. “I am sure our besotted maid can lead thee to where these may be used. She knows the way.”

It was the turn of Miles to be abashed. He took the keys, but said awkwardly, “There is much to do for all of us. `Tis best the Lady Aveline be kept safe while we dispose our duties.”

“She'd be safe enough with me,” Emma avowed. “But if a prison for her please ye both, so be it.” She cupped Aveline's head in loving hands and kissed the ripe lips. “Go with him, child, to thy captivity. I fear I envy thee.”

To be picked up and carried by this magnificent creature was heaven. Aveline savoured every moment. Her mind reviewed the distresses of the past and knew herself infinitely blest.

Freedom and Miles! That she was about to lose that freedom was a contradiction she refused to consider. She clung. Had she been feline she would have purred.

“A pretty little prison,” Miles approved after much kissing. “Think you'l ever get out of it?”

“When it pleases ye to free me” She was wickedly demure.

“There's naught but a dungeon at Broule.”

Her heart missed a beat. Broule and the Abbey was a too recent memory for comfort. But Miles would always tease her, it was his nature. Perhaps it was why she loved him! “So long as ye visit me in it, Miles?”

“I'l fuck thee daily. ‘Twil brighten thy gloom.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“That shackle and chain; I suppose ye wear it?”

She placed her foot upon the cot. “It locks on this ankle.”

Miles closed the metal band snugly upon her. The chain rattled as she returned it to the floor.

“ ‘Tis a child's confinement,” he said, dissatisfied. “Ye'l wear more than that. But after I've fucked ye.”

“Miles!” She was as shocked as when he had first used the word.

“Lay and spread thy legs, sweetness.”

“Miles, no! Not here. You can’t!”

“And why not!” He was enjoying her disarray.

“In this prison - and both of us guests!”

Miles picked her up and laid her down. He even performed the knightly service of separating her legs against only slight resistance. He treated her protests as conversation; they soon died. The stars and the moon and the sun exploded about them on their journey.

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