King's Court 1 -- The Dungeon Master

 

King’s Court #1 — The Dungeon Master

 

by

 

Sabre Lords

 

“No! No! Please no! Not the dungeons!” The screaming and wailing young bitch was carried out of the throne room. She was the long dark-haired full-figured type I liked. As she exited she shouted out, “Please, Your Majesty. You’re not the degenerate your son is, are you?”

 

Everyone in the Throne Room winced. All avoided eye contact with the King.

 

Out of the corner of my eyes I watched the king’s face darken as the door shut and her shouts receded. Then, slowly, a little smile came to his face. I knew what that meant. He glanced at me. I bowed deeply to him, of course.

 

“I want to know the names. Hand me her head on the full moon.”

 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I bowed deeply as I spoke.

 

He nodded and gestured to the door. I bowed again and left the throne room. As I exited my servant Tomas hurried to me.

 

“We’ve got five days,” I said. “Fetch Antoinette.”

 

He smiled, gave a nod that passed for a bow, said “Yes sir,” and hurried away.

 

——

 

All of the guards either respect or fear me. My reputation — deservedly — is that I only work with the approval of the King. Everyone knows what happened to Sinder. He protested at my treatment of a female traitor — a slattern who while drunk mocked the habits of His Majesty. (When given the head of a female criminal, His Majesty is rumored to use its mouth in a vigorous manly fashion. He probably had this in mind for the dark-haired bitch in five days.)

 

Sinder had enemies. Someone reported him to the King. Perhaps exaggerated events and words. His Majesty had me cut out Sinder’s tongue and cut off his nose. He was placed in a cage and hung from the south tower. His tongueless screams were horrific in the weeks it took him to die.

 

I sometimes watched the people as they passed moaning, screaming, anguished Sinder. Some tried to ignore him and his pain. Others showed silent revulsion. Some mocked him, threw rocks or excrement at him, betting on who would hit him first. A few observed him silently, a gleam in their eyes. The King left his body to rot until nothing was left for the ravens to pick at.

 

All of these I put to memory for use in a possible future. But now, with Sinder as the example, my work in the dungeons or in my private chambers goes unimpeded.

 

As you must have realized, I am not just the Master of the Royal Dungeons. I am also the Examiner, the Interrogator — some would say Torturer. And for those done in public I act as Executioner. But the flames, the blades, and the devices for me are always the last resort.

 

Yes, be not fooled. Despite my reputation, I do not enjoy pain for pain’s sake. But I do find joy in success, in pleasing His Majesty, who when served well is most generous indeed. So if pain is required, pain is administered.

 

But before that, the best types of persuasion. And I had five days with Monique — for that was the dark-haired bitch’s name.

 

— —

 

At my instruction, the guards did not engage in their usual behavior with a female prisoner. They were not altogether unhappy, because based on past experience they knew their time might — in fact, probably would — come.

 

Therefore, entering her cell, she was chained by one hand to a wall, and otherwise relatively unharmed. She was thrilled to see me, of course.

 

“You! You beheaded Fossum. What you did to Latley, and all the others — damn, just kill me.”

 

“I only do as His Majesty instructs.” I waved a hand at her. “Your fate is still undetermined.” Not a total lie. The King has been known to change his mind. “I’m not here for you, anyway.”

 

This surprised her. “Well, why —“

 

The door opened. She got her answer. Sturdy Tomas entered dragged in struggling Antoinette. He threw her to the ground.

 

Antoinette eyed Tomas fearfully, saw me, cried out in fear. She barely wasted a glance at Monique. Loudly she stated, “I don’t know who drew those insulting pictures of the King!”

 

“They were found in your possession.”

 

“Someone put them in my room. It wasn’t me.”

 

Tomas slapped Antoinette. She fell back hard. “Then who was it? My lord needs to know!”

 

I glanced at Monique. She stared, horrified and fascinated, at the drama before her. The fascinated aspect told me something.

 

Meanwhile, Antoinette replied, “I don’t know! I don’t! If I did, I’d tell you. After all, whoever it was couldn’t have been a friend, or I wouldn’t be here.”

 

“Then who is the enemy?” I asked.

 

Antoinette paused. After a few moments, quieter, she replied, “I don’t know.”

 

I shrugged my shoulders, eyed Tomas, told him, “Time to help her remember. Warm her up for me.”

 

Tomas got a huge smile, then went hard-faced, advanced on Antoinette.

 

She was not bound. She’d shrunk back against the rock wall. Tomas stood above her, stared hard. “You going to fight me, slut?”

 

“I’m no slut. I’m engaged! I’m loyal to Renald.”

 

I said, “Renald. Yes. He’ll be brought in next.”

 

“No! He’s totally innocent. He couldn’t have anything to do with those drawings.”

 

“We’ll see.” I gazed at Tomas, sarcastically queried, “Why is she still clothed?”

 

Tomas responded by eyeing Antoinette and instructing, “Stand up and strip.” Antoinette shrunk back, hands wrapped around her chest. Tomas said, “Stand up and strip — now, slut!”

 

Antoinette stayed frozen on the floor pressed against the wall. Tomas grabbed her, threw her across the cell. She landed on her stomach. Tomas was on her in an instant, pulled her arms behind, pulled out a cord, and tied her hands. He turned her over, punched her hard in the stomach. WHOOF! Her breath knocked out of her, she doubled over.

 

Tomas bent over, picked her up by her hair. “Which should I do first, pussy, mouth, or ass?”

 

Antoinette turned her head, tried to pull away. Tomas growled, grabbed her, turned her over, she tried to roll away, he grabbed her again, punched her in a kidney. She cried out, went down, still.

 

“Until you talk you’re just fuck-meat, slut!’ Tomas pulled her up on her knees, pulled her dress up, exposing her firm round ass and nice thighs. He unfastened his clothing. His pants fall off. His strong erect phallus very ready, he slapped her ass.

 

“Ow!” He slapped her other cheek. “Ow!”

 

“Your body will like this, slut. More important, I will.”

 

Foreplay finished, he grabbed her hips, moved himself close, and jammed himself in.

 

Antoinette cried out, moaned “No! No!”, and jolted as his full length reached her deep inside. Tomas grinned at me, “The bitch was wet!” and slapped Antoinette’s ass again, twice.

 

Tomas proceeded to enjoy himself. As usual, he started off slow, enjoying the sensation of his dick inside her pussy, feeling her stretch and strain, her protests moving more and more to pleasure. The “Stop! Don’t! Stop! Don’t!” becoming more of a “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” I could also see Monique. Beneath some consternation I could also see excitement.

 

That's how it usually is. The women can’t help themselves. Their bodies want what their parental and church training says is wrong, sinful. Most of them just can’t admit it. Some of them don’t even know it.

 

— —

 

Sinful? Sex is a sin? Wine is evil? Gold is bad? Hell, I got beaten as a kid for talking up to a priest. Asked him, “If I didn’t ask Jesus to die for my sins, how come I’m responsible for what he did?” The priest looked at me with disgust.

 

Perhaps unwisely, I kept going. “And if Jesus loves me, but he made me like this, how can he send me to eternal punishment in Hell? Shouldn’t he go, too!”