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| Elizabeth's Story | Back to K | Back to main page | ||
Collected by Djian
updated feb 20 - 2009
Another story by ABroadsword | Ho 72
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
M+/f, kidnap, nc, reluc, D/s, bnd, humil, romance
Elizabeth's Story
By ABroadsword
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 didn?t seem to care. She didn?t 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 didn't 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 didn't 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 hadn?t 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 didn?t 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 don't cum in . in sob cunt's kitty? Please cum on its sniff face" please sir" please don't 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 didn?t 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 didn't.
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