Lord Marlowe rolled Summer over onto her front, pulling her back up against his cock, starting to fuck her roughly from behind as if she was a doll. The man was breathing heavily, grunting out loud with each thrust, and Summer was crying out too.
The servant, Makepeace, guessed she wouldn’t even be capable of stopping herself wailing right now. Lord Marlowe was riding her like he rode his horses… The man was hard on his stables and his servants, treating each being subservient to him, human or animal, like a piece of flesh to be used, enjoyed and broken.
Makepeace doubted she would even be aware of the moment when Lord Marlowe came inside her, growling deeply as he emptied himself in intense pleasure.
Summer is a princess… But she craves wickedness and depravity. When she agrees to a tryst one night, she doesn’t realise she is being set up for two of the most villainous lords in the Royal Court to torture and fuck…
Summer’s Engagement: Chapter 16
[Summer’s Engagement contains non-consent fantasy erotica, female submission to male characters, erotic torture and object insertion. These chapters also contain branding kink – please skip if that’s not for you! All characters are over 18. Chapter 1 of Summer’s Engagement is here]
Makepeace wronged Summer in his assumption that she wasn’t aware of her surroundings.
She was very aware — from the intense penetration in her cunt, both pleasurable and far too brutal, to Lord Marlowe’s rough hands on her hips, to the terrifying hot-metal smell of the brazier where Makepeace was heating the iron.
They wouldn’t brand her. They couldn’t. She kept repeating that assurance to herself, desperate and not a little scared. She was a human being, they couldn’t brand her. She was their princess, dammit — she wasn’t a farm beast, born to be branded with the sign of her owner.
She felt dread settling into her as she heard Lord Marlowe cumming inside her. The man slapped her butt — rather as if she was a horse or a cow — then he pulled out of her, pushing her roughly to roll her back over onto her back.
‘Get over here, Makepeace,’ he ordered roughly, his softening cock still wet from being inside her. ‘Tie the girl down.’
Summer struggled feebly to roll away, her senses swimming, unable to believe how helpless she felt with all three of the men holding her down — the two lords holding a leg each while Makepeace easily held her torso and arms down.
Dammit, there were tie rings in the floor here as well, and she screamed a scared whimper as Makepeace tied first one arm, then the other, firmly to the flagstone floor, her arms out wide, straight from her sides.
The serving man grinned down at her, a knowing look in his eyes.
But he didn’t talk to her — cementing Summer’s miserable feeling of humiliation.
‘Gag her, sir?’ he asked his master. He held a gag in his hand, leather straps attached to a wooden bar designed for a person to bite down on, and Summer’s eyes widened in fear. She wrenched at her arms but she was tied down firmly — Makepeace’s work keeping her torso above her hips completely immobile.
‘No,’ she heard Lord Arendt’s slippery, slimy voice from where he held her leg. ‘No-one will hear. And I want to hear the girl scream.’
Makepeace set the gag aside, moving down to restrain her legs. He was far too efficient — in Summer’s opinion, at least. Easily dodging her flailing limbs, he soon had first one leg then the other pulled wide open, the knees high and bent, her legs held — painfully tightly — down towards the floor.
It was hardly necessary but he wrapped more rope around her upper thighs and hips, holding her hips completely immobile.
Summer gasped in shock and desperation at her utter vulnerability as the three men stood, looking down at her.
The two lords wore ornate dressing gowns belted at the waist, their bedroom garb only accentuating the wantonness of the situation.
‘Is the branding iron hot?’ Lord Arendt asked, not taking his eyes off Summer.
‘Nearly, my Lord,’ Makepeace grunted, his skin coated with a light coat of sweat from his exertions. He moved across to the brazier, just beyond Summer’s vision, and she gulped in terrified anticipation.
There had been a couple of drawings of this too in her illicit book of pornographic woodcut illustrations. Images Summer had returned to again and again, horrified and intrigued to fantasise about the images of naked or semi-naked women held down as servants branded them with the symbols of their masters.
The master branding the faithful whore, his servant — she is his property now, always and forever.
A great lord branding his concubine — the girl accepting the brand, knowing that he is bestowing only greater honour on her along with the pain.
A branded whore is no longer human — she is her master’s chattel and she knows to obey him in everything.
Of course, the faces on the girls had been of pain, their mouths open wide to scream, their backs arched, their bodies tensed.
Summer remembered that in the first image, the master had looked indifferent — in earlier centuries, the pleasure slaves down in the city beneath the castle had been seen by their lords as little more than beasts, after all. Branding a pleasure girl was routine, nothing more. Most masters would not even stay to watch their servants undertake the cruel process.
But in the second image, the lord had been smiling cruelly as he oversaw the process. His cock had been engorged as he prepared to seal the deal by cumming on or in his concubine after she was branded.
Summer knew — and had secretly been aroused by the knowledge — that neither woman had chosen this degradation. Alone in the secrecy of her bedchamber, it had seemed insanely wanton, the height of depravity… She had fantasised about being taken and enslaved in the same way, sure that it could never happen to her.
It was a practice of an earlier century, after all, and she was a princess.
But now, as Summer smelled the heat of the brazier, she could only gulp with terror.
She swallowed, forcing herself to speak.
‘You’re… You’re not really going to b-brand me, are you?’ she whispered, feeling her eyes swelling with tears. ‘I… I’m sorry I was impolite… I…’ she forced herself to say, hating demeaning herself like this. Hating having to beg. ‘Please don’t do this.’
‘I brand every slut I fuck,’ Lord Arendt said bluntly, a smile curving the side of his mouth. ‘I initially thought it was unwise with you…’ he spread his hands, shrugging. ‘But then I thought, what the hell? You’re not going to tell anyone, are you, my sweet girl? And it’s not like good King David will even know what the brand means when and if he sees it on your thigh,’ he chuckled.
‘No, please,’ Summer whispered, still trying to move in the restraints. Still trying to escape. ‘I don’t want…’
‘I don’t care what you want, little princess,’ Lord Arendt said bluntly. A flicker of a grin passed across his face as he glanced down at her exposed pussy and back up her body to her face. He winked at her. ‘You probably don’t want mine and Marlowe’s junk in your hole either, but it’s right up inside you there right enough. I’d get you pregnant if I could, but I’m guessing you’ve taken care of that.’
‘You’re a monster,’ Summer seethed, desperately trying to stop herself crying. ‘You can’t…’
‘Shut up,’ Lord Marlowe said bluntly, his eyes running up and down her restrained body as if she was a piece of steak. ‘We can do what we want to you, darling,’ he sneered.
‘No, please,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll… I’ll pay you,’ she whispered, even knowing as she spoke that it was useless. Her allowance did not nearly match up against Arendt or Marlowe’s personal fortunes — and she had been careless with money recently anyway, depressed at the thought of her coming engagement.
Even if paying Lord Arendt would even be an inducement not to torture her.
‘Heh,’ Lord Marlowe spoke dismissively, smirking down at her — he knew her offer was worthless. ‘Face it, little princess,’ he sneered. ‘We’re going to brand you — trust me, it’s going to hurt — and then when you’re still reeling, we’ll both fuck you again.’
Summer gulped.
‘Then,’ Lord Marlowe shrugged, ‘when we’re done, we’ll let him have you,’ he nodded his head to where Makepeace was calmly turning the iron in the hot coals, ensuring it was evenly heated. ‘He likes impaling girls who are already broken.’
‘You’ll serve him first though, my darling,’ Lord Arendt smirked down at her. ‘You’ll do whatever he wants. You’ll like that, won’t you? Slutty little princess, serving a peasant like him — the commoner who put a branding iron to your flesh.’
‘No, please,’ Summer gulped. ‘Please,’ she whimpered as Makepeace moved back across, a wet cloth in his hands.
He knelt between her legs, using the cloth to wash the skin of her inner thighs clean, a bland, disinterested look on his face.
‘Please, Makepeace,’ Summer whispered, suddenly desperate enough to talk to the serving man. ‘Please help me. Don’t… Don’t let them do this. I’ll… I’ll pay you,’ she said, knowing it wasn’t going to work.
Lord Arendt would have ensured that Makepeace’s loyalty was solid. And maybe the man even wanted to hurt her, even if it meant committing treason against the Crown.
The man grunted, predictably ignoring her and then — horrifyingly — rubbing his thumb across a patch high on Summer’s inner thigh, just below the crease.
‘There, my Lord?’ he asked his master, looking up at Lord Arendt. ‘Nice soft skin. It’ll show up well. She’ll feel it,’ he grunted. ‘It’ll take a few weeks to heal too.’
‘That’s fine,’ Lord Arendt nodded, the simple motion seeming to Summer to seal her doom. ‘The wedding isn’t until next spring or even the year after that,’ he grinned. ‘By then, it’ll just be an inconspicuous little scar on the girl’s leg. And I’m sure by then she’ll have had time to come up with a good reason for it,’ he sniggered.
Summer thought she might faint as Makepeace finished washing her skin and stood back up.
Gods, it was going to happen. They were going to brand her. Like a beast.
She gulped as Makepeace poured two glasses of champagne for each of the lords, and the two men settled themselves down on comfortable chairs facing her. Of course, they would want to be comfortable while watching her scream, she thought wildly.
They were monsters.
Summer bit her lip, a sliver of her pride resurfacing. She would scream — she had no doubt about that — but she wouldn’t beg. Not again — she had already humiliated herself enough in front of her parent’s enemies.
Please follow me for more stories! In the real world, remember to always play safely and practise positive, informed and enthusiastic consent that is respectful of all genders.
Have you read my other fantasy story, Serafina’s Gift?
When she receives a mysterious sex toy in the mail, Serafina is too excited to ask questions about who sent it… and why. But her gift bears a supernatural curse – and Serafina can’t stop herself from succumbing to its addictive pleasure. Serafina finds herself descending into a world of rough, degrading gangbangs – helplessly submissive to anyone who wants to use her…
Read the full novel at All These Roadworks or Smashwords!
It’s not a manifesto
I write a lot of M/f non-consent erotica, including enslavement of women, degradation and forced breeding. They are not an expression of how the world should be. Everything I write should stay in the hot world of fiction and play. It should absolutely not become part of the real world.
When I put intense play into my writing, it’s never a description of how these types of play should happen in the real world. There are a lot of people out there who can provide advice on how to do these things for real – listen to them and not me! Love you all 💖
© Pixie Isobella
Pixie Isobella 